My mother, Our Lady, and me

No one reads my Web log these days. I do not promote it -- at least not now, because after letting it go for a long time, I am giving myself time to find my voice again. Long story short, I can write freely.

It is funny reading back on it. There are all these little things I would have completely forgotten had not I written them down. I would recommend this to anyone. Particularly I love it when it comes to my mother, gone now for about six years. I would never have remembered half the situations we were in together or half the things we talked about. Half? More like 90 percent, I think, I would have forgotten.

My mom was with me twice when I saw Notre Dame Cathedral, my preoccupation for the last few days.

I think of her in Holy Week because I remember how we would not only go to sales together, as shown in the picture above, we would go to church together. I would often go, I must confess, a little unwillingly. But I did go with my mother and I am happy for that now. And I would rise to the occasion.

There is something strange about Holy Week. You feel a little hushed, a little off. This year it coincides with Passover which I imagine has a similar effect on our Jewish brothers and sisters, to use a phrase Catholics use a lot.

Plus there was the whole Notre Dame Cathedral business. It totally threw me off kilter. Over the past 24 hours though it has been not so bad. Here are a few more things that have struck me...

1. When they went into the church to see what was what, the votive candles were still burning! One friend wrote last night on Facebook, "I am going to sleep with the lights on."

2. Someone thought she saw Jesus in the flames. The picture she cited went around social media and was studied by many. It was discussed on the radio.

3. In the trad Catholic community it has been noted that the high altar survived unscathed while the post-Vatican II so-called altar was buried under rubble. That "so-called" is my terminology. Do not blame the others!

Poor Notre Dame. But perhaps its story is not over.

I have my favorite conspiracy theories which perhaps I will air at a later date. Do not blame me! I ask questions. I am a newspaper girl and as we say in our business, "If your mother says she loves you, check it out."

Did my mother love me? I have to ask that question to bring the post full circle.

I better read back on this blog to make sure.

Last call at Little Vegas

Today my friend Lizzie and I spotted an estate sale sign and, as usual, screeched to a stop. The sale turned out to be bittersweet. It was the Little Vegas tavern in Lackawanna.

The tavern had been a stop a few years ago on a Forgotten Buffalo tour we were on! Lizzie reminded me of that. And I remembered -- well, sort of anyway. I must have had a good time on that tour, what can I say. Well, what happened in Little Vegas stays in Little Vegas.

Inside we learned it was the last day of the sale. The owners' daughter was pretty much taking all offers. I tried to talk her into stretching the sale out for another weekend, so I could help get the word out about it. But she was in a hurry to get back to Florida. Which, I can understand. You can only take so much of this kind of stuff, you know?

I regret I did not buy the cash register.

And a case could have been made for buying these vintage Santas and other Christmas decorations that were in the basement. You could just imagine the bar's regulars waiting every year for these old fellows to reappear.

There were tons of decks of playing cards behind the bar. Of course I went behind the bar just so I could feel what it would be like. I took this picture from behind the bar.

 And yes, I did say, "What can I do you for?"

And: "You and me both."

The playing cards must have been in keeping with the bar's name.

I tried to interest Howard in the vintage beer cooler but to no avail.

Howard is less sentimental than I am. I am sentimental!

I did also love this old scale.

In the end I bought a chalkboard for $2 and Lizzie spent a couple of bucks on some very cool decorations. We had to have some kind of memento.

It is a pity saying farewell to an old bar even if it was not exactly on your turf. These mom-and-pop taverns are disappearing.

Goodbye, Little Vegas.

Goodbye!

Just a Spritz

I am noticing that I am writing only about every 10 days, and that about something fattening. That must change! But meanwhile ...

There is this cookie press.

I bought this vintage Mirro cookie press for $4 at this wonderful estate sale that Lizzie and I went to on Saturday. I bought a few other things at that sale too that were, ahem, a little bit bigger. But first things first! This is a Mirro press with all these disks that let you shape a whole bunch of fancy little cookies.

This press comes with 20 little discs! They fit into a wooden holder like the discs up above.

If I want to hold a bridge party such as the ones Leonard Pennario went to, I can do cookies in spades, not to mention hearts, clubs, and diamonds.

For Christmas cookies I can make stars, Christmas trees, wreaths, and camels. I love how they include camels. I'd walk a mile for a camel!

It's funny, most people associate these cookies with Christmas. I do not, necessarily. We made Spritz cookies a few times but they were not an immovable part of our Christmas so I do not see why you cannot make these little darlings all year.

