Deschid televizorul de dimineata,peste tot politica…Nu stiu care primar democrat-liberal a batut nu stiu ce cameraman,reporter,sau ce-o fi fost…Toata lumea,pe toate canalele,vorbeste despre viitoarele alegeri la presedentie…Se discuta cu teama despre Traian Basescu si ai lui,si pe buna dreptate cu teama,ca in sondaje are un procent 30%,ca ne va mai conduce inca 5 ani de zile in stilul caracteristic…Ca vom inghiti in sec inca 5 ani,ca vom fi si mai saraci decat am fost.Acum insa,a mai aparut inca un subiect care daca pana acum nu avea o mare importanta,acum a bagat frica in toti romanii,orice functie ar avea si oricat de saraci sau de bogati ar fi…Gripa Porcina…Am observat si la metrou,cei de la firma de paza “Scorseze“ poarta deja celebrele “Masti Anti-Gripa“,si la Mall farmacistele,angajatii(nu toti),copiii care in loc sa fie la scoala sunt la “Opera“ sau la “Spring time“ etc…Ce ti-e si cu gripa asta…Daca pana acum lumea nu dadea o prea mare importanta,iata ca acum au inceput s-o ia din ce in ce mai serios si incearca cu disperare sa se protejeze de noul virus AH1N1…Mie unul,nu prea imi pasa.Daca va fi sa se intample,se va intampla oricum,oricat de mult m-as feri…Pe conceptia asta am fost mereu,desi niciodata nu am fost “rau de boala“…Cum Vrea Cel De Sus asa se va intampla de fiecare data…Nu-mi sta mie capul la gripa,la politica,etc.Mie imi sta capul la altceva…Ar trebui sa-i spun cateva cuvinte Andreei,insa am hotarat sa aman treaba asta pana pe 30 noiembrie,chiar de Sfantul Andrei…Atunci am de gand sa ii ofer si un mic cadou,in semn de recunostinta si de respect,fetei cu cel mai frumos zambet din cate am vazut vreodata…mi-a placut mie din prima clipa zambetul ei,care de altfel pot sa va spun ca este unul DIVIN.M-am saturat sa tot vorbesc si sa fac campanie anti-Basescu…Oricum sunt cateva mii de idioti manipulati de cei din echipa lui Basescu,de cei din partidul lui Basescu care mai nou a inceput sa ofere excursii,bani si multe altele,doar pentru a atrage tineri prosti si naivi(scuzati-mi exprimarea),sunt cateva mii de persoane care nu-si dau seama de consecintele unui nou mandat Basescian…Unui om poti sa-i iei ceva cu forta,insa sa-i bagi minte in cap cu forta,nu se poate…Asadar astia care veti vota Traian Basescu pentru inca 5 ani,asteptati-va la ce e mai rau,pentru ca v-o faceti cu mana voastra…Trecem peste asta,si revenim putin la subiectul Andreea,unul cu mult mai interesant si mai frumos decat subiectele politice…Deja mie dor de ea,nu am mai vorbit cu ea de vreo 4 zile,si am o senzatie ciudata ca a patit ceva,sau ca e trista,suparata,etc. …Ce-ar fi sa o sun?Nu stiu daca e o idee buna.daca nu vrea sa vorbeasca cu mine?!Daca vrea sa fie singura?!Sau daca pur si simplu o deranjez?!Nu vreau asta,si tocmai de aceea astept cu nerabdare ziua Sfantului Andrei.

Din ciclul “Ma cauta si cine nu vrea sa ma gaseasa”, iata noi intelepciuni din lumea gugalului. Va multumesc ca m-ati gasit.

“nu ma saruta“. Te-ai spalat pe dinti? Stai asa! Dar dinti mai ai? Bre, ori esti prea mic(a), ori esti de-o seama cu Nicolae Balcescu. De-aia nu te saruta.

“de ce nu mai canta angelica stoican?“. Data trecuta o cautau pe Marioara Murarescu si tot peste mine dadeau. Doamna Angelica! Veniti, bre, la un chat cu fanii? Pupaturi, flori virtuale, autografe pe desktop… Ia uite, m-am imbolnavit de “bre”. Daca-l mai folosesc o data, nu mai scap.

