Confessions Of A Dish Whore

By Cassondra Murray

Hi. I’m Cassondra and I am a dish whore.

I know, I know. Those of you who have come to know me in all of my black-wearing, firearm-and-knife-wielding, suspense-writing glory will find this difficult to assimilate. But it’s true.

It doesn’t matter much where the dishes originated. It could be delicate Lenox or sturdy Pfaltzgraff, $30-per-set Gibson from Target or $30-per-teacup Prince Albert porcelain from England. When I see a pretty set of dishes, I immediately start building a table setting around it. Then I start building my fantasy life around it.

I compare it to what I already have, and think about which placemats, tablecloth, chargers and stemware I could combine to make something eclectic. Something different. Something stunning.
And then I start wanting it.

I can spend hours in the housewares department. I imagine MY table set with that, MY house perfectly clean and neat, and all my friends around me, sipping good wine, laughing and having a grand time while I finish dinner and we prepare to sit around that gorgeous table.

My husband, Steve, will come in and give me a kiss and hand me the flowers he brought, then he’ll stir the Bolognese sauce while I greet the first guests for the evening.
If only I had those dishes, you see, all else in my life would fall into perfect alignment. Just like a magazine ad.

Yes. It’s a disease.

And yes, I do need a 12-step program for this.

Or some sort of therapeutic intervention. Or, perhaps, service for 12 of the Lenox Holiday pattern china. I’ve always wanted that set….

Help me.

I’ve been doing better recently. I swear.

Last year I gave away three whole sets of dishes.

It was the summer of 2009. After 8 years of living in this old house, I was finally unpacking everything that remained in my garage. And in so doing, I took stock of all of my dishes. I had to do this because I was trying to find places in the kitchen to store the boxes and boxes of fragile emotional crutches I’d been hoarding. I considered storing dishes under the bed for about twenty seconds, but nixed that idea. I don’t want to have to clean around them, and it’s bad Feng Shui.

You see, I’ve made this asinine rule about bringing more stuff into the house. If I bring anything in, something else has to go out. It’s a hard-ass approach to an unendurable clutter issue. I’m determined I’m going to create a Zen environment, one in which I can actually focus to…you know…write.

So in that summer of 2009, I took inventory. In all, I had eight complete sets of china. I had one service for 36. All matching.

That’s right. I could have served a sit-down dinner for 36 people all on matching dishes.

Now, let’s stop, for just a moment, and consider my actual life.

My dining room—or perhaps we should call it a “nook”-- is 12’X12’.

I’m presently sitting at the round oak dining table, with my laptop propped up on a copy of Sherrilyn Kenyon and Dianna Love’s BLOOD TRINITY as I write this. The rest of the table is covered with stacks of paper of all kinds. Bills, manuscripts, week-old mail, magazines, receipts I need for tax prep, and stuff to be filed. I shoved the paper back to make room for the laptop so I could type this blog. I’m trying to plan time in my schedule to get a dishwasher installed in the (very small) kitchen. Am I seriously going to do a sit-down dinner for 36?

Sure.

Maybe.

In my next life. Where I come back as Cosmic Empress of the Universe.

You know…the life when I have a staff of fifteen and three Five-Star commercial ranges in the kitchen. The kitchen which tastefully combines primitive pie safes and an antique butcher block island with granite countertops, two sinks and two Subzero refrigerators.

Yeah. That life.

On top of that, I don’t KNOW 36 people who I would bring in for a sit-down dinner all at once, unless I had all the cabana boys, the gladiators, the Bandits, and most of the Buddies over at the same time (Sorry, Ermingarde, but you won’t fit through the doorway). And besides, we’ve got the main hall of the Lair for those big parties.

Ah, but I had these visions of round tables draped with festive linens OUTSIDE you see, for a summer party on the lawn by the waterfall.

I can see the audience lean forward, and hear the question vibrating across the ether…..”You have a waterfall?”

No. I don’t. But I’d like to have one. And when I get my waterfall, I’ll sure-as-shootin’ have the dishes to support the darn thing.

See? It’s part of the fantasy.

It’s not that I’ve spent a lot of money on these dishes. I haven’t. My complete service for 36 was on clearance at Target. I paid $27 for all of it. Six sets of six. That’s less than a dollar per place setting!

Who could resist a deal like that?

