Category Archives: shopping

Cute and Adorable — and Beanie Babies, Too

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Capt. Adorable, our 2 1/2-year-old grandson, is grinning because Kacky (me) unearthed some treasures for him as I was packing up/cleaning out our house for our move next week. Remember Beanie Babies? Remember McDonald’s Teenie Beanies? For some reason, when my daughters were little we went Beanie- and Teenie Beanie-crazy and collected them feverishly. And then put away childish things. Far back in a closet that hadn’t seen the light of day for years. So when I finally realized what I had, I knew the Captain would love them. I mean, a bag full of mommy and baby whales and zebras and kitty cats and doggies and ducks and squirrels … what 2 1/2-year-old could resist? Or 53-year-old Kacky? Or 26-year-old Mommy? We had a great time playing with them, and the Captain decided that the “o-tu-puss” was his favorite. Beanie and Teenie Beanie Babies were supposed to be great investments, but I think we all know what the real investment is here: Priceless grandbaby love!!!

Oh My Gosh! I’m A Squash!***

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All signs point to one thing: It definitely is fall. You can tell by the football games, the cooler temps, the changing leaves … and of course, my favorite: the food. Fall food is simply the best. Who doesn’t love warm, fresh and satisfying? At Jack-O-Lantern Farms market in Muscle Shoals this past week, we got a taste — literally — of fall’s abundance when Marriott chef Josh Quick prepared some winter-squash recipes. One word: Yum. Also, more words: Quick, easy and good-for-you. Quick demystified winter squash and made it seem like something I could tackle myself.  As enticing as these big and colorful vegetables are, they often seem overwhelming. I mean, what, really, can you do with a butternut squash? Plenty, Quick says. Roast it, saute it, blend it — it’s versatile enough to play with whatever flavors you want. It’s even easy to peel, Quick said, and he proved it by whipping out a simple plastic Y-shaped peeler. So you no longer have an excuse for passing up these squash treasures. And the rumor that you can make spaghetti squash look just like spaghetti noodles is true. See the pile of “pasta” in the right-hand corner of the top left photo? That, my friends, is spaghetti squash. Read Quick’s winter-squash secrets and try out his recipes at my food story in this past Wednesday’s TimesDaily.

*** This post title is in honor of a favorite book 2 1/2-year-old grandson Capt. Adorable and I like to read: “The Ugly Pumpkin.” In this wonderfully illustrated tale, an “ugly pumpkin” can’t figure out where he belongs until he realized he isn’t a pumpkin at all.

Chattanooga, Wings and Coffee, Too

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Downtown Chattanooga, Tennessee, is a seriously awesome place. I fell in love with it when I was young and my dad would drive the hour it took to get us there so we could eat at the Chattanooga Choo-Choo and then wander around the top of Lookout Mountain. Luckily, my middle brother and his family live there, so we still get to visit lots. And it’s still one of my favorite places. Chattanooga has done a stellar job of downtown renaissance and making itself into A Must-See Destination. Such as this Broad Street block that’s just up the street  from the Tennessee River and the Tennessee Aquarium. This block is home to Sticky Fingers Smokehouse, the barbecue restaurant-chain that three friends who first met as seventh-graders in Chattanooga started in 1992 in Charleston, S.C. My brother and I were there to pick up wings, pulled chicken and pulled pork for my nephew’s 12-year-old birthday party, and I have to say that Sticky Fingers’ wings rate right up there — meaty, juicy and just-right-hot.  I can see why my nephew requested Sticky Fingers for his birthday. (I think I’ll do the same, even though that means moving my birthday to a city four hours away. Worth it.) Another treasure on this block is Greyfriar’s Coffee and Tea Co., one of my brother’s top choices for coffee — and he knows coffee. And of course there’s more to Chattanooga than wings and coffee. You’ve got history, hiking, rock climbing, kayaking, shopping, music, art, more eating and more good times. Go check it out, and tell my brother I sent you.

There’s Some Bad Grammar There

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There are no words for such poor grammar. Well, actually, there are some words: The correct ones.

Didn’t Your Mother Always Tell You to Put Your Napkin in Your Lap?

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I’m a huge fan of Project Runway. (At least I’ve been one ever since Project Runway switched to Lifetime and I’ve been able to watch it since our cable system refuses to offer Bravo. And I’m done ranting now.)  I mean, you’ve got sharp objects and shiny fabrics mixed with delicious diva-ness and the Sartorial Wisdom That Is Tim Gunn. What’s not to like? I especially love it when the judges go all crazy eyed. Now, I do not claim to know anything — not one single thing — about fashion. But it always amuses me when the Project Runway judges rail against something a show’s designer has produced when THAT VERY SAME LOOK is making the rounds in the real world. Take Peach’s dinner napkins, for example. In this past week’s episode, our favorite Token Old Lady (and note that she’s younger than I am, please) created an outfit that, yes, is ugly and busy and ill-fitting but definitely is not deserving of the judges’ scorn for her waistline “dinner-napkin” embellishment. At least if this fall 2010 cocktail dress by Nanette Lepore, which made it into the September issue of InStyle magazine (page 324), is any indication. Cat Deeley, where are you when we need you?