“pot sa fiu virgina de doa ori“. Stai oleaca. E afirmatie sau intrebare?

“tatal, fiu si mama“. Eu o stiam pe-aia cu “Tatal, Fiul si Sfantul Duh”, dar s-ar putea sa joace mama rolul Duhului, habar n-am.

“oameni care se pupa pe buze“. Pe care…? Bine, sunt si oameni care se pupa-n fund. Sau se pupa la pupa, ca Basescu pe vremuri. Ori se pupa rece, Doamne fereste! Hai ca nu mai pup eu vizite din partea astuia/asteia care ma cauta cu un pupat pe buze…

“merg la vot?” Tu pe cine intrebi, ma? Asa de curiozitate. Ori tu esti deja pe drum, tii ochii bine inchisi si vrei sa stii daca mergi la vot ori in alta parte?

“eva ete curva ca nu vrea sex“. Ba, nu ma-nnebuni! Daca nu vrea in general, e o fraiera. Daca nu vrea cu tine, e o desteapta.

Asta mi s-a parut geniala: “vreau sa ma angajez la spring time.. cunoaste cineva pe cineva la mecdonalds?” Cineva pe cineva cunoaste, dar nu recunoaste, sa stii! Nu te baza pe astia care sar sa te ajute, ca te baga la KFC si tu nu vrei! Cel mai bine ar fi sa dai o fuga pana la Spring Time si, in timp ce comanzi un Big Mac, intrebi de un job. Se zice “giob”, nu “ciob”, ca cine stie, te taie cu el…

Mereu m-am intrebat: oare cautatorii astia prin gugal or mai trece a doua oara pe-aici? Si cand isi vad capodoperele literale, ce fac?

a)rad si ei?

b) nu inteleg nimic? sau

c) ma baga undeva?

Later Edit: Trebuie s-o bag si pe-asta neaparat! E de azi si e unica: “remedieri in datul mainii la loc“. Sa mor daca am vreun comentariu de facut! Incerc de minim 10-15 minute, incontinuu, sa dau mana la loc si-apoi sa remediez asta, incat nu sunt sigur ca o sa-mi iasa vreodata figura.

Terry

The wedding season is truly over for me this year and it certainly was a busy period. I do have the proof editing for the final ceremony that I shot two weeks ago to complete, although I thought that I would start doing some personal work again to keep the creative flow going. I do have a number of ideas that I would like to translate to digital media, so let’s hope that I find the time to do it all.

The wedding season is truly over for me this year and it certainly was a busy period!

I do have the proof editing for the final ceremony that I shot a couple of weeks ago to complete, although I thought that I would start shooting  some personal work again to keep the creative flow going.

I do have a number of ideas that I would like to translate to digital media, so let’s hope that I find the time to do it all.

A big thank you goes out to both Hannah and Terry for being such great models for me during the last two sessions that I shot, much appreciated.

Paul Douglas

Terry

Hannah

In seara asta am trecut pe la Cora, trebuia sa alimentez frigiderul. Si dupa atata invarteala prin ditamai magazinul, mi s-a facut foame. In Cora n-ai cine stie ce de ales. McDonald’s, KFC, Burger King si Spring Time.

In cazul primelor doua, e bine sa nu stii cum bucataresc si din ce (apropo de filmuletele-reportaje care au tot circulat pe net). La gust, produsele sunt ok, dar m-am saturat pana peste cap de burgerii si puii lor ultraconservati.

De la Burger King am mancat prima data la Londra. Imi venea sa vomit. Serveau niste indieni care se scarpinau in fund, apoi luau mancarea cu mana fara jena si ti-o puneau pe farfurie. A doua oara am intrat intr-un BK din Milano. Mi-am promis ca e si ultima, nu-mi mai trebuie. Carnea era arsa de nu puteam s-o inghit nici cu o tona de lamai.

