My Mom's Crazy Friends

Mother Vel-DuRay, as I have mentioned before, is undergoing chemo for lymphoma. More than anything, It's been a very boring experience for her: Because her immune system is diminished, she can't go out very much, so she is stuck at home. Being stuck at home means it's a lot of napping, TV, reading, and phone calls.

A good chunk of the these phone calls are from three of Mom's friends. That's to be expected, but there are three of them who, by their bizare worldviews and strident opinions, keep Mom's blood flowing and brain working: For sake of brevity, we'll call them Mrs B, Mrs K, and Mrs. H.

These women are all nuts. I don't mean that in some zany, madcap, Erma Bombeck way. I mean nuts: Crazy ladies. Wacked in the head ladies. Dreadful, conservative, simple-minded ladies.

If you are a regular reader of this blog, you would expect that they would be making me itchy. But for once, I wholeheartedly approve of these reactionary women. Mother Vel-DuRay is dodgedly liberal in the Irish Catholic, FDR tradition. These women - friends of several decades - drive her to distraction with their stupid opinions, get her all worked up, and help her forget her problems, thus keeping her from becoming a typical invalid.

Mrs. B is Italian. She looks like an evil witch. She prides herself on having no non-religious artwork in her house, and while she has at least four large flat screen TV's, they are always tuned to the EWTN channel (EWTN = Eternal Word Television Network - the Catholic cable channel) She also has a dreadful husband who sits on his ass and orders her around all the time, but that's not important right now.

Mrs. B has a son who is a priest (the poor kid never had a chance) and she is known for the homemade lasagna that she brings to every family in the parish that has recently experienced a death. The lasagna is really quite good, but to get it you have to put up with Mrs. B. You might think this would qualify her as some sort of compassionate conservative, and you would be wrong: Mrs B recently got Mom's blood flowing by telling her that the soldiers dying in Iraq deserve their fate - after all, they volunteered to be in the Army. And the civilians? Well, they're Muslims. Who cares.

Mrs. K used to be one of my favorite people: She was always happy, made great cherry cokes, and calls everyone "kid" - even Mom. Her late husband was a brakeman on the Union Pacific, and she is living on his union pension. She was also an FDR devotee, until she discovered Rush Limbaugh, which she takes entirely too seriously. She, like Mrs B, is a superstition based Catholic, rather than a teachings-of-Jesus based Catholic, and because of that has some moronic ideas: The most recent statement, which has kept Mom in fighting form, was that is was a pity that those poor Amish girls who were killed in Pennsylvania won't make it to heaven, because they weren't Catholic.

But the Most dreary, most reactionary, most buzz-killing and anger inspiring of them all is Mrs. H.

Mrs. H is, was, and always will be, a Republican - because that's what her late husband (a claims adjuster for Mutual of Omaha) was. Growing up, they were the only Catholic Republicans I knew (they are now, unfortunately, a dime a dozen), and that was looked on as an eccentricity, like collecting flatirons or having a metal detector. While they lived in what should have been by all rights a fabulous 50's house, and Mrs. H has not changed a detail since they moved in, their house is dreary. They have always had navy blue Buicks, Mr. H played - with no sense of camp or irony - the organ, and their biggest thrill was the Lawrence Welk show.

Since Mr H died (although I really don't know how they could tell - he was not the most exciting person in the world) she has gotten even more dreary and conservative. She adores George W. Bush, and - God bless her, as it was like a jolt of adreniline for Mom when she said it - recently declared that the Democratic Party should just be eliminated, as it stands for nothing but mandatory abortion and forced crossdressing (or something to that effect). When Mom reminded her that one-party rule would be just like Communism, she grudgingly admitted that Mom may be right - but she still doesn't like the Democrats.

I suppose I should add that Mom has many normal friends, and a large extended family who are NOT depressing and reactionary, and that are offering her all sorts of love and support. But let's face it: There's only so many angel greeting cards, perky sickroom conversations, and tasteful floral arrangements a person can stomach. Even the illest among us, if they wish to stay among us, needs something non-medical to get worked up about, and these women are providing a valuable service to Mother Vel-DuRay.

So, as your idol would say, ladies, "bring it on".