Especially the flower cookies! They would be in season right about now.

Haha... Up above where I got that picture, I found this Web log. This woman had the same troubles I am anticipating having which is why I am holding off on trying this press until the time is right. Wouldn't you know she zeroed in on the same shape I was thinking of trying, too: the pinwheel/flower shape. She concluded that others are easier.

It will take time to master this thing! I will probably start off a Spritz ditz. But heck, if I can play Chopin on the piano, I can do this. Perhaps I will try some for next coffee hour. I was going to soar like an eagle and attempt a Bundt cake. But now perhaps I will try Spritzies.

The power of the press!

Julia's books

Today I opened the book on Chopin that I bought at that sale yesterday. That is it pictured above! I still have not figured out the piano piece quoted on the cover. I played it but I cannot place it. I thought it was part of this one Nocturne I played but then thought it was not.

Here is the inscription on the inside page:

Isn't that wonderful? August 1894.

The recipient, "Little Two Shoes," was named Julia Grayson, followed by a last name I cannot make out. It looks like Wilson but when I pick it apart I do not think it is. She was a student at the Richmond Female Seminary. I know that because I also bought her copy of Mendelssohn's "Songs Without Words." The Mendelssohn was a present from her father in '96. Not 1996. 1896!!

My father gave me music too once for Christmas! I hope that up in Heaven my father and Julia's father meet. The Mendelssohn is just an old Schirmer edition but here is something cool: It was back when he was Mendelssohn-Bartholdy. If you want to live like a Victorian as I do one thing you have to do is say Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy.

The Mendelssohn book is adorable because Julia wrote in all the titles in the table of contents starting with the first one which I studied in college with my teacher, Stephen Manes, and which thanks to him I still do play pretty well.

How sweet this all is! It made me think of the Mystery Missal.

Hereafter when I play the Songs Without Words I will play them only out of this book.

And I am looking forward to reading the book on Chopin!

A tale of two sales

Lizzie and I went yesterday to two estate sales that are worth noting because of the way they are alike and at the same time different.

You know how you can tell from the sale what kind of person or persons lived there?

One sale, the occupant or occupants were clearly Scotch/Irish and very proud of it. There were CDs of Scotch/Irish music and Presbyterian hymnals and Scottish books and cookbooks.

The other sale, the folks were German and very proud of it. There were tons of books in German as well as German records and dishes and beer paraphernalia and tons of German Christmas stuff.

Lizzie and I were laughing about this coincidence later because as it happens her ancestors are Scots/Irish and mine are German. So there was one garage sale for her and one for me. Also, this is funny, but if you crossed these garage sales you would get Donald Trump. He is half German and half Scottish. I am just saying. If you wonder why he gets looks like this ...

... that is why. It comes from having the two most stubborn ethnic backgrounds imaginable.

But anyway.

One nice thing about both sales is that they both hovered this side of kitsch. Both the households occasionally indulged in frivolous things but there was tons of classical music and tons of books. Smart people with a sense of humor, is what I would guess.

At the Scottish sale Lizzie bought a Scottish cookbook and I scored a CD of Thomas Hampson singing songs by Stephen Foster. I have always wanted this recording! But it was on Angel, Leonard Pennario's label too, and it was too expensive. Or I was too cheap, you take your pick. Anyway, when I got home I listened to it.

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 I liked these Scots/Irish people for recognizing that Stephen Foster was one of them. He was Irish. More importantly they recognized his greatness. That is an appreciation I picked up from my father. Sometimes of an evening when I was 14 or 15 my dad and I would get together and I would play the accompaniment and he would sing songs like "Beautiful Dreamer."

 I also picked up a second copy of a book of Stephen Foster songs that I own and love. And a book on Chopin. I will get to that.

At the German sale I forget what Lizzie bought but it was something. I got some German Christmas albums and Buffalo China bowls.

Two households, both alike in dignity! As Shakespeare would say.

We are the richer for having visited!

Columbus picture opens a new world

Since I mentioned my print of Christopher Columbus finding the New World, people who know about art have told me that it was painted by N.C. Wyeth. That is Mr. Wyeth pictured above!

One Facebook friend, the esteemed artist Michael Gelen, told me that. And another Facebook friend chimed in and said that N.C. Wyeth was the father of Andrew Wyeth.

Do I know quality when I see it or what? Just like I know quality when I hear it, as in the case of Leonard Pennario.