La Spring Time mai mancam cu ceva ani in urma. Imi placeau foarte tare salatele. Odata imi era burgerul atat de sarat, incat am crezut ca scapasera o salina in maioneza. Altadata am asteptat vreo 30 de minute pana ce mi-au pregatit aia niste semipreparate cu gust ranced. Iar servirea e una plina de sictir, ca si cand respectivii ar lucra moca la Spring Time. Ok, or avea salarii mici. Dar ce vina are clientul care vine sa lase niste bani la casa si e tratat cu flit, cu scarba, cu marlanie? Pai, scuza-ma, ca nu-s angajatul si fanul niciunuia, dar la McDonald’s si KFC cam zbarnaie fetele alea (de cele mai multe ori). Si nu vorbesc cu tine de parca ai fi ultimul om.

In seara asta, mi-am adus aminte de ce n-am mai mancat de-un car de vreme la Spring Time. Initial, uitasem care e procedura la ei cand vrei sa cumperi ceva. Drept urmare, am rugat un tip care servea clientii sa-mi dea aia si aia. “La casa.” Atat mi-a zis, uitandu-se ca taranul, cu bale in coltul gurii, dupa niste gagici trecatoare. M-am dus la casa, am comandat si am platit unuia tatuat peste tot, care striga la un coleg si radea a prost de parca il recrutase Spring Time direct din satra. Mi-am luat bonul si m-am intors la ala care trebuia sa-mi dea meniul platit. A primit bonul si s-a intors cu spatele. “Reveniti”, mi-a aruncat peste umar. “Peste vreo 4 minute, nu stiu.” Pai, daca tu nu stii, in gatu’ tau, atunci cine sa stie, bai, avortonule?? Mi-a mai facut un semn cu mana cum ca trebuie sa-mi umplu singur caserola cu salata si gata. Plus ca nu s-a obosit nicio secunda sa-mi puna snitelul pe farfurie cu altceva decat cu mana aia jegoasa, cu care imi numarase banii si daduse o tura pe tejghea sa vada cat de plina e de unsoare.

Niste cocalari care nu merita angajati nici macar scafandri in vidanja. Sau poate acolo… eu i-as angaja in mod fortat.

Multi nervi mi-am facut dintr-un nimic de intamplare, dar ma oftic atunci cand vad atitudini atat de diferite la niste echipe de oameni care lucreaza fix in acelasi domeniu si umar la umar. Cum de unii pot, altii nu? Ca dam vina una, doua pe Romania. Iar daca-i concediaza patronul (nu cred ca e cazul celui de la Spring Time, pare din acelasi aluat cu ei, e libanez), sar repede de fund in sus si se intreaba de ce.

Mùa xuân vừa mới đi qua, nhưng khi nghe lại bản piano Spring Time của Yiruma em lại thấy trời xuân như hiện ra trước mắt. Bản piano này không dễ chút nào, em đã tập được 2 tuần nay nhưng cũng chỉ mới tập được 1 trang thôi anh ơi.

Em còn nhớ Tết vừa rồi anh không có ở thành phố. Anh nói phải về quê thăm ngoại. Em buồn lắm, bao nhiêu kế hoạch đi chơi Tết với anh đành phải gác lại. Em chỉ còn biết đón Tết qua tin nhắn với anh.

Giao thừa sắp tới, em hồi hộp lắm. Em lấy hết can đảm để nhắn tin cho anh và thú thật với anh em thương anh rất nhiếu. Lạ kỳ thay! Anh làm em hạnh phúc vô cùng khi cũng nhắn lại anh cũng quý em nữa. Em không biết khi anh dùng từ “quý”, có phải anh cũng có ý muốn nói là anh thương em không 

Em còn hạnh phúc hơn nữa khi trong giờ phút thiêng liêng nhất của một năm mới – Giao Thừa – anh gọi điện chúc Tết em. Anh bảo em là người anh gọi điện chúc Tết đầu tiên… Anh ơi, em hạnh phúc lắm… Em thương anh rất nhiều.