Bitchy Ads on KIXI

Poor poor KIXI (our once-happy little AM station that plays swanky music)

For starters, about a year ago they fired all of their on-air staff and went with a tacky service called "Music of your life" (Hereafter refered to as MOYL). MOYL is so tacky, that their contact email is an AOL address.

But, tacky as it was, I could live with MOYL. But then, the other night as I was sitting in our Tastefully Appointed living room (which I sometimes refer to as the Sala Grande, but that's not important right now), listening to KIXI on the Grundig, they played the most horrible ad: It was some angry middle-aged white guy (you know the type - they always sound like they're about to have a stroke, but they never do) going on about how the "disasterous" election was going to be so horrible for the nation that everyone needed to hoard gold. He ended by screeching something about having to hold onto your Bible for the next two years (presumably because the big bad Liberals were coming to take the Bibles away).

I sent KIXI (Not MOYL) an extremely bitchy email, suggesting that they keep their dignity and just shut down if they had gotten that desparate to attract adversisers. (I haven't heard back from them yet). I'm willing to accept some lowlife products being advertised on the radio (that's the nature of the beast) but some dreadful angry man coming into MY living room (or Sala Grande, as the case may be) and screaming at me about gold and Bibles while I'm trying to relax is just too much.

Happy Anniversary!

I was reading the blog of the fabulous ericababy, and noted that she and Mr. Fish have reached an anniversary!!!

That reminded me that The Colonel and I have an anniversary coming up: I don't know the exact date, but I do remember it was a Sunday in February, 2002, sometime before my birthday. We were at my alma mater, and were introduced by a third party, whom I suspect hoped to make it a threesome (if you know what I mean. I'm not talking about Canasta here.)

I'll spare you the details, but suffice to say the evening ended sans the third party, but avec the colonel, and it has pretty much worked out that way ever since.

Funny how these things happen. Now if I could only remember the date....

Semi-Continental Traveler

Mother Vel-DuRay is 3/4 of the way through her Chemo treatments, and (knock wood) feeling pretty good about things, so I have decided to take an inspection tour back to Iowa the week after next (I need to see Our Little Plumbing Project through to completion, and get a few other things done before I can easily leave town)

If all goes well, I shall be departing on Monday, February 5th via Frontier Airlines, and staying in Council Bluffs until the 18th or thereabouts, when I shall board the California Zephyr to San Francisco, there to meet The Colonel for a little "Roman Holiday" before heading back to Seattle via Alaska. Yes, it's a whirlwind tour, but I really should start thinking about getting a job one of these days. At that time, vacations will most likely become sparse.

The Zephyr is really quite a scenic train: I'll board in Omaha at 10:30pm or thereabouts, and wake up the next morning in Denver. From there, we have a stately climb up the face of the Rockies, before finally going through a tunnel and emerging in Winter Park. Several really fascinating canyons (and hours) later, we have a late evening arrival in Salt Lake City, and then spend the night crossing the more boring parts of Nevada, waking up east of Reno. We then collect our collective breath, and head over the Sierra Nevada’s, before coasting downhill into Sacramento, then the Bay Area.

Of course, Amtrak is at the mercy of the railroads that it runs on, and the poor Zephyr runs on the Brutish and Irresponsible Union Pacific from Denver to the Bay Area. They handle this train poorly, particularly after Salt Lake City, so God Only Knows when we shall actually arrive.

But that's fine with me: As you know, I like me a good train ride. The scenery, the various people who come and go, the miscellaneous camaraderie, etc, etc, etc, all make for a lively and relaxing time. The bar car doesn't hurt either.

But that's why I scheduled two nights in San Fran: If we arrive dreadfully late, we'll still have another day and night in "The City By The Bay" - Alcatraz, The Starlight Roof, Top of the Mark, Tonga Room, Daddy's, the list of diversions goes on and on!


btw, the lovely lady in the illustration at the top is a "zephyrette", which was a sort of hostess that the Burlington Road (the original operator of the Zephyr, and now part of the huge BNSF Railway) employed to make passengers more comfortable. Amtrak, unfortunately, doesn't have the means to offer that kind of service, but it's interesting to note how little things have changed since those days, at least according to article about a one of the ladies, which first appeared in the Saturday Evening Post, December 31, 1955. If you are as much of a drip as I am, you might find it interesting. She sounds just like the Colonel!