And it was beautiful. Folk art representations of a village in all of the four seasons painted on the dishes. One season on each piece. I could just see it juxtaposed on a sage-green tablecloth with woven, mustard-yellow placemats and deep Aztec-red napkins, with a rich centerpiece made of red apples, golden pears, and jewel-tone turban squash, with autumn leaves scattered across the table. I’d weave in some gold-glitter-coated dried flower stems and gold-paint coated giant acorns, Then I’d set out some votives in deep red cut glass holders. My emerald-green stems with gold rims would be perfect. I’d turn the lights down and light the oil lamps and the table would glow.

Wouldn’t you like to eat a meal with good friends at a table like that?

I am a Goth, Martha-Stewart Mini-Me. I love all things beautiful and tasteful. I just happen to love them while I'm wearing black.

And I think pretty table settings are one of life’s most complete sensual experiences.

Think about it. Nobody serves Kraft mac & cheese on fine china. If the good stuff is laid out, you’re gonna get a home-cooked—or at least a home-catered—meal. And you’re going to sit down to that meal at a table laid out and decorated in a way that makes you stop and savor it.

I am hopeless.

I have dishes I’ve inherited. Some of them fairly valuable, though I’d have no idea how to sell such things. Some of them are quite ordinary, but hold fond memories because my grandmother served “dinner” (lunch for you city folk who don’t understand these things) to work hands on those dishes. Some of them are odd pieces of what I know to be collectible china, and some are 100-year-old pieces that I just think are beautiful. Platters, gravy boats, vegetable bowls and footed cake plates.

Jeanne’s post about decorating the Lair yesterday set this off. It's her fault. And the Christmas season makes it worse, yaknow….All the parties…all the opportunities to use that Lenox Holdiay china....

Let’s talk punch bowls for just a minute here.

When we did our First-Ever Bandit Bash in San Francisco in 2008, I created a wine punch recipe and then contacted our West-Coast Bandits, asking who had a punch bowl we could use for the Bash.

Not one.

That’s right. There are no punch bowls in California.

Apparently, people on the West Coast do not drink punch at baby showers.

I live in the south. I cannot comprehend this.

I called Jeanne, who lives in Maryland, but grew up in North Carolina, which is technically the Upper South.

“Do you have a punch bowl?” I said.

“Yes,” she said. “I have two.”

Ha! I was vindicated.

I have not one, but TWO punch bowls of my own. No matter that I use them only once every three years. I have one large cut-crystal punch bowl, complete with cut-crystal cups hanging on little s-hooks around its rim, which used to belong to my mom. And I have one smaller, blown-glass, footed punch bowl I earned as a bonus when I was a crystal dealer. It’s magical. Faeries would drink punch out of this bowl.

Yes. I was once a crystal dealer. Not only am I a dish whore, I was once a dish pimp.

I did a presentation to a group of ladies when I was a dish pimp, and have never forgotten the words of one woman, as she was moved to the point of poetry by the sparkle of the lights glinting off of the 24 percent lead crystal, and said, ”my lips LOVE to drink out of pretty glasses.”

Mmmmmm. Mine too.

Yesterday I stopped by a little consignment store at a corner I pass on my way into town. They had two pedestal punch bowls, complete with complete sets of matching cups. Dirt cheap. I very nearly came home with one.

I resisted. Just barely.

I have a deep disdain for paper plates. Even at picnics. I tolerate them only to experience the awesome food heaped upon them, and to be polite to the people I love.

But honestly? I want the picnic sets with the porcelain-like, hard plastic plates and the real silverware, all nestled in a pretty chintz-fabric-lined, lidded basket.

It’s not that I’m uber-formal. I’m not. I hate snobbery, and dislike formality as a rule.
One time I was in a five-star restaurant in Florida. You could have heard a pin drop in that place. (Totally NOT a fit for my personality) There was a little girl at the next table. The lace on her skirt was so stiff it cracked every time she moved. She had to speak in a whisper and looked about to cry. Absolutely miserable. I felt so bad for her.

The little guy who filled the iced tea was pestering the bejeebers out of me, filling it up every time I took a drink and messing up my sacred tea/sugar ratio. (It’s a sin to have to sweeten one’s own tea anyhow, especially in the South. What were they thinking?) I pointed to a spot low on my glass. I gave him my most threatening squint. “When the tea gets down to here,” I said, “you can come back. But not before that.”

His eyes got wide. He didn’t come back for a long time. I was way too loud for that restaurant.
I am not Miss Formal. Honest. I just like dishes.

No. I LOVE dishes. And pretty table settings. I love eating at a beautiful table.

