All content copyright 2009 by Holly Gleason. Web design by Lauren Carelli.
Children’s tale about the things that truly matter only being visible with the heart. A grown-up metaphoric lullaby about figuring out that it’s simplicity and what we give each other that signals the quality of a life worth both living and sharing. Gentle, soaring, fragile, strengthening… An inspiration for all ages, any time, anywhere.
Sure, gloves are way more functional. It’s like having woolly fingers. But nothing is quite so transportive as mittens—fingers wiggling in their own cocoon, packing snow balls into the little cold bombs that signal war, tucked into the hand of someone you love with an innocence that says the closeness is enough. Put on a pair—and go look for a skating rink or some hot chocolate with marshmallows.
The unsung impressionist. Working in an Easter egg palette, he cast the world into a shinier place with tranquil images that evoked pastoral moments, urban settings with an internal ease, light refracting into forgiving diffusions. Anyone can invoke Monet (my favorite, those water lilies!) or Degas (gravity-defying ballerina skirt/clouds), but to know one of the masters who’s escaped broad based exposure. Mmmmmm….
If it’s not the right now nano-moment, it must just be whatever, so why bother? … Which is tragic because Jakob Dylan has figured out how to merge overt pop hooks with crunchy roots rock. Whirling tracks spin into plaintive, near bleating vocals… and songs like “If You Never Got Sick” offer the desecration of disintegration between two people who once cared and probably still should.
Cold. Flu. Funk. I’m not saying this is garlic to a vampire, but it sure is helping me keep the health during virus season. The strawberry may be the best flavor, but all the citric acid driven hard candy lozenges deliver - without that stomache burning intensity or chalky wall spackle of other methods of revving up the C-age—the goods in a way that reminds you of Sweet Tarts when you’re a kid.
Yes, Starbucks IS the kudzu of modern living…and a blight on the suburban landscape. But the cool tang of the peppermint in their mocha makes you pucker and salivate all at once. Positively addicting, these are better to count at night than sheep, far stickier and sweeter without being cloying. Far more satisfying than fleecy livestock, too—especially if you go long and let them put the whipped cream on. Just stay away from their utterly plastic sprinkles, which look cute and taste more like wax than a candle (and if you’re using a “go” cup, won’t even add the visual sizzle that’s [I guess] supposed to enhance the experience).
They’re hooked up. The pressure’s off. But really… who knows you better? what makes you smile when you’re miserable? what gets you to admit you’re wrong? When you’re not fighting for control of the remote or the next housing option, that which you love remains—and since there’s a neutral corner to return to, the genuine caring can return unfettered. Just because it wasn’t meant to be, they’ve got their personal life stuff together. There is that significant other who loves them, so with nothing to prove, they can just be the best that they’ve got—and no one has to worry about a drive through the old neighborhood, because that would blow the trust, thereby ending any future friendship with someone held dear. I’ve had them help me move on the quick, figure out personnel issues, look at me like I’ve still got “it” on what feels like a very ugly day, listen to horrible misadventures with men who weren’t them, research health problems I wouldn’t mention to anyone else more thoroughly than anyone but a doctor could, recommend books and restaurants, laugh when I needed it. Think about it. And the next time you have to talk it down, who you gonna call?
Here’s the drill: lighter than air, but savory fried chicken. Buttery weightless warmth that is crunchy on the outside. It ain’t showy. You’re sure you’re in the wrong place… ‘til you dig in. Then when you get started, there will be no stopping. And don’t forget the sides. Breakfast. Dinner. Or do the Carole C. and have both: a breast on a waffle, which doesn’t make sense ‘til your face down in it!
It’s cold. It’s crisp. Walk outside and look up. As the air whips around you, you feel your cheeks get cold and you inhale something brisker than life. All those sparkling diamonds in the heaven, ordering themselves into the mythological tales, winking like god in a kaleidescope. Look up, see it, be humbled.
There is nothing like sleeping with a dog who curls up around you. There’s nothing Zelda (the wonder spaniel, prada dada, or her full name: Zelda Fitzgerald Spaniel Gleason) likes better than being back to back up against Mommy. They’re peaceful in a way we can only dream of. They’re a heating pad that’s silky softness. And they let you know there’s absolutely a place in the world that you MUST be.
http://www.laughlinkennel.com/1879598.html?gclid=CLCRp8K-_ZcCFQJvswod1HZYDg
When you wanna know what’s REALLY going on in the music business, it starts here. They’ll tackle rumors, deconstruct them—then shine a light on the real bottom line that it seems like most people miss. If it’s really happening or hypening, these guys will sniff it out early and call it for what it is fearlessly. Who’s selling. Who’s faltering. Who’s getting spit out of the game. Who’s phoenix is about to rise from the wreckage. And, most importantly, where they’re going from that moment on…. And “Airhead,” their in-house cartoon, is the best mockery on the record business and the ego zoo that rules it ever.
Better than Calgon to take you away… Knitting, not even knitting AND purling, is the kind of brain numbing activity that calms you down, centers you for what’s ahead and looks amazing when wrapped about one’s neck in an attempt to shelter your throat from grave damage inflicting by winter’s more brutal elements. The look is so “right now” - and the look of awe on your friends’ faces will bring you up short. You will be so deep, so diverse, so talented. You don’t have to tell them a monkey could do it… You can just keep drinking your tea, watching your cable and smiling as you turn out another hand-crafted gift that’s as much escape for you as object of affection for them.