The picture of N.C. Wyeth does seem to suggest he had something of a fevered imagination. Wikipedia says that he illustrated books including "Treasure Island." You know what, I think that was the book my father read to us from when I was little. It had fevered illustrations that now that I think of it, remind me of the picture of Columbus on the high seas.

The best artists are the ones described as illustrators, you know?

A neat observation from Wikipedia: "Wyeth's exuberant personality and talent made him a standout student. A robust, powerfully built young man with strangely delicate hands, he ate a lot less than his size implied. He admired great literature, music, and drama, and he enjoyed spirited conversation."

"He ate a lot less than his size implied." That is priceless and cannot be said of me.

I eat a lot more than my size implies!

Here is something terrible and tragic. In 1945, "Wyeth and his grandson (Nathaniel C. Wyeth's son) were killed when the automobile they were riding in was struck by a freight train at a railway crossing near his Chadds Ford home."

All these things we are learning. Some of them funny and some of them sad. Like Columbus we are discovering an uncharted world. Uncharted to us anyway.

Oh, man. This is something that hits home for me. Wikipedia also says that N.C. Wyeth painted the pictures of Wagner, Beethoven and Liszt for Steinway and Sons. I have been to Steinway Hall in New York and seen those paintings. Even if I had not visited Steinway Hall, I would know them from books. That is amazing! I had no idea. I will have to explore that on my Music Critic Web log.

Anyway we can all see now where Andrew Wyeth got his talent. Why is he so much better known than the old man, is what I would like to know.

No justice in the world!

Beyond uncharted seas...

In honor of Columbus Day I found myself contemplating a picture on the wall of my breakfast room. Well, the breakfast room that has turned into the cat room. The cat likes it back there with his toys and his food and his scratching post.

But once upon a time it was my breakfast room and after I went to Monet's house in France, I did what Monet did and painted it yellow and covered the walls in pictures. They were pictures people gave me, or the work of local artists that I bought, or things I bought at sales.

And at one sale on Symphony Circle, or thereabouts, I bought this print that was titled:

"Beyond Uncharted Seas Columbus Finds a New World."

Beneath that caption is written:

"Into the Setting Sun, Conquering Tempest, Mutiny and Terrors of the Unknown, the Great Admiral Steers his Tiny Caravels to Give Civilization a New Hemisphere - and Gain Fame Everlasting."

Who could resist such a print? Not I! That is a picture of it up above although I got it off the Internet because it is easier than taking a picture of the one on my wall.  My print is framed I will have you know.

Now I am glad I have that picture because I am writing about another famous Italian, Leonard Pennario. Pennario was a Columbus fan and so am I. And one house where Pennario's family lived in Buffalo is on Columbus Parkway, bringing this conversation full circle.

Let my Columbus print be a lesson to all of us.

When you see something you like at an estate sale, for whatever reason, do not question your judgment.

Plant that flag.

Acquire!

Take this SUV and stuff it

Today's top score, pictured at left, is worth celebrating.

It is "Pennario Plays Chopin For Young Lovers." A classic 1970s reissue!

My friend Lizzie went with me making the rounds of garage sales and one estate sale which is where this record was purchased. It is funny because while the estate sale lady was filling out the sales slip, Lizzie tried telling her that I was writing a book about Leonard Pennario, that he was my friend.

And the woman, who had been gabbing and gabbing with us, all of a sudden just shut up and frowned down at the sales slip! She seemed not to hear a word Lizzie was saying. She never acknowledged hearing us saying anything about Leonard Pennario.

Hahahaa! That is so typical. That always happens to me.

Once when I had a Mass said for Pennario there was a glitch and his name did not get announced. All the other times, you hear who the Mass is for. This time, no.

I am kneeling there in my pew breathing, "Say his name. Say his name!!" Because this was a big deal for me. But no.

Oh well.

In time this unacceptable state of affairs will improve.

Meanwhile that record album was in good company today. I got a lot of quality items including two custom designed hippie hula hoops, visible in the picture above. Someone had designed them by hand and they were priced $5 but me, I bargained like a Moroccan in the square and got them for $1 each.

Pennario would have hated that the hippie hula hoops with their peace signs and rainbow colors were there with his album. But it could not be helped. We had bought so much stuff that there was no more room even in the back of spacious Lizzie-mobile, which is a huge SUV. When Lizzie and I garage sale we can be stopped only when buying anything further becomes, for some reason, impossible. Once we garage-saled literally down to our last dime. Another time we ran out of time. Today, the problem was, every square inch of the car was filled up.

I also got a dress and an antique lamp and three cookbooks and two dresses and two chairs which, I have every hope they will prove as lucky as the last chair. I also got a whole bunch of linens some of which I will have to display on this Web log.