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Cookbooks

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 I was so proud of myself. Our recent yard sale had but a major dent in the household clutter, and we’d sold tons of all that stuff that sort of accumulates and nobody in the family knows why or where it came from or why somebody had to have it in the first place. Such as sure-I-can-knit-eight-Christmas-stockings supplies. And I-know-I’ll-use-these-purple-silk-flowers someday. And gotta-have cookbooks. Well … actually … we know where all those come from. Raising hand guiltily. I am a cookbook junkie. I admit it. I’m easily seduced by pretty pictures and promises of attainable culinary delight. I’m eternally optimistic, even though deep down I know I’ll never make all … uh … most …  okay…  any of the recipes. But somehow having the book in my possession makes it maybe perhaps possibly likely that I might someday make Peppercorn Roasted Pork with Vermouth Pan Sauce and Spiced Applesauce Cake with Cinnamon Cream-Cheese Frosting for dessert. Maybe. Anyway, everybody — husband, children, friends — commented on how well I’d cleaned out my cookbook stash, and I was starting to believe that maybe I could be trusted to wander through a cookbook aisle once again. However, the very next weekend after our yard sale (The. Very. Next. Weekend.), we went to a friend’s yard sale and because of course the rule is that you HAVE to buy something at a friend’s yard sale, I naturally gravitated to her Table O’Books — and found these cookbook treasures.  Oh, I should mention that my friend is a newspaper cookbook editor, so it’s possible that in the back of mind I thought maybe I’d find something interesting. Maybe. I mean, “Boy Eats World?” How cool is that? And “The Real Woman Cookbook” is a hoot — all feisty and sassy in the manner of Peg Bracken and Erma Bombeck.  “The Fearless Chef” has some wonderful-sounding recipes, and the “Layers of Flavors” and the book about flavored oils have gorgeous inspiring photos. And I got them all for only $5. “I’ve just got to clean out all my cookbooks,” my friend said. My husband just shook his head. But the minute I create a gourmet feast from one of my new cookbooks, he’ll thank me. And I’ll sure let you know when that happens. The cooking part, I mean.

Home Repairs

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I’ll admit it: I was feeling over-confident. I mean, I’d replaced the dented and yellowing window blinds in the workshop on my own — well, I was successful after three trips to Lowe’s to get the right size of blind and with supportive help (“That’s great! You’re doing great!!!”) from Younger Daughter and of course I had to redo it because the first time I put the blinds in backwards, but still. I’d negotiated with painters to come spruce up our kitchen ceiling and the kitchen-to-garage door. I’d even pulled down all the no-longer-working tiny little outdoor lights we’d strung along the deck … five years ago for an after-prom party. Yes, our plan to declutter and brighten and clean up our house to impress potential buyers was going along great. Except for, as I explained in my weekly newspaper column, one stubborn closet doorknob. But I did not let it defeat me! Competence prevailed. It, naturally,  just wasn’t mine.

Come Fire-Hoop with Me. Also: Laura Bush Stole My Tomatoes

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Today was the sort of day which makes me glad for the blogosphere, as most of my friends in Real World already are incredibly tired of hearing this story and so I get to bore and test the patience of share this with y’all sweet people in Blog World. Anyway, this is the story of my Very Strange Day that started out weird, got better and then ended up with Laura Bush — yes, the Mrs. President Laura Bush — stealing tomatoes from me.  You just never know.

The morning kicked off great. I woke up — always a good sign. For once it was not already 91 degrees outside by 6 a.m. and was, in fact, quite pleasant. Plus, I’d made Toddy (cold-pressed coffee) overnight and it drained perfectly for a smooth and fresh first cup of the day. Then the weirdness began, because then I powered up the laptop, logged onto Facebook … and saw a video of Older Daughter hooping with fire. Hooping. With. Fire. She’s a talented and skilled hooper, teaches several hooping classes and even makes and sells hoops with her husband. All that I know. I did not know, however, that you could actually set fire to your hoop and then hoop with it. I think I wish I still didn’t know you could do that. Older Daughter assured me, however, that she’d gone through an intense fire-safety class beforehand and there were bunches of people standing around with a fire extinguisher, a fire blanket and several wet towels. I was not reassured.

However, after that my day improved immensely. Despite me yelling at her over the phone — “Why would you think that hooping with fire is a good idea???” — Older Daughter brought 2 1/2-year-old Capt. Adorable over while she got her hair cut. The Captain and I ran up and down the backyard, tormented the kitty cats (at least, he tormented while I protected) and ate blueberries with grilled-cheese sandwiches. After they left, the magic kept rolling. I went to get a pedicure and didn’t have to wait one single minute. Then I used coupons to get freebies at a couple of my favorite mall stories and racked up some bargains in the Belk clearance rack — I don’t care what my husband anybody says, $65 for a dress and three tops is pretty good.