Em sẽ cố gắng tập xong bản Spring Time để gửi tặng anh. Có thể em đánh sẽ không hay bẳng Yiruma nhưng em chắc một điều là những cảm xúc hạnh phúc nhất của em trong Tết vừa rồi sẽ được em đem vào từng nốt nhạc…Anh ơi!

Today was my first Father’s Day.  I was able to spend the morning and most of the afternoon and evening with the little guy.  Now that Tony, Angi’s dad, is here that means there is an extra set of hands wanting to hold the baby.  That also means I have to fight for my fair share of holding time.  So most of the day Gavin was asleep so I figured that would be the perfect time to get some of that yardwork done again.  So I spent the next couple of hours in the sun ripping out those 7 palms we have in the backyard.  (Don’t worry, there will be photos to come and an update on a separate blog entry. )  Quite the transformation is occuring.  And again the driveway is filled with yard waste to be picked up for a neighbourhood cleanup.  Also, the bark pile has been completely moved and layed out.

So when I came in I finally woke up Gavin so that I could get some awake time.  We watched some Formula1 together which I’d like to think we both really enjoyed.  The only problem was that since he was asleep most of the day, and I was working, I found that I had fallen asleep quite soon but he was still wide awake on my chest.  (Or so Angi tells me.)  But I imagine he liked the cars going around and around.  We can only hope that he is neither a Ferrari or McLaren fan.  Hopefully that is not too much to ask for.

I also made a recent purchase that I think was too cute.  On Thursday, Real Madrid unveiled their 09/10 jersey and since this is the year of his birth I wanted to buy matching jersery.  One for him and one for me.  But I decided to get both in X-Large.  Of course I know that his will be too big for him to wear for quite some time but the point of this was so that every year on his birthday we’ll take a photo of him wearing it.  So naturally the first couple of years it will be way too big for him.  But eventually we’ll see some toes poking out one year.  And then maybe some feet/ankles.  And then some knees to evnetually the jersey will fit him just right!  I also decided to add a personalized touch to these jerseies.  Mine I’m getting embroidered with S.NIETO and his with G.NIETO.  Too cute huh?!  This way we’ll match.  When they come in, I’ll make sure to take some photos of him in it.  Maybe it would work as a swaddly blanket!

But now you’re probably wondering were are the new photos?  Well we do have some for you.  These are of Gavin getting to meet his new Aunt Wendy and Uncle Greg for the first time.  Gavin was so sweet being held by Wendy.

And with Uncle Greg…

From my 1st Father’s Day…

Gavin’s shirt is just too cute! It really fit our Lion theme (Daddy’s Mane Man)

It was a two week burst of sunshine, beautiful sunshine, the radiance of the ultimate energy source bursting the monotonous pastel of the gray clouds, gray buildings, and gray sweaters, with abundant speckles of white, blue, cyan, yellow,  green and crimson, that prompted the rise of the ‘Imp of the Perverse’ (my first experience of reading Edgar Allan Poe) in me. It was the onset of the spring and my advisor Tomas, being the natural Scandinavian that he is, was all bright eyes and floral to go out and explore the otherwise dark alleys around the university for satisfying our culinary desires. For two weeks, we both set on every noon, looking with the eyes of a seeker and a heart of an adventurer and found rich Lebanese, Italian, Pakistani, Iraqi palates. We ogled at the Kebabs, the durums, the shawarmas, the pizzas, the fried chickens and gave a serious exercise for the linings of our large intestines.

The reflection on what I had done to myself, my bank account and the large intestine, became clear when I had to request Tomas to push the early morning meetings to 10 due to “eccentric behavior of the large intestine and the recto-anal muscles”. Also the fact that I have an impending Big Fat Indian marriage steeled up my mind to stop seeking these gastronomical prostitutes and made up my mind to tell Tomas that “You are alone on this buddy. Sorry to hang you dry like this.” But as the Danish weather tried to go back to its usual bleakness, Tomas himself dropped out and saved me from betrayal and backstabbing.