I grew up on a farm in the country, eating on mismatched plates. I don’t know where this came from.

Seriously. I need professional help. Something is wrong with me.

Am I the only one?

Is there another Buddy out there who will raise your hand and say, “Yes, I am a dish whore!” along with me?

Or are y’all the paper-plate –for-dinner types?

I recognize that you paper plate types are, truly, the practical ones. It’s not that I can’t accept, intellectually, that you’re right.

I just don’t understand you.

I can’t relate.

Is there anybody out there like me? Do you love pretty dishes?

Do you stop and stare when you pass the Macy’s housewares window?

Do you covet the Lenox Holiday set, even though you’d only use it one month out of the year?

Be honest. You know you want it.

Don’t you?

Do you like sitting at a beautifully-laid table?

Or are you just as happy with paper plates and cups, and serving out of Tupperware?


Am I the only Dish Whore in the Bandit Lair?


Say it ain’t so.Source URL: https://violeta-diario.blogspot.com/search/label/Holidays
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Share & Share Alike

by Susan Sey

This is going to be a quick one because I'm in the process of adoring my new nephew, & it's time consuming. That new baby smell is mesmerizing. Hours could go by while I inspect his teeny weeny fingernails. He is coming home today so I confess right up front I will be busy. We have business, this child & I, so it's likely I will be scarce. Sorry.

But I did want to mention this odd bit of coincidence: Robbie was born July 2. My mother's birthday is July 1. My mother is from Ireland, and St. Patrick's Day is a big holiday for our family. My latest niece (the equally adorable Claire) arrived the day after St. Patrick's Day. My oldest child was born on my parents' 38th wedding anniversary, & my sister shares a wedding anniversary with my parents-in-law.

My birthday is August 29, the same day as Hurricane Katrina. Another of my sisters' birthdays is September 11. My father's birthday is the day after Christmas, a birthday he shares with the new baby's father, my brother-in-law.

This seems like a lot of coincidence. We're not an extraordinarily large family, so odds don't favor this kind of overlap. Are we just lucky? Or do all families have this kind of share & share alike mentality for important dates?

How about you? Are there any big dates & seasons of celebration in your family? What are they? Do you make a point of giving each person their own celebration, or do you go in for the One Big Party?Source URL: https://violeta-diario.blogspot.com/search/label/Holidays
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Sailing Away to Holidays

posted by hackey hudjson

Holiday greetings! By the time you read this I will be heading home from another fun cruise to Mexico where I soaked up lots of bright warm sunshine, and with any luck, finally kicked aside the last of this annoying 'bug' that hit me on Friday the 13th and lingered waaay too long.

It's true that Aunty is a nasty ole grinchy woman, and I like to spend my holidays AWAY from home. I like to be far away from the hustle, bustle, and crass commercialism that seems to over-run every place around here. I admit, I may have gone a wee bit overboard last year by traveling all the way to Turkey, a predominantly Muslim country. But, hey, I didn't hear a single Christmas carol and saw only one Christmas tree (an odd little black plastic thing in a shopping mall in Konya) in the two weeks I was gone.

Christmas in western Mexico is much nicer, and not just because of the lovely warm weather. There are plenty of decorations, carols, and trees, but they seem simpler and far more sincere than the garish displays up north in California.

The big Christmas tree in the main plaza of old town Mazatlan is decorated with red velvet bows and long garlands of paper flowers. Unlike Nor Cal, December is dry, so no worries about rain spoiling the fabric or paper decorations, which are what most people put up on their eaves and around their windows (sorry I don't have pictures but will post some taken by others).

Lights are usually single strands with multi-colored bulbs, just like we used a couple of decades ago before everyone went crazy with all these hanging multi-strands and plastic inflatables. Acapulco has a population of over two million, and I think everyone of them has at least one strand of holiday lights. Since the ship did not leave port until 11 PM, I stood on the top deck and admired the thousands of beautiful lights shining all the way up on the hillsides surrounding the harbor. Spectacular!

Thanks to the warm climate, flowers are also in abundance this time of year and are used extensively for decorations. I don't think I've ever seen more blooming poinsettias than the profusion hanging and filling every available space in the public market in Manzanillo. All those natural red and green colors were gorgeous!

Of course, all that bucolic splendor flies right out the window as soon as I get back on the ship. Talk about Christmas excess! There are decorated trees in every public venue. Wreaths, garland, and tinsel threaten to strangle me at every turn. Christmas music blasts from the PA system. (Aunty sighs heavily) I guess if I must endure the holiday madness, there are far worse places than a cruise ship!