And then things got weird again, because we’re coming to the part where Lara Bush stole my tomatoes. All day I’d been looking forward to stopping by the farmers’ market this afternoon to pick up some heirloom tomatoes. I love these heirloom tomatoes. They’re so full of flavorful tomato goodness, I can’t even tell you. I’d run out of my latest batch a couple of days ago and couldn’t wait to replenish. But, no. No heirloom tomatoes anywhere at the market. That I could see, anyway. And when I asked Steve, the owner of the market, if he had any of these tomato treasures stashed away, he sorrowfully shook his head and pointed to a long list pinned to his bulletin board. I knew Laura Bush was coming to town to speak at a fund-raising dinner. I did not know that the chefs preparing the dinner had asked Steve to save all his best things for the menu — including my heirloom tomatoes. Hence — and how often do you get to use the word “hence” anymore? — Laura Bush stole my tomatoes. But I still think she’s a nice person. A stealer of tomatoes, but a nice person.

Fashion???

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Oh my cookies! Yup, these are actual pieces of clothing that I wore in the 1980s. And what’s worse is that I actually made them myself. When I was cleaning out closets for a yard sale recently, I found these stashed away … probably in an effort to forget. But it’s not my fault. As stay-at-home moms in the 1980s, my friends and I perfected our uniform of Laura Ashley jumpers, black stretchy stirrup pants and oversized Bedazzled T-shirts gathered on the side with hair scrunchies. Painful but true. And for some reason — I am not creative or crafty or in any way remotely talented artistic-wise — I became addicted to sewing. I made clothes for myself and my two daughters. I made clothes for their dolls. I made pillows and curtains and Halloween costumes. I think I convinced myself I was saving money, although anyone who’s ever wandered into a fabric store and come out minus the grocery-budget for the month recognizes that big fat lie. The collar has little bunnies on it, and I think I work it for Easter over a white blouse. The sweatshirt I have no excuse for. Why I would want to bedeck myself in a huge hot-pink sweatshirt decorated with buttons, bows and spools of thread, I have no idea. Please tell me some of y’all went through this phase, too.

Random Ranting

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This is your lucky morning, because I meandered around cyberspace picking up all sorts of bits and pieces so you don’t have to. Just make another espresso, sit back and enjoy.

First of all, do we really think that Michelle Obama is a 21st-century Marie Antoinette? Uh, no. It’s true that she loves fashion and spends money on clothes. It’s true she likes growing things and puttering around in gardens. It’s true that she’s a victim of gossip and bad press. (Can you tell that I just finished watching Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette?) But that’s where comparisons should end. Mrs. Obama is a smart, educated and sophisticated woman who’s used to a well-off lifestyle, and if she wants to vacation in Spain with her daughter and with a few friends, she shouldn’t have to give that up just because the Secret Service has to tag along, too. And, for the record, I never begrudged the Bush First Family their time off, either. Also, for the record, after I watched Marie Antoinette, I read more about her on the Interwebs and was amazed to find that folks are STILL arguing about whether she was an evil harlot, a misunderstood saint or simply a young girl who made some tragic mistakes. I vote for the latter.

Secondly, in fashion news, have you seen these foldable black flats from Dr Scholl’s? I’ve found them in Walgreens and online but not at the Dr Scholl’s Web site. Initially they seem like a good idea: A pair of soft and packable black ballet flats you can carry in a little pouch on your wrist and slip into when it’s 11:30 p.m. and the wedding reception is in full swing and you’ve worn your pointy black pumps (which are coming back for fall, by the way, so retrieve all those pairs you relegated to the back of your closet in favor of round-toe platforms) since 2 p.m. Ah, sweet relief! But, as several folks have pointed out in the blogosphere, what are you supposed to do with your pumps once you take them off and put the flats on? You can’t put the pumps in the little pouch the flats come in. Chances are they’re not going to fit in your evening bag. You can’t ask your husband/boyfriend/date to hold them. Maybe you’ve got a car handy so you can stash them there, but maybe not. Okay, Dr Scholl’s — what’s your solution for this problem??? I predict special “pump-carrying mini backpacks” to be the next big thing.

Third, I love the way Anthropologie has layering suggestions on its Web site for extending the life of summer dresses into fall and beyond. There are some lovely and creative ideas that make me want to forget about the 101-degree temps today here in northwest Alabama and dream about crisp fall afternoons.  And speaking of fall, it is back-to-school time here in the South, where students typically head back to class the first of August. Why this is, I have no idea. But it is sort of annoying when the national press says things such as “For many families, the main focus of August is getting out of town on vacation,” as the Washington Post did this week, when most Southern families have already picked through the notebook selection at Wal-Mart and are well on the way to the school-year routine. Hey, people, we’re here, too, you know!!! It’s as if one whole section of the country is being ignored. Okay, ranting over. Thanks for listening!