party girls

Time to dig through the CDs. It's an MJ kind of day. Mahalia Jackson, that is. Some of y'all know what I'm talking about. It's rainy here. There's a little melancholy following me around. It's time for a boost in spirit.

Speaking of a boost, I had Big Fun, capital B, capital F, on Friday night. Last Wednesday was Natalie's birthday, her 41st. I have to say, there's so much less pressure on 41 than on 40. I say this as one who's experienced both birthdays, and as one who has racked her brain trying to think of the ultimate of ultimate ways to celebrate friends turning 40, then the next year found much more ease, and maybe even fun, in celebrating 41. Not that our 40ths weren't fab-o-lous -- they were. It's just that 41 brought a lovely dose of mellow along with. (42, can you wait a little bit? What is this speed of light toward 80?)

Natalie with her "Many Faces of Natalie" Cake, brought to us by Ellen. Best cake ever!

I love birthdays, I do, and when I really get to share in a friend's birthday, I co-opt it. (One year, Mister Stevens and I traded birthdays. It was such silly good times I can't even tell you.) Natalie and I went out to lunch and to Loehmann's for birthday bargains. (She even lets me share her birthday discount coupon. See? How could I not think it's my day too?) Then we had a birthday snack at everyone's new fav yogurt (or, whatever it really is) place, Pinkberry. We saved the party for Friday night. Natalie invited our friends, and her mom, to The Urban Craft Center in Santa Monica. Our friends are crafty ladies and we get together for Stitch 'n Bitch -- okay, I haven't been in a while, gotta work on that -- every Thursday, so we wanted to do something other than meet, eat pizza, drink booze, and knit. In a stroke of genius, Natalie scheduled us for a needle felting class. I had never needle felted and kept thinking it was something it wasn't, then something else. It was spectacular fun, is what it was. I mean, Nintendo, Wii, computers, DDR, HD, iPhones -- whatev! Try poking things with tiny needles. Crazy!

Raw material.

Natalie had some needle felting experience, but no one else did. When we sat down and saw what we'd be working with, we were like, Wha? Carolyn and Janie, our fearless instructors, were great. They told us the basics, the nature of the material we'd be using, and how not to hurt ourselves (the needles used in needle felting are sharp like a mofo). The jewel of the night was when Carolyn observed us all and said, "If you're going to look away from your project, you might want to stop poking." I'll say.

The start of something sweet.

Et voila! A cupcake. Or a mushroom with a cherry on top. Made by me.

We all started off by making the same project -- cupcakes. This gave us the hang of things. Once our cupcakes were done, we were set free, with supervision, to make whatever we wanted. The UCC has lots of craft books lying around for inspiration. I had noticed some adorable penguins while flipping through a Japanese needle felting book. I figured I could produce something close to a penguin, so I made Pee Vee. (He kind of looks like an owl, too. One member of our group, Malina, even said he looks like her cats. Ouch! He's a penguin!) When I got home from the party, I couldn't stop myself from knitting him a scarf. I am not much for stuffed animals or toys, but something's come over me with this whole idea of a penguin being born from a hunk of wool, and in less than an hour.

Here's Pee Vee, pre scarf, with his pal, Maryjo's chick.

I loved two things best: Celebrating Natalie, who is completely wonderful, fun, talented, generous, smart, and foxy (everyone should know her!); and watching all the cute and crazy things -- first the cupcakes, then animals, an iPod cozy, Ellen even made a fried egg in anticipation of Mardi Gras -- emerge, spontaneously, from balls of wool.

Here are more pics, courtesy of Ellen (so are the 2 of me, above):

Lookit these masterful creations! Natalie's skunk of love. Darcy's iPod cozy (until I steal it).

Clockwise from back row left: Ellen, Maryjo, Sher (Nat's mom), me, Lori (I wish you could see her baby harp seal up close; it's wearing a beret and holding a paintbrush and palette!), Nat, Darcy. Malina had to leave early, but she made a cute cupcake.

Can't go without saying, if you're in LA and looking for a good time, check out The Urban Craft Center. It is a place of unparalleled crafty goodness.

*h*Ap*Py bI*R*th*Da*Y* again, dear Natalie. :)

a few for the road

Oh, the things I want to do.

I feel like I've got so many loose ends going on here on the blog and in the world of bricks and mortar.