And the Lair is lots of fun too! But please tell Aunty, what place would you like to sail away for the holidays: a) Mexico b) the Carribean c) Europe d) someplace else (WHERE?)

Since we are still celebrating the 12 Bandita Days of Christmas, one lucky commenter will win a prize!

HAPPY HOLIDAYS ALL!Source URL: https://violeta-diario.blogspot.com/search/label/Holidays
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Holiday Hangovers

by Caren Crane

So, yesterday was a major holiday in the USA, Independence Day. Like most families, we've developed a rather sloppy set of "traditions" surrounding this holiday. My husband and I often didn't realize we had a "tradition" until we were in danger of not fulfilling our childrens' expectations and got an earful about it. Who knew? Most of these evolved from desperation and convenience.

Desperation: finding something to do with the bored children. Now, my youngest is pushing 15, so I have no "young children" anymore. However, teenagers get as bored (or moreso) than kids of other ages, so we still find ourselves looking for things to entertain them. Fortunately, we've most past getting up at the crack of dawn to get in the face painting line at the "old-fashioned" Fourth of July celebration down the road, followed by standing in the blazing hot sun to watch the kids ride their decorated bikes in the "parade". Those were tough years, because somehow my husband managed to weasle out of it and I was left to have all the "fun". Sometimes it was fun, but usually it was hot and there was no bathroom in sight and I ended up sunburned despite my best efforts. That "tradition" was one to which I happily waved goodbye when the desperation levels subsided.

Convenience: fireworks that can be seen from a vantage point at the grocery store parking lot just down the road. The suburban town where we live has a huge symphony concert and fireworks display in an outdoor amphitheater that is about two miles from our house as the crow flies. Because of the proximity, we and many other families skip all the brouhaha surrounding the amphitheater and simply camp out in one of a number of parking lots for the fireworks display. That's all fine and well, as long as you park in the right place and don't get caught in the traffic exiting the amphitheater afterward. Convenient, yes, and also fun.

These days, however, my husband and I are more inclined to hang out and talk with friends than pack the kids up in the van and hustle off to see fireworks at 9 pm. As a result, last night we had friends over and were busy watching the end of one of our favorite movies (Moonstruck) when we heard the fireworks start. The youngest (who is, as mentioned, almost 15), was in a panic. I tried to do my motherly duty and a few minutes later we were packed in the car and heading up to the display. This year, however, our state is experiencing huge budget deficits, so all the towns apparently shortened their displays. We did see quite a few lovely displays (as well as some neighbors were launching, despite the laws against it) and we saw the "finale"...through the trees.

I have, dear friends, endured the tears and silent treatment from the youngest ever since. *sigh* Thus my holiday hangover. Sadly, there was no alcohol involved.

So what about you? Have you ever brought on your own holiday hangover? Not bought the "must have" gift? Forgotten the kids' favorite "tradition"? Neglected to bake someone's favorite pie? Please, tell me I'm not alone!Source URL: https://violeta-diario.blogspot.com/search/label/Holidays
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A Kind of Hush

by Nancy

Some 40 years or so ago, a group of British musicians "invaded" the American music scene. Exactly 40 years ago yesterday (I'm writing this on Christmas Day), Apollo 8 orbited the moon with guidance systems more primitive than the computer on my desk. And somehow, the news coverage this week has drawn them together for me.

The title of this post was inspired by a song one of those invading British musicians, an extremely cute young man named Peter but known as Herman, made famous. The refrain was There's a kind of hush/ All over the world tonight . . . and went on to talk about lovers in love. There's a hush in my neighborhood right now, the hush that comes on major holidays when everyone's inside, at gatherings that mark romantic and filial and friendly love.

Not all of these holidays are Christian, of course. The world's Christian population is somewhere between 20 and 33 percent, depending on which sources you consult. Which means the rest of the world follows creeds (or nonreligious ethical systems) other than ones based on Jesus's teachings. In the United States, Christianity (and thus, Christmas) is a dominant cultural force, but that's not so in other parts of the world, where Jews, Muslims, Hindus, or Buddhists dominate. In those parts of the world, I assume, shops are open, streets are bustling with whatever traffic is usual, and people are going about their daily business. Yet all of the major religions and ethical systems have at least a couple of things in common--a belief in kindness or charity to the rest of humanity and a desire for peace among peoples (I except the militant religious splinter groups from this statement and hope we can avoid discussing them. For me, at least, today is a day to think of peace on Earth).