Blue Skying it!

While every day at Chez Vel-DuRay is like a day in paradise, there are certain things that I wish I had in a house that we don't have here. This comes strictly under the heading of whiny baby, because we are very fortunate to have our house, but it's fun to dream about things like this. Sometimes it's more fun that actually having the things.

So here is my list of the things I'd like to have in a house that I don't currently have here. (I say "I" because my views do not necessarily represent the opinions of all residents of Chez Vel-DuRay, some of whom lean rather heavily toward the "hotel" - albeit luxury hotel - look. It's a constant struggle)

The List:

* "Cathedral Ceiling" with nice big exposed beams that some lunkhead has not painted at one point
* Flagstone entry
* Front door with doorknob in center (impractical and prone to breaking, but this is a dream list after all)
* Gas cooktop in fun color with double wall ovens.
* Central Vacuum System
* Carport!
* Freestanding staircase (Like the Bradys!)
* Guesthouse with freestanding fireplace
* Outdoor brick barbeque
* "Powder Room"
* A niced big storage room for all my "implements for entertaining".
* Florida Room!
* Huge sectional sofa (Not one of those tacky ones with cupholders and footrests, but a real classy-type one, up on little legs. You know what I mean)
* A spiral staircase someplace
* Master bath with everything tiled in pink or blue, and a cute little tiled shower.


...and it goes on and on. What's on YOUR list?

The Bestest Bewitched Episode Ever!!!!

OMG! O.M.G. It's finally posted on youtube. I'm nearly having a stroke here, but for you, dear readers, I can compose myself long enough to type this intro.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I bring you "I'll Blow You A Kiss In the Wind". TV was never the same....
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P.S. Ignore Darren here. He was being even more of a prig than usual. No wonder they were always turning him into things. I blame him for the cheesy Early American furniture.

The Martha Stewart Housekeeping Book!

As a Christian Homemaker, I'm always looking for new ways to obsess over my home. And "Martha Stewart's Homekeeping Handbook: The Essential Guide to Caring for Everything in Your Home" shall certainly keep me occupied for quite some time.

This is a hefty book - 752 pages - and actually not as much of a snoozefest as one might think. Martha is gradually showing more personality these days, and this book reflects that: In the forward, she tells us about some of the housekeeping books she's read, including one that is some sort of seminal work of the subject. If the word "seminal" can be used in conjunction with housekeeping (look it up).

Room by Room, Miss Stewart tells us how to organize our life, and care for our things: How to polish silver. How to make a bed. It's actually quite nice to have a step-by-step guide to some of these things which, when you learn them by trial and error, can be quite frustrating. For instance: Just how DOES one fold a fitted sheet? Even my Mother - no slouch when it comes to housekeeping - just tends to kind of ball them up. The answer is right there at page 500 or so.

Lots of people criticize Martha, and I find her obsessive-compulive ways to be a bit tedious at times myself, but it is nice to see someone holding high the standard for gracious living (We can't be expected to do it all ourselves, can we, dear readers?) Too many people use a disdain for Martha as an excuse for their slovenly homes, insisting that they are "casual", when they are just slobs (Note: There's nothing wrong with being a slob, as long as you embrace it). We all march to the beat of different drummers, of course, but I maintain that there is something comforting about a well set table, or an orderly living room. Personally, when I've got somthing I've really got to think out, I manically attack the house, dusting the electrical sockets and detailing the floor joists. By losing myself in the boredom and putting myself on auto-pilot, I find I can usually reach a resolution - or at least an acceptance - of my problem.

So embrace your inner Martha, darlings - if Martha does indeed reside within you - and proclaim your love of gracious living. Our nation needs all the help it can get, and this might just be the thing that brings us into the light: Out of the darkness of lumpy furniture (some with built-in cupholders!!!) and decor inspired by "Friends", and back to a day of proportional, non-evocative furniture and luncheon china.

Or, you can use this book to squash cockroaches. It makes a dandy bug killer (I tried it at the neighbor's house. Needless to say we are vermin-free)

The unseen side of Chez Vel-DuRay

I know that to many of you dear readers - particularly those of you who have had the honor of attending one of our world-class fetes - think that life at Chez Vel-DuRay is nothing but Champagne, Orchids, and Romance.