A fine couple of hours of shopping!

Rome weighs in on my statue

Remember St. Luke? That is he up above.

I have just received confirmation from Rome that the statue in question is, indeed, St. Luke.  My friend Brendan who is in Rome sent me a note and he said that is who the statue is, without a doubt.

Which thrilled me! I mean, I knew that already, thanks to my friend Missy.

But to hear it from Rome! It makes me feel I should get a plaque or something and affix it to St. Luke, saying that this authentication from Rome was received. It would be just what he needs. I like that statue, you know? I like its simple, almost primitive nature.

Elsewhere on the St. Luke front, I glued on his head. So now he is headless no more.

I cannot believe that what with Leonard Pennario and everything I got around to gluing on St. Luke's head. I mean, it was not a difficult job. But I never get to anything like that. Finally I have!

That is why these days St. Luke and St. Joseph are not the only ones around the house with a halo.

I have one, too!

On account of you never know

Yesterday I went with my mom to this estate sale in Amherst and there was a Last Rites box.

Note to non-Catholic Leonard Pennario fans, the Last Rites is the sacrament the Catholic Church gives you when you are dying. Now they call it the Anointing of the Sick. But once upon a time it was the Last Rites. Or, even better, Extreme Unction. That is a marvelous name! Unction refers to the oil you are anointed with.

But back to the estate sale Last Rites box. They said it was old. As you can see in the picture it is a box with doors that open. And inside ...

... is a crucifix and two candles and two small silver platters. There is also a kind of silver ladle and a brush. That must be for the holy oil. In a pocket in the door you can see a holy water bottle.

I have to say, I was kind of put off by the Last Rites box. (Not to mention the $45 price.)

All I could picture was a priest taking it around to the homes of dying people. These people, this would have been one of the last things they saw. The crucifix and the candles. I mean, when this box shows up next to your bed, things are bad.

So I passed it up. But I hesitated enough so the purveyor, who was my friend Jim Lion, gave me his card. And at our next stop -- my mom and I were continuing to shop -- I began to have pangs of remorse and worry. What if this thing wound up in the wrong hands? What if some satanist got his hands on it? What if it turned up in a restaurant, holding silverware or something? It was like St. Joseph a few weeks ago. 

Then I remembered the card. And I found a more-or-less quiet corner in the store and I called. What was $45, anyway? I spend that just walking into Tops and I do not think about it.

End result, as we say here in Buffalo, today I became the proud owner of this Last Rites kit. And now I know more about it. Because I went to that great religious authority, eBay.

It turns out that this would probably not have been the kind of kit a priest would have taken around with him. Back in the day, I learned, it was common for you to have a Last Rites kit in your home. You were supposed to be ready in case someone was dying and you had to call a priest. Also back then more people died at home, as opposed to in hospitals. My kit appears to date from the late 1800s.

That made it less forbidding. Judging from the beat-up candles and the splashes of candle wax on the top of the case, this kit seems to have seen some action. But still, it was not taken around to dying people on a constant basis.

While I was researching my kit I made another discovery. I saw a few pictures on eBay of more ornate Last Rites kits, shadow boxes designed to hang on your wall, like this one. This type dates from the 1930s.

And I remembered, back in my college Parkside apartment, we had one of those! It seemed to me it looked just like the one in the picture. I remembered the little cabinet it had, with a few mysterious bottles. It belonged to one of my roommates. But she did not know what it was and neither did I. I was this sporadic Mass-goer at that point and my roommate was some kind of Christian, but her background was Jewish and, well, my point is, although we were respectful of this thing and displayed it prominently in the apartment, I have these memories of us both drinking beers and looking at it and kind of scratching our heads.

Now I knew what it was!

After all these years!

It was amazing that I had not known any of this before now. I mean, here I am, I love my religion, I go to the Latin Tridentine Mass and still, dum de dum dum, I know next to nothing.

As I sat there, brooding, I wondered what had happened to that Last Rites kit. I wished I had it.

Then suddenly this thought struck me:

Maybe I do have it!

What do you want to bet? That roommate had wound up taking off on me. She had left in a hurry and probably would not have taken it with her. And I would never have thrown it out. I never throw anything out.

It had to be in my house somewhere!

There is this one room where there is all kinds of stuff piled, the room I do not go into. I went up into that room. "I'll bet it's in the closet," I thought. There is this closet I never open.

I opened the door. There it was!

So now I have two!

