Paper Flowers

I sit every morning now at my computer with the sound of heavy machinery, including drills, in the background as the workers continue to construct the latest McMansion in the neighborhood. Today, my spark came from a Martha Stewart email in my inbox, instructions on how to construct paper flowers, and I'm compelled to wonder what a life would be like doing so -- stopping, if not to smell them, than to cut and fold and twist into shape, not unlike those guys behind me who are basically just doing their job, not destroying the neighborhood. I haven't felt particularly inspired of late -- too busy with the ghostwriting project, homeschooling and dealing with the unbloggable. I'd like to get back into it, though, wade through paper flowers and machinery and build something of my own.

Why?

1. 

2. FitFlops with Swarovski Crystals

3. Tea Party Lady Patriots

My sisters, whom I almost never write about, are two of the funniest people on the planet. Just yesterday, one of them texted me with a question regarding my memory of a mouse playground that she had gotten one Christmas in the 1960s. When I told her that I only vaguely remembered it, she sent me a photo, and it all came back to me. Then she told me that she'd found a vintage one and bought it and was beside herself with excitement. It was a bargain! she told me, It comes with all the mice! I totally got it and admit to being a little envious about that mouse playground. We exchanged a few more texts about the merry-go-round piece that closely resembled the one on our elementary school playground in New Jersey, and my sister added that she was super excited about the extra slide that she still has from the sixties to add to the playground when it comes in the mail. Like I said, I get it.

The other sister and I like to take photos of outlandish things or make comments about certain style choices that we might see, randomly, on the streets of Los Angeles or Washington, D.C. My text might read: 

Denim high-waisted short shorts. Why? 

She might immediately text back:

God! With a belt, right?

Her text to me this afternoon was the photo above of Martha Stewart in full Halloween regalia with the word Why?

I texted back that I loved her so much. My sister that is, not Fairy GrandMartha.

Reader, ask yourself why? Cleverest answers to the why of the above photos get a lifetime supply of cupcakes or a snapshot of the mouse playground or -- better yet -- some high-waisted denim shorts. With a belt.

Weekend Wrap Up: Henry, Oliver, Sophie, Oscar, Pigs in Chocolate and Me

That's my boy, getting ready for his first Homecoming Dance. Here's a shot of him getting his tie re-tied. There was a constant stream of comments from the Peanut Gallery. There were also looks of adoration from the Peanut Gallery.

Lest you think this was an idyllic scene, know that a fight ensued, and The Peanut Gallery's parting remarks were I hope you die at the dance! Henry's response was You're not a good person.

Brothers.

Looking sharp, Henry!

Well, the west coast has the sunshine and the girls all look so tan --

The only glitch in the night was Henry showing up at the gathering spot without a corsage for his date AND no jacket. I had suggested both and was nixed. Ahem. Thankfully, he did not die at the dance and, rather, danced the night away with about 900 other kids. I have to say that with the exception of the beautiful part, I'm glad that I'm no longer a teenager.

Earlier in the day, I had baked and decorated a chocolate cake for an adorable eighty-year old man. I had met this man a few months back, when I had dinner with him and his partner of forty years. They just got married, are both impossibly handsome and fun, and I'm just thrilled to have been included in the celebration. Here's the cake:

Here's a close-up:

And here:

Those are pink fondant pigs, basking in the best chocolate frosting you've ever made. It's Martha Stewart's recipe, and I think I posted it once on this blog, but I can't be bothered right now to find it. Kit Kats lined the cake.

Here I am at the party. I won an Oscar for the cake:

In all honesty, that's a real Oscar, won by my friend's grandfather back in the twenties. It is very heavy, very shiny and very cool.

Thank you to my readers, all of whom I would be desperate without.

Today, I'm doing laundry, setting out the Halloween shit with Oliver and otherwise relaxing. I increased Sophie's medication a few days ago, in a half-hearted attempt to decrease her seizures. The medication is a benzo and has a slow half-life (this is the sort of lingo that my peeps only will understand). It appears to be catching up with her, because this is what she looks like for much of the day:

The life of a person with uncontrolled epilepsy can truly suck, and I'm not going to mince words about that. One can certainly live well with epilepsy, but for the 30% of those whose seizures are not controlled or who need massive amounts of drugs to control them, epilepsy is a scourge -- god-d*&^ed, f*&%ing scourge.

So, not to leave you with a bunch of imprecations, but what are you up to this Sunday afternoon?