Maybe the poet laureate of the average American. A man who’s work has maintained its emotional clarity, it’s tenderness in the every day, it’s willingness to own the chill that life is often steeped with and the basic values that are what this country is supposed to be made of. Whether you get in early (“Sam Stone,” “Hello In There,” “Angel From Montgomery,” “Storm Windows”), mid-career (“I Just Want To Dance With You,” “Unwed Fathers,” “Speed of the Sound of Loneliness,” “Oldest Baby In the World”) or later (“Unlonely,” “All The Best,” “Lake Marie,”), this is a candle in the window of who we want to be when you strip it all away. Who knew a former mailman from Chicago with his heart on his sleeve could be the one to define us… or at least define our better selves? And when you factor in “Let’s Talk Dirty In Hawaiian,” “Jesus The Missing Years,” “Blow Up Your TV,” “In Spite of Ourselves” and “Your Flag Decal Won’t Get You Into Heaven Anymore,” you get a hilarity and a sparkle-in-the-eye that keeps you from reaching for the port and the straight razor. Glimmer, glitter, glow and bask in the goodness of others… and don’t forget the pork chops!
The low heeled, golden-toned ribbon ones are darling. Can be dressed up for that little girl in a party dress feel or worn with jeans and a sweater to femme up another whatever bit of street clothes. Something perfect for Eloise of the Plaza or a vixen trying to look a little less dangerous But the real winner is the higher pale pink patent leather slender heeled Japanese mule. With it’s black, gray and navy print, it’s pale pink patent trim over the bridge of the foot and the extended almost origami flowers, it is the embodiment of a pen and ink watercolor that is a signature of Japanese art… and it has both the fluidity of a puddle, the antique-feel of the Frank Lloyd Wright era and a sense of existing beyond any world we live in. Perhaps too teeny to be geishadelic, there is a sense of small steps and Occidentally-pitched music to them in a way that’s NOT the siamese cats from “Lady and the Tramp.”
Mexican comfort food from the women who host their own “Two Hot Tamales” tv series… Tomatillo sauce, corn tortillas, that oozy white cheese that melts into everything like butter with more body, pieces of chicken breast on a plate with watercress and jicama salad dressed lightly, but pungently A bit exotic, absolutely rib-clinging, definitely ease-inducing. A long way from home or just through the hotel, it’s like returning to the womb… BONUS ORDER: and if they have the peppermint cheesecake, save room. Figure peppermint cheese cake, a layer of tart sweet crema fresca and then the thickest, heaviest cocoa-based whipped cream you’ve ever put a fork to. Get one to go, too!
“Gangs of New York” has all the play, all the hype and all the glory of a period piece exquisitely shot. “Gangs” captures a brutal time with perhaps too much gore, but it is obviously an IMPORTANT film… but the winner is really Steven Spielberg’s “Catch Me If You Can,” a delightful story of a family falling apart and a teenage boy’s application of his father’s charm-to-win techniques to become the largest check kiter the world had seen. It’s “Ferris Bueller” in real life, but with far higher stakes. Posing as a pilot, a doctor, lawyer—everything but an Indian chief, DiCaprio sparkles with the insouciance that’s made him the bad boy manchild actor in real life. But it’s in the subtle conflict that fires him that his chops as the young actor supercedes the high-living, night-crawling which made the gossip column appearances overshadow his gift. Plus Tom Hanks as the Joe Friday CIA Agent who’s after him is as dogged and determined as DiCaprio is slippery and dynamic. By far, the more entertaining—and it’s stylized shooting is both era-specific and very plugged in.
I was teasing a client that he writes the world he wants to create - and Chris Cagle looked at me, blinked and a truth exploded. Maybe that’s the secret for the coming year: live as if this is the world we hope it can be. More joy. More beauty. More smiles. More tenderness. More decency. But also more values and morality about what we do… more courage of our convictions… more soul-searching about what matters… more quality of living could bring us more that place we wished we were. Make want something more than a yearning—and let’s see what happens.
It’s been a long time since I laughed aloud at something in a magazine. Yet there I was dining alone in a minimalist Italian bistro here in Nashville —guffawing with a startled yelp loud enough to make my fellow diners start. The Anna Nicole Smith Board Game, which anchors their Bum Steer Issue and her third over-all win, is the skewering stuff that has fueled all the great humor of our post-“Saturday Night Live” generations. But what really sets Texas Monthly apart is well-written articles, celebrating the people, culture and place that (hype or no) is the most singular state in the Union. The photos, especially those of Danny Clinch, are always just right—sweeping vistas, weathered bits of people’s faces or moments that are packed with energy. This same issue has Bob Schieffer’s piece about driving Lee Harvey Oswald’s mother to Dallas after President Kennedy’s assassination that does more to explain “how it was” in that time as well as place, Katy Vine’s week of the “American Idol” try-out process that lets you smell and feel it from the inside of people’s skins sensationally, not so much emotionally—and Jan Jarboe Russell’s explanation of Carl Jung as a springboard back to religious faith that’s as provocative as anything out there. Texas is more than the land it rests on or the people who inhabit it. It’s a state of mind and pride and commitment to life. And it’s all in this magazine, that inspires us to see what the possibilities can be - both from great writing, great images and great willingness to explore the possibilities.
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