I still plan to post about Paris. I haven't shown the contest projects, one of which I'm still working on. I want to start e-mailing responses to comments because I really do appreciate when people are kind enough to leave a word or two and it was especially uplifting in response to my birthday posts. Plus, it's a good way to make new friends, and don't new friends add adventure to life? There was also that little trip to Austin, where I saw my first SuperTarget (yes, SuperTarget!), shared love with my mother-in-law, and got to spend an afternoon with a very cool and talented knitting book writer and blogger. I haven't posted about any of it. Now I'm off to New York City, where I'm bound to gather more stories and pictures that will dog my heels until I can finally post about them, too.

And guess what? It's that time of year again. The time when my laptop needs to go back to Dell for repair. I won't go into this further, lest I run the risk of snapping the monitor from its hinges and throwing the keyboard/cpu into the toilet.

At the end of this foggy night (the dawn of this foggy morning?) I'm concluding that I'll simply have to do the best I can, here on the blog, and in the world of bricks and mortar.

I wanted to share a few more b-day pics. Here they are:

The last one is an "I guess you had to be there" shot. (Girls, remember, No wrists!)

eye candy friday -- celebration

Aw. Thanks, everyone, for the birthday greetings. I really appreciate that you guys took the time to wish an ol' young gal like me a happy one. :)

Tonight's eye candy comes to you courtesy of Miss Ellen. A few shots from my b-day gathering Wednesday night. I took some photos myself, before my camera battery died, but I'm too tuckered out from all the celebrating to upload them so I'll post a few later. But it's no matter. Ellen's great at capturing the moment as it unfolds.

The spot.

I've driven past Genghis Cohen a zillion times but had never eaten there. It turned out to be the perfect spot for a birthday dinner (Valecia, I loves ya gal. You sure know what's good).

Check out these two lovelies, Natalie and Valecia.

This one was taken after I'd partaken in the cocktail menu. Isn't Tami's blouse beautiful? She made it herself. Yes she did.

The Fabtastic LA Ell and Natalie.

Pretty Darcy.

I have to say I had one of the best birthdays ever. I made out like a bandit, receiving everything from great handmade stuff (mwah, Ellen and Natalie), to delicious body products (Darcy, I'm having another birthday next week, wink wink), to gift certificates for cool stuff (Valecia, I'll be beating a path to Pulp tomorrow), to gorgeous flowers (Tami, you're the best. Next year wrap my flowers in that blouse!), to tickets to a show I'm thrilled I got a chance to see, featuring the world's most fabulous comedienne (thank you, Bubs. That was beyond sweet).

Much as I love all the loot I got (who wouldn't?), I love the time I got to spend with my friends even more. Ellen, I can't thank you enough for insisting that we go out to celebrate. I really needed that. (And thanks for these wonderful pictures too.)

they say it's my birthday

I've always had style and known how to show it.

Happy birthday to me. The big 4-1. So far, so good.

steven's 41st happy one

Mr. Stevens is in Amsterdam, and I am thinking of him, because today is his birthday. Last year I did a blog tribute (hard to believe it's been a year, even though life seems so different now), so this year I'll just say, Stevie G, I love you madly.

happy birthday, ellen bloom

Here's to you, Miss Ellen. Your devotion to art is an inspiration, your joie de vivre, infectious. You are generous of spirit, fabulous of taste, and a downright hoot to craft with. Sure, Mr. Larry comes to the party every now and then. And yes, he knows how to spark things up (see Maserati Ken, below), but it's you who packs the house week after week, keeping a couch potato like me coming to see what you've made, hear what you'll say, and bask in your presence. Tell Mr. Larry I say he's lucky indeed, because, Ellen, you're simply the best.

and she shares, too

Ellen shows me, Natalie, and Darcy around the granny square.

my boy Schmin 

lookout world, the schminster is 21

Schmin, besides that you are the only fruit my loins will ever bear, here are 13 reasons why I love you (I tried to narrow it down to ten, but considering that I could think of at least 10,000, I figure 13 is pretty good):

13) At a party once, when the dean of one of UCLA's colleges tried to tempt you with the "amazing and innovative programs" his school has to offer, you said to him, Sorry man, that's not my thing. At least you're honest.

12) We have shared the nickname Schmin since you were 7.

11) You made me friends. When we were in grad school at Columbia, living in our Columbia apartment near the campus, I'd see classmates and acquaintances and duck to the other side of the street, as is my way. But you, ever gregarious and ready to buddy up, made a point of busting me by yelling to people, Hey, how you doing? Here's my mom. She says hi!