That makes sense for me because if I am dying and need a Last Rites kit fast, having two doubles the odds that we will be able to find one of them in my chaotic house. With that in mind, I am going to clean them up and stock them with holy water.

When I die I want to be ready!

Saints alive!

The other day I mentioned the stock pot I got at an estate sale over the weekend, the pot that played a part in my tomato adventure. There was more to that estate sale! I also bought two statues, one of St. Joseph and a smaller one of St. Anthony.

This was clearly an Italian couple. I noticed that in the kitchen, just putting two and two together. So I was on the lookout for Catholic stuff. And sure enough, back in the bedroom were these statues. At estate sales the bedroom is always where you find everything interesting: statues, missals, mantillas, Leonard Pennario records, etc.

There was this shelf with these beautiful old statues. The sale was half price by then so St. Anthony was just four bucks. He was originally $8. The statue of St. Joseph was bigger and priced at $18. Nine bucks was a little high for me so I passed him up. But I bought St. Anthony, along with the stock pot.

Then I was walking home from the sale with my mom and we were talking about these statues. I told Mom that I buy them because I do not want them to fall into the wrong hands. I mean, St. Anthony of Padua is my saint. He sticks by me so the least I can do is stick by him.

My mother agreed that you do kind of worry what is going to happen to these statues. It is sad because the old kind of piety, the faith that these old people had, is disappearing.

So I was thinking about that and I got kind of concerned for St. Joseph.

When I left my mom's I went back to the sale. St. Joseph was still there, as I figured he would be. He had not gone anywhere. I picked him up and took him to get him written up.

"Why does it say, 'As is'?" the clerk wondered.

I said, "He is a little beat up around the edges." Which he was.

But it is a sweet statue anyway. St. Joseph is holding the Baby Jesus so lovingly. I was admiring that. What a wonderful man, you know? What trust and love he had for his wife. I mean, I know that an angel appeared to him and told him she was telling the truth, but still, to step up to the plate and go with this unbelievable situation, you have to love him for that.

Hahaaa.. reading that I remember how my friend Lauri Githens who started the Buzz column that I write in the paper, she always used the phrase "step up to the plate." That is where I got it from. Anyway that is what St. Joseph did. I get kind of misty thinking of that. You hear so much about Mary being Jesus' mother, but Jesus also needed a father, and Joseph was it. Then how he taught Jesus his trade, carpentry. Being a Jewish guy with common sense, St. Joseph figured his son would need an occupation to make his way in the world and so he made Jesus his apprentice. There are such sweet pictures of that. This is a Dutch master's vision of it. It is in The Hermitage in St. Petersburg, Russia.

Usually St. Joseph is portrayed as elderly but this is a picture of a young St. Joseph.

Anyway I left the estate sale carrying St. Joseph. And it just happened that on that street lives my friend Jerry. This is Jerry of the mystery missal, remember? Jerry came out of his house and saw me walking down the sidewalk with St. Joseph and started laughing.

"I knew you would end up with that!" he said.

He told me the couple whose sale it was had lived for years on Lisbon Avenue. They stuck it out in their old neighborhood for decades as it grew rough but finally moved after being harassed once too often. They made a new start of it in Snyder in their 80s.

"Ah," I said. "They downsized. That explains why I found no mantillas."

But Jerry said they did not downsize! He said they moved everything. That would be me, you know. If I moved I would just take everything. I would need a convoy of moving vans!

So I sympathized with this couple and I am glad I inherited their statues.

I took St. Joseph home and put him in my sun room.

"Welcome to my home, St. Joseph," I said. "Please watch over my family."

And I put St. Anthony next to him.

Now I am equipped for whatever might happen.

I have these two gentlemen in my corner!

In a mellow tone

Today I went estate-sale-ing with my mom where I added to my Melachrino Orchestra collection.

Remember the Melachrino Orchestra? I found another copy of "Music For Dining" and snapped it up.

My mother said: "But you already have one."

"No," I said. "Actually, we already have three. But we can always use one more."

That is because Howard and I have more than one location. Plus you never know, in those hectic moments before dinner is served you may be unable to find one copy of "Music For Dining." If you have multiple copies, there is more chance you will be able to get your hands on one when you are ready to eat.

Besides the coveted "Music For Dining" I also found the Melachrino Orchestra's  "Music For Two People Alone," pictured above.

These covers are the greatest!

And "Music To Work Or Study By."

Ha, ha! Look at the woman looking at the kid studying. I will have to work on my Leonard Pennario book while listening to this album, see how this record works out in the field.