It was then I started to realize the growing Imp of Perverse in me. What was just a zygote of want, it soon,  as the ivy of the poison, started to envelop me; its sinews growing strong around my legs, my hands and my head. And they all seem to grow out of the nerve tissue connecting my tongue and my brain. Especially that part of my tongue which had tasted the Arabic Pizza and that part of the brain which recognized the juiciness of the shwarma meat melting in the cheese with jalapenos on a freshly baked base. As Edgar, with the noose around his neck, realized how the Imp of Perverse has pushed him to passionately and proudly confess of a long forgotten murder that he so perfectly executed, I realized yesterday night that the Imp of Pizzarse had pushed me in this dark alley.

It was 11 in the night and I could read the sign “Pizza Palace – Durum, Pizza and Indisk” in the light of the dusk. But unlike Edgars Imp, my imp had to lose this time – the Pizzeria was closed. A wave of relief hit me and later as I tasted the first spoonful of the Dal khicdi that I cooked up in haste, I had found, albiet momentarily the antidote to the Imp of Pizzarse.

If you haven’t read “The Ovile of Memo and Pepe: Part One” (click here).

Inside, the room was clean and sparse. A bucket of water just inside the door held the metre and a half long wooden stick with which they stirred the cheese. The cheese was boiling in a black iron cauldron with a mouth a yard wide that hung over a wood fire burning so hot and clean that I do not recall even a breath of smoke in the tiny room. Some sausages hung from the rafters; on a table catty-corner from the fire a wood plank table held up two bottles of wine and several packs of cigarettes. In the far corner, opposite the fire, Memo and Pepe were busy at a shallow sided, waist high stone sink, squeezing whey from the cheese through plastic sieves. They looked up from their work, smiling, verbally poking at Matthew for having taken so long to bring his family down to the ovile, saying hello to me and saving all of the best sweet talk for Robin.

Now I’m going to cheat, this is a blog and not a novel so I can show you a picture of Memo and Pepe that I’ve posted below and ask you to look at their hands. They are amazing hands, impressively large and smooth these hands make almost anything they hold look small. I’m also going to break another writer’s rule and slip into something more comfortable, the present tense.

Pepe and Memo

They offer us some curds of the cheese they’re cooking; it tastes like fresh farmers cheese, bright and dry. Memo explains that this is the first cooking and that they will cook it again, making it into creamy, rich ricotta (literally: re-cooked). In the meantime they are busily pressing and compressing the cheese; the whey runs down the slanted work surface and into the drain feeding the rivulet of whey specked with curd that we encountered on the way in. Matthew pops another bit of crumbly, bright cheese in my mouth and I understand why the dog outside is so happy to lap up the remnants.

Robin is squirming in my arms, agitated by the fire, the dark room and the two robust men with hands bigger than her head. She says alternately, “want to go OUTside.” and “want to see BAY-BEE goats!” She wants nothing to do with the fresh cheese. She’s squiggled down out of my arms and gets hoisted up onto her papa’s shoulders. Matthew asks for permission to go through the door next to where Memo and Pepe are working; this is the door that leads to the enclosed concrete part of the ovile where all the goats too young to go out to pasture are kept.

Inside the Ovile

Ducking through the door we see goats of all ages from ones that look grown to ones that are barely standing, only 24 hours old. Amongst the goats is a lone lamb with his tight white wool looking prim in comparison to the splendour of speckles, spots and stripes that percolate through the surrounding swirl of goats. Their legs and bellies thick with damp faeces, the baby goats are still enchanting. I see a water hose in the corner and relize that this is the source of the animal runnoff that is meandering its way beneath my tires. Robin shimmies down from her father’s shoulders and her tiny sneakers smack on the wet cement. The baby goats resist her attempts to pat them by dancing away in a wave on their delicate hooves like startled ballerinas on point. We explain that they’re nervous, that she needs to walk slowly so she can get a little closer. She won’t get her hands on one this time but she’s happily talking to and about them, informing the world in general about which ones are what colours, or sleeping, or jumping. Then, like any toddler, her attention span is used up and she wants to go.