10) You started your own catering business, Kid in the Kitchen, in 9th grade. You single-handedly served school functions and PTA meetings. You took it in stride when people accused you of passing off your mother's baked ziti and salad (and when you'd come home, we'd get big yuks out of that while me and Steven would hit you up for the leftovers).

9) You've always been generous, offering up your pennies so that I never had to rob your piggy bank for gas money.

8) You illuminated my life with a single question. When I expressed anger over having to return my new Mac because the CD drive didn't work, you said to me, "You didn't want a broken one, did you?"

7) You starred as MLK in a first grade tribute. You delivered one hell of an "I Have a Dream," even though you didn't have any front teeth.

6) You will happily claim anyone as a relative. You have no truck with particulars like who is the daughter of which aunt or the father of what cousin. I could show up with a Ukrainian baby and you would immediately go around telling everyone it's your brother.

5) You didn't gripe when I saddled you with the hokey title "Lad of Honor" at my wedding. And when it was time for you to hold my flowers, you did it without (too much) exaggerated masculinity.

4) You so easily loved the Bubba.

3) The two of us together can ride a joke until the wheels fall off.

2) Your grandmother may have doubted many things, but she never doubted that you adored her.

1) You could have made me a 35-year-old grandma, but you didn't.

Happy 21, Schmin. Right now it's killing me that's it's all gone by so fast.

happy birthday, nat-o-lee

Knit up a poodle outfit and look this cute in it, I dare you.

15 january 1966

happy appearance day, mr. stevens

Really, it's impossible to adequately celebrate someone who's meant the world to you since way before you knew what the world was. Twenty-five years.

High school. College. Grad school. Adulthood. Birth. Parenthood. Death. Albums. Tapes. CDs. Haircuts. Hair loss. Hair color. Bills. Cars. Groceries. Apartments. Secrets. Lies. Fists thrown. Money shared. Cold wars. Meltdowns. Love fests. Dancing. Singing. Crying. Drowning. Listening. Vowing. Running. Flying. Careening. Company. Parties. Jobs. Foodstamps. Men. Letters. Poems. Phone calls. Visits. Rites. Rituals. Routines. Cities. States. Distance. Closeness.


If anyone should ever write Steven's life story, I'd beg to include the following:

When I was young and fighting with my baby daddy, he kicked me out with nothing but a fine-toothed comb. Steven got his sister to agree to let me live with her in case I couldn't find my own place, took me to JC Penney and bought me panties on his charge card.

Even though he HATES being called Steve and will cut you if you even try it, when my mother called him Steve, he never once blinked.

One day he gave me a thousand dollars and he wasn't even rich.

He lives with grace, gusto and gratitude, never rolling over, when other men would.

If Steven loves you, there's no way you can not know it.

He comforted me through every corndog boyfriend I thought I couldn't live without.

He thought I was cute before I had the good sense to wax my eyebrows.

He got me my first job out of high school, at Pizza Hut, and when our boss wanted to fire me for averaging 20 minutes to wipe down a table, he gently broke the news that I'd better speed it up.

He believes beyond all reason that I can accomplish every dream I've ever had.

We looked for Schmin on Steven's birthday (he came four days later).

Steven can dance like you would not believe.

He remembers my mother with the same love and longing that I do.

He hitched me and the Bubba in wholly matrimony.

He taught me how to be a generous partner, so that the wholly matrimony might stick.

Steven is Schmin's Godfather.

Steven is Schmin's Godfather and he raised him as his own son.

When my asymmetrical department store haircut came out like a sideways mohawk and I went to him crying, he marched me back to the store and demanded my money back. Look at her, he said to the stylist and the manager, Does this look like a good haircut to you?

The kids at his first library job called him Mr. Stevens instead of Mr. Steven. That tickled us. It still does.

He laughed so hard at my Flori Roberts makeover that I couldn't cry about it.

He's the only person who's ever shared my mother.

Women shaped his world and he's not afraid to say it.

He went to more parent/teacher conferences than I ever did.

We lived together most of our adult lives and never ran out of things to talk about.

When we met in 9th grade science class, he had an afro befitting a prince.

He can draw.

He can sing.

We used to dodge the number 30 bus, the one the cool kids rode, to duck into St. Vincent dePaul's to get our wardrobe on.


My God. Steven was there when Schmin took his first steps. He held out his arms and Schmin fought his own legs to get to him. You'd better believe I love this man. You'd better believe it.

Happy 40th birthday, Steven. Your appearance on this earth, at this time, is evidence of grace.