Which brings me, at last, to Apollo 8 and its crew, Frank Borman, Jim Lovell, and William Anders (who took the famous picture at left). They noted that there are no boundaries or divisions on the planet in that photo or in the view from space. Subsequent astronauts have said the same thing, that after a few days in space, they stopped thinking about their own parts of the world and saw it as a whole. The Earth is, of course, still fraught with war, genocide, famine, and plague. The hush in my neighborhood doesn't extend nearly far enough. I hope, though, that it will someday.

In the meantime, I'm grateful for my family and our friends and neighbors and our peaceful morning. I'm also grateful for all the Christmases past that I shared with family and friends who've moved away or passed away. A good friend of ours made our beautiful tree skirt, came over with her husband to help decorate the tree every year until they moved to Arizona, gave us ornaments and beautiful, cross-stitched art, and reveled in all things Christmas except the holiday itself. They're Jewish, you see, and she didn't feel right about putting up a tree of her own.

One year, when I was about 7, I got the Barbie Dream House for Christmas. The adults in my life didn't realize it came with Massive Assembly Required (all the furniture--think tab A and slot B--which was then cardboard). I don't think, personally, that could possibly have been as bad as tiny decals for Gundams and Power Rangers, but I could be wrong. Anyway, the adults were so distracted by furniture assembly that they forgot to open the chimney flue. Until the smoke from burning wrapping paper poured into our living room to remind them. We had to evacuate the house until they got the situation straightened out, and then we froze with the windows open for a couple of hours. My grandfather lived with us, so our house was jammed with aunts and uncles and cousins on Christmas Day. And all us kids were in the yard together that morning, freezing. I cherish the memory of that day. All the adults are gone now, and the kids have kids of our own, and the cyle of life moves on.

I hope you've had wonderful memories of this day or other holidays your family celebrates. Will you share them? What's your favorite holiday, and what does it make you think about?Source URL: https://violeta-diario.blogspot.com/search/label/Holidays
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Eloisa James' Special Treat!

by Anna Sugden

Can there be a better way to kick off the holiday season in the Lair than to welcome back one of our favourite guests - Eloisa James?

Join us as we celebrate the launch of Eloisa's latest book in the Duchesses series "When the Duke Returns", find out how to make your holiday special with treats just for yourself ... and be part of the chance to win one of Eloisa's 5 (yes, 5!) prizes.

So without further ado, I'll hand you over to Eloisa.

Thank you, Anna. I'm delighted to return to the Bandita's Lair.

Decembers tend to pass in a whirl of wrapping paper and exhaustion—a month spent creating beautiful memories for other people, most of whom are under the age of consent and are perfectly happy chewing on squeaky toys.

My point is that we often forget something: ourselves. What would make you really happy? As a woman?

My answer is to feel loved. And my prescription is love yourself this holiday. When your children look back over their memories, they'll see it in a whirl of joy, presents, and love. But you're the key to that. The only way you can be the calm center at the heart of their joy is if you yourself are joyful. And the only way you can be joyful is if you are happy with yourself.

Recipe for Self Love

Lingerie. Buy something and wear it under your sweatshirt. The crucial point: you're not doing this for your partner, but for yourself.

Toes. A winter pedicure is delicious, partly because it's a secret known only to you (and perhaps the man you deem lucky enough to kiss your coral pink toes).

Time. That's the main gift you have to give yourself: time. Put on some music, get into the bathtub, and read. I even have suggested reading material: my latest, When the Duke Returns. My duke, Simeon, returns to England after years exploring the wilderness to meet the wife he married by proxy: Isidore. But he takes one look at her and offers an annulment: she’s too beautiful, too sexy, and too angry for him. Typically for a man, he’s underestimating Isidore (not to mention the power of lingerie—see above)!

It’s my hope that in reading how Simeon and Isidore fall in love, even in the midst of terrible problems with water closets (toilets), siblings, a rather horrific mother-in-law and a house renovation, will help you survive your December.

What’s your favorite survival recipe? What do you do to survive in the midst of chaos (and let’s not even talk about Black Friday shopping)?

Don't forget that 5 lucky commenters will win prizes today - Eloisa is giving away two copies of 'Desperate Duchesses', two copies of 'An Affair Before Christmas' and one copy of 'Duchess by Night'. Source URL: https://violeta-diario.blogspot.com/search/label/Holidays
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