We come back into the cheese making room where Memo and Pepe have started the second cooking. Our shoes, everyone’s shoes, are slimed with goat shit so I am relieved to see that Memo meticulously rinses his hands and keeps the cheese stirring stick always up or resting in the bucket of clean water. Robin cannot be tempted to try the cheese and now wants to go outside, see pigs, see pretty, sad puppy. As we walk back down the path towards the pig pens, Memo and Pepe’s brother Gianni is coming up the path with another man, he sees Robin and scoops her up on to his hip, like a veteran papa, and chucks her startled cheek with his broad knuckle…

To be continued….

There should be a better English translation for the Italian word, “ovile” (oh-VEE-layh) but there is not. “Fold” is inadequate, it’s too short in sound and too broad in meaning. “Goat fold” although accurate, is just plain ugly, clanking off the tongue like a broken carburetor. I mention this translation difficulty because I am about to tell the story of “The Ovile of Memo and Pepe” and I don’t want to leave readers scratching their heads as to what an “OH-vile” is until they reach the third paragraph. And so we begin…

View of the land below the Piazza della Carmine in Caulonia Superiore - the Ovile is on the far right towards the bottom...way down there.

THE STORY OF THE OVILE OF MEMO AND PEPE

This morning Matthew, Robin and I woke up early to go and visit the ovile of Memo and Pepe so that Robin could see the baby goats and we could all have a breakfast of fresh ricotta. The three of us piled into my big blue van and Matthew managed to squeeze, nudge, and coerce it through the slender streets of Caulonia Superiore until we found ourselves on the dirt road that meandered below the vaulting walls that are still (just barely) sustaining Piazza della Carmine above. Matthew parked the van atilt on the shoulder of the road, leaving room for another car to pass, maybe.

The ovile was what you would expect a big fenced in pen for the grown sheep and goats in which every hint of something green had been eaten, three rambunctious, gangly white puppies that were ten or twelve weeks old, and finally a minor river of water, goat shit and piss running across the road and under the front tires of my van. Adjacent to the large open pen was a roofed enclosure where the baby animals were kept separate and which was abutted by a cinder block shed where Pepe and Memo were working making the cheese.

As we walked up the path towards the porch that fronted the shed we passed by a fluffy white dog whose eyes were badly infected, the skin all around them pitted and inflamed. Robin wanted to pet it until she got a little closer and her good will towards animals banged flat up against something sad and ugly. She solved the struggle by resorting to reassuring herself with words, “Bobbie give sad puppy hug, now she happy puppy!” She looked obliquely at the dog hugging her own round, pink arms. I found my self wondering when we should start teaching her to look at the ugly things straight on instead of looking at the ground and calling them beautiful; then I reminded myself that I was still working on that one and our daughter was not yet two years old. Today would not be the day.

We passed by a small fenced in garden with olive and lemon trees. Across from this there were a series of low-walled concrete pens one of which housed two, large, pink pigs. Matthew held his hand down to their wiggly snouts saying, “See, it’s a pig. He has a wiggly nose.”  Robin edged nervously against my leg saying, “Mama gonna pick you up. Don’t want pigs.” For the first time she was seeing the real animals and they were not wearing plaid shirts and blue jeans like the small, shiny, cartoon pigs in her fairytale book. They were twice as big as she, I would be nervous too. I lifted her up. “Lets go see Memo and Pepe and the BABY goats,” I said.

As we neared the shed we saw another white dog, this one young and healthy, tied up near a large tree. He was lapping up the water and whey and bits of curd that came from a tube functioning as a drain that led from the cheese making shed out the door and on to the concrete sluice that angled down from the porch. As we reached the open door to the shed Matthew said the obligatory “con permesso” as we walked in.

To Be Continued….(click here for part two)

It is finally “Spring” Spring here in Maine!!! And I’ve taken a break from blogging to clean the house, open the windows, and wander around outside in the sunshine for some much needed Vitamin D!

As I was walking the other evening I noticed that the lilac bush at the end of the street has finally come into a full bloom.

Nothing smells better to me than the soft scent of lilacs when you walk under the bushes.

But enough of that – on to the food.

A few weeks ago I made this soup for the May “In the Bag” but never ended up submitting it. One reason being my cleaning and spending my weekends running around, and another being that I only used one of the ingredients and where there were only two this month I felt sort of like that was cheating out.