But, like everything, time takes its toll. Hence the rather invasive replumbing we've been working on the last few days. When the bathroom sink refused to yield up any cold water, we knew it was time to call in the lesbians, and let them have at it. And that they did: All of the galvanized pipes are now gone, and the new "Pex" pipes are delivering us more water than we know what to do with - and without those ugly rust stains!

But as part of the preperations, we had to cut some holes in the Greek's closet, and just look what we found!



Razors. Scads of them. Apparently Mr. Yorita, like so many men of his generation, used the old-fashioned razor, and disposed of them in the old-fashioned way: Putting them through a slit through the back of the medicine cabinet, presumably never to be heard from again.

Not that I blame him: As a manager at the late, great Frederick & Nelson department store, it behooved him to look his best. They had standards, you see, not like the current tenant (Frederick & Nordstrom) who apparently think the height of style is to emulate an airport gift shop. But I will say this: At least they require their male employees who wear suits to keep their jackets buttoned. That means a lot to an old snob like me.

See Syl - Sometimes I can be downright Christian about Nordstrom & Nelson ;-)

Are you holding the hitting stick?

Sometimes I think I was born too late. But then I see things like this, and I think I was born too early. I totally could have been a member of this.

(credit where credit is due. Lifted, as usual, from "The Stranger's" Slog.)
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Oh, What the Hell.....

I tried to find "Perfect World", and failed. But this version of "Witchita Lineman" is just screaming for you to see it. And who am I to deny it its new day in the sun?
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Leslie Gore Break!

In honor of Zan, "the Rad Dyke Plumber" who, even as I type this, is bringing us updated plumbing and a new bathroom in the basement, I offer you this: Leslie Gore, singing the most determinedly upbeat song (without inducing nausea) EVER. "Sunshine, Lollipops and Rainbows" (Although a very close second would be "Perfect World" by Sergio Mendes & The Brazil '66)
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btw, I'm off to dim sum this afternoon with the lovely and elegant Nina, who was my boss at the Sheraton, and before that the Manageress (?) of the late, great "Garden Court" at the hotel formerly known as the Four Seasons Olympic. We're plotting how to get me a job.

Silver Pine

It's something of a joke that we have as many sets of dinnerware as we have, but that's the way life works sometimes. And when something fabulous comes along, you just have to make room for it.

That was the philosophy behind the Colonel's Christmas present to me: A full set of "Silver Pine" dinnerware by the legendary Franciscan Pottery Company!



I think it's very sleek and chic, which means it will be right at home here at Chez Vel-DuRay. The only bad thing is that I don't think it will go through the dishwasher. But that's what the Colonel and Greek are for. They love to get old school on things like dirty dishes, and who am I to stand in their way?

Back in Seattle

It's come to my attention, darlings, that some of us may have thought I'm still in Iowa, but there's not a whiff of truth to it. I'm back in Seattle for awhile, preparing for the replumbing of Chez Vel-DuRay, and tackling all of those aesthetic decisions that come with a project of this magnitude (Peuce or Chartreuse? Brass or Chrome? Hot or Cold?) Needless to say, it's a crushing responsibility. Thank GOD for Valium.

The trip home was pleasent. The train from LA to Chicago was right on time, despite all the weather we went through, and the hotel in Chicago was appropriate to a person of taste and distinction, even if the "Magnificient Mile" is getting a bit vulgar. (Really, they should just rename the damn thing the "Macy's Mile" and call it a day)

Once home, I assessed the situation; Mother Vel Du-Ray has lymphoma, but her chances for recovery are excellent. She is undergoing Chemo, but only needing to do it every three weeks, and handling it well. She even has a wig. The plan is for me to come back in February, when the Chemo hopefully ends, and spend another week or so there in Shangra-La.

Life sans Today's World is suprisingly easy to get used to. While yes, there are the occassional moments when I say to myself "If only you hadn't slapped Tommy Hillfinger, you'd still have a job!", those times are few and far between. The only trouble is, I need to find a new job eventually, or else win the lottery. But I'm sure something will show up. The world is yearning too desparately for voices of good taste, as this blog attests, for me to be at liberty for too long, right?

So anyway, life goes on and the battle continues. Courage, Comrades!