And I saved the best for last.

It is "Music For Courage and Confidence"!

Priceless, is all I can say.

Priceless.

On the prowl

Today I went to two estate sales with my mom and I bought... nothing.

My mom scored. She bought three pairs of pants! Although they are a little bit big (a most excellent problem to have).

But me, I just did not find one thing. I considered an ornate egg timer that caught my mom's eye. It was just $3. But sometimes you have to attain critical mass in purchases. It was not worth waiting in line just for this one item.

There was also a tea kettle I considered for $2.50. It was iridescent purple sort of like this...

... only with a green top. There was a problem however with how you opened it. Perhaps something was missing but you had to reach down to the spout and open the thing with your thumb, and all I could think was I would be getting steam burns all the time.

How would I be able to sit down at the piano and play like Leonard Pennario if I had steam burns on my hand?

Then again at least I would have an excuse. "That darn teakettle! It is the reason I do not sound like Pennario."

There was one garage sale but what it was, this woman had this cute little house, with a cute little garage, and she had done up this garage to look like a cute little gift shop. She had it arranged just so, with Victoria magazines on a table, jewelry draped here, old greeting cards arranged there. Glass lamps arrayed on a table, a chest full of books on decorating. This was on Huxley Drive in Snyder. I name names!

And this woman is sitting there, looking pretty, in the middle of her things. I took this picture of her.

There were no price tags. My mother and I do not deal well with that situation and she waited impatiently outside while I chatted with the shop owner. That is what she was, a shop owner. Not a garage sale holder!

Anyway. For me it was an ultimately fruitless day.

But as I said last week, the season is just starting!

Hippie food

Today my mom and I went estate sale-ing. No Leonard Pennario records, alas. There were records but they were in the cellar and the cellar had apparently been flooded because the records were ruined. However. However! I bought a couple of cookbooks.

My mother always casts a frosty eye on my cookbook purchases because I have way too many cookbooks already. But these are special!

They are the hippie classics by Anna Thomas, "The Vegetarian Epicure" and "The Vegetarian Epicure, Vol. 2." They are a riot, full of hippy-dippy pictures like the one on the cover, pictured above. There are all these drawings of hairy hippies and beardos and people of indeterminate race and gender eating rice and beans and desserts. (Vegetarians are always pushing desserts on you.)

Volume 2 bore a handwritten note, "To Mom, Merry Christmas, from Kevin." That was nice of Kevin, whoever he was, to buy this cookbook for his hippy-dippy mom.

Anyway. When I got home I immediately began cooking out of these cookbooks. Normally on Saturdays before we go to the Philharmonic, Howard and I are kind of rushed, so I have found it does not pay to make anything fancy. Vegetarian stuff is great to make on these evenings. So I made, ahem, "baked beans a la charente."

To go with it I made "corn bread."

Things in "The Vegetarian Epicure" are all in lower-cased letters. That is how cool it is.

And talk about cool! This cookbook is cooler than I am, I have to say that.

Every once in a while you see something in a vintage cookbook that is really wacky. And the payoff here came in the introduction. I was reading over the introduction and what Anna Thomas is doing is, she is walking you through a dinner -- how to plan a menu, what to serve when, etc.

She writes about coffee and dessert and how after that people might engage in "all sorts of argument and storytelling" and eventually, mouths would go dry.

"So, the two-hours-later course came to be," she writes. "This may consist of of a great bowl of strawberries and a pot of cream, or maybe hot chocolate, accompanied by thin slices of the torte that couldn't be finished earlier .... This two-hours-later course is especially recommended if grass is smoked socially at your house. If you have passed a joint around before dinner to sharpen gustatory perceptions, you most likely will pass another one after dinner, and everyone knows what that will do -- the blind munchies can strike at any time."

Hahahahahahahaaaa!

The hippie cookbook!

Let the games begin

Today was a very ceremonial day. This day usually arrives during the Christmas cycle, while the snow is still on the ground. It always falls on a Saturday.

It is the first estate sale of the year!

Today my mother and I hit a sale off Longmeadow and as is traditional I bought things for me and for Howard. You must always make purchases at the first estate sale of the year!

For myself I bought pink retro beads and earrings. They are clip earrings because I have always been too squeamish to get my ears pierced.

For Howard I bought a Wall Street tie.

They both came from the same sale!

We are off to a running start. We went to another sale too and there I bought boots and a thermos.

No Leonard Pennario records but this is a start.

Wish me luck in my Estate Sale Year of 2011!