This recipe is loosely based off of one that I found in a version of the Betty Crocker cookbook years ago and have tweaked ever since.

Cream of Broccoli Soup

2-3 crowns of broccoli – leaves removed and entire thing chopped loosely, including the stem.
1 carrot, peeled and diced
1 small onion, peeled and diced
1 clove garlic, minced
2-3 cups water
2 cups chicken broth
1 knob of butter
2 TBSP white rice flour
1/2 cup heavy cream

In a large pot add the broccoli, onion, carrot and garlic. Cover with enough water to reach the tops of the vegetables and bring to a low boil. Simmer for 10-15 minutes or until broccoli is fork tender.

Place entire mixture, including water, in the blitzer and whizz.

In the same pot you cooked in melt the butter and stir in the rice flour. You don’t need to brown it, just cook it through. Add the chicken broth, whisk well and start to heat through. When it reaches a low boil add the blended mixture and salt and pepper to taste. Heat thoroughly but do not bring to a boil. Turn off heat and slowly add the cream.

I served this with toasted English muffins from Foods by George which I found recently at the local grocer and have been absolutely addicted to.

HOW ON EARTH AM I GOING TO WRITE A FINAL PAPER WHEN IT IS SO NICE OUT AND EVERY OTHER PERSON IS DONE WITH SCHOOL AND TRYING TO PARTY?

And here is a note from our sponsor:

I just want to drink tequila and walk around til my feet hurt. But instead I will be in the Elmer Bobst library. You can find me there picking the nail polish off my fingers and starring at the wall, if you’re interested.

Here is a wonderful friend of mine and her beautiful family! They are so much fun and so full of love! I love taking their pics!

From the book God Calling (www.twolisteners.org )

April 30 – Springtime

Rejoice in the Springtime of the year. Let there be Springtime in your hearts. The full time of fruit is not yet but there is the promise of the blossom.

Know surely that your lives too are full of glad promise. Such blessings are to be yours. Such joys, such wonders.

All is indeed well. Live in My Sunshine and My Love.

“Thou hast put gladness in my heart, more than in the 
time that their corn and their wine increased.” Psalm 4:7

Blah, blah,blog…I think its time to get down to it – makeup!  Spring is in the air, sandals are on the toes; its time to give your makeup routine a little kick.

My favorite trend for spring…color under the eye – not matchy matchy eyeliner, and not even a coordinating pop; just bold fun color!  So far, my fave is green – bright exciting green.  Any shade will do from lime to emerald, but green seems to be the most universally flattering and fun for the warm months to come.

As for foundation, spring and summer bring the hassles of humidity – so my pick is Giorgio Armani’s new Lasting Silk Foundation with SPF  20.  In my opinion, no better foundation on the market, no matter the formulation!  Now what is so great about this new Lasting Silk is its long wear and oil reducing technology and it has SPF 20 – great for summer!  And for all you brides…it is also considered a “high definition” foundation…so it won’t white you out in photos or video.

My current vote for lips…I LOVE Laura Mercier’s Lip Plump.  Now let it be said…if G-d didn’t bless you with a pout, this ain’t going to provide.  However, the color and texture are amazing and my fave – the scent…a warm citrusy vanilla that is more for licking than wearing.

And not a newbie by any means, but a tried and true…Donell AHA 20.  If you want to look cute in those skimpy summer outfits this is on your must have list.  Use with care, it will exfoliate those dry patchy spots in seconds rather than weeks.

So all said, summer is about ease, no heaviness allowed.  Casual, but sexy – sultry if you rather…in all, grab a few pointers and BE YOURSELF – BEAUTIFUL!!

This gloriously flower be-decked “Green Man” was celebrating the birth of William Shakespeare outside the Globe Theatre on the South Bank in London this April. All the flowers and foliage were real – he not only looked good but smelled great too.

© Jessica Winder and Jessica’s Nature Blog, 2009. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material, including both text and photographs, without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Jessica Winder and Jessica’s Nature Blog with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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