Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Saturday, March 2, 2013
Monday, December 3, 2012
New Nest
Hello Everyone!
Dropping you a line to let you know we've moved!
The blog consolidation is complete, and you can now find me at
Hope to see you there!
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Blog Consolidation
No more feeling like two people!
(Photo by Sophia Arvizu)
Hello, everyone! I just wanted to inform you that I will be moving and consolidating both of my blogs soon. I've decided that with my limited amount of time, and my varied interests, that it would be better for me to change platforms. I am exploring my options at this point in time, and I will probably be going with a TypePad blog, as I enjoy their format and themes.
I love fashion, food, writing, and my family - so it's going to be nice to have them all in one place. I will feel slightly less schizophrenic that way. :)
I will post when I have completed the transition, and inform you of the new URL! I hope that you will follow me there, and I will make a new Bloglovin' account for the blog when I move. Thanks for your support and patience with my infrequent blogging. I will be much better about posting in the future!
Paulette
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
An Open Letter to my Husband on Our First Anniversary
You had kind eyes. That was the first thing I noticed about you - that and your horn-rimmed glasses and smile. All of those things. The next thing I noticed is that you were nervous.
Your shyness is something that was and is still irresistible to me - the slight way your back tensed and then relaxed when I hugged you hello.
"Whoa!" I imagined you thinking, "This girl is forward and she smells a bit like pomegranate martinis."
A little while later, you were drinking a pomegranate martini just like mine, instead of trying to impress me with single-malt whiskey. I was saying to myself - "This boy is different."
Because, at that point, I'd had my fill of the guys with the scotch and the great lines.
You ask me to dinner three days later, followed by coffee and lots of talking. I find out that you are a little bit jaded, a tad nihilistic - but in a vulnerable way that makes me realize that you're not fake. You're not into the big show. I love this about you, because what I see is what I get. I don't think you really understand how important that is to me. You open doors for me, and you always thank me for the evening. You have a Michigan accent and a careful kiss.
Four months in, I know I love you.
You meet my daughter. You hit it off immediately, but then she throws a fantastic tantrum just two weeks later. It's a test. She's been through a lot, and she isn't always an easy child. I think you're going to run. You don't - you come closer. I kind of know, at that point, where this is going - but I'm a little jaded too. At some indeterminate point, I stop waiting for red flags and shoes to drop.
You start sleeping over, and I get to hear you in the morning. Your head makes a dent in the pillow, and we fight over the covers. Mostly, we lay very still, listening to the sounds of the street through the open windows of my bedroom. The best nights are when it is raining. Sometimes you laugh in your sleep.When you aren't there, I'm restless.
We are getting more comfortable, and we take our first trip, walking around the city that owns my heart. A year later, you will propose four blocks away from where we are standing, dropping a ring of diamonds into my hand on the Rue Royale.
You tease me about my ridiculous shoes, and my inability to tighten a lid. I make big breakfasts on Sunday mornings, and we drink too much coffee while watching B-movies. You tell me I'm spectacular. I've never heard that before.
I remember all of these things.
I am fascinated by your mind - something that you are incredibly humble about. Needlessly so. I confess one night my fear: I will die never having written something of value. You confess your fear that you'll never create something that will use all of your potential. We promise each other we won't let that happen.
Now, we sit across from each other at our kitchen table, laptops like bookends. You are programming, I am writing. There is intimacy in moments like this, even though we seldom speak during these times. Each of us does not completely understand what the other is doing. I think that's the secret of it all - the formula.
You are patient with my moods, with my habits and my tics. I love watching you when you are unaware that you are being watched. You rub your neck when you are thinking. You get excited about Physics, James Bond, and what I bring home from the grocery store. I get excited when we talk about paint chips, Irish beer, and future vacations. You prefer Tanqueray in your martini, and I prefer Bombay. We still fight over the covers, and also the thermostat.
We have our moments of frustration - me in another room, trying to sort out thoughts and stop words before they leave my lips, never to be taken back. You have your insomnia and Type A perfectionism. And your logic - something which I lack in the heat of anger. We are both oldest children.
You are a natural father - you doubt this, but in so many ways you are a much better parent than I.
I am sometimes selfish. I can confess that. You are anything but, and you don't know how grateful I am that you are here. You have made my daughter, our daughter, laugh again. You are steady ground for her feet.
Today, we celebrate our first anniversary. They say that you won't truly know who the love of your life was until your final moments. I don't really believe them. I just want you to always look at me the way you did the night I wore a blue dress, when things were new and possibility hung in the air like a question mark.
I hope to forever make you nervous.
Photo: Arvizu Photography
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Sunday Mornings
I'm trying to be a less self-conscious blogger. It's hard for me - because even though I love reading other bloggers' personal style posts and slice-of-life vignettes, I am a bit reserved about posting my own. This blog's traffic is beginning to increase, so the expert blogging powers that be say that readers are interested in what you look like, what you do, etc, etc. Ok - fine.
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Sunday mornings are spent with lazy lounging and lots of coffee at our house - my husband and daughter and I never make set plans for Sundays. It's our only day off together as a family, so this day is sacred. This morning, we are watching re-runs of "Firefly" as a storm rolls in from the West. The windows are open and the air smells like autumn leaves.
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Sunday mornings are spent with lazy lounging and lots of coffee at our house - my husband and daughter and I never make set plans for Sundays. It's our only day off together as a family, so this day is sacred. This morning, we are watching re-runs of "Firefly" as a storm rolls in from the West. The windows are open and the air smells like autumn leaves.
My daughter always says: "I wish every day was Sunday."
Me too.
Me too.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
I'm From Missouri
One of my best friends and I recently went to Vegas for our birthday weekend. One of the most unique cities in our nation, Las Vegas is one of the few places you can go where you can be assured that almost all of the people around you are tourists themselves. And that's where it gets interesting.
I met people from all over the world - New York, California, China, and France. It was fun making small-talk with all of them - even the German guy who didn't share any of his chips with me when I kept shooting 9's for him at the craps table. No hard feelings, dude. We're cool.
So, the one common element that kept emerging was this simple question: "Where are you from?"
I would proudly say, "Missouri!"
I would get one of two responses - A pause, with a vacant look, and "Where is that?" or "Really?" with a surprised look. I guess this one came from the fact that I had teeth and shoes with soles.
I don't like generalizations, so I won't make them in turn. But I did get the feeling that I was experiencing Flyover Country-itis. I would find myself describing the location of Missouri on the map - basically saying that it was right in the middle of the country. Most people thought it was closer to Minnesota or Wisconsin. A few times, the mention of Branson would bring them around. I avoided mentioning Todd Akin.
Even when I did hit it lucky, they thought I was from St. Louis or Kansas City - as those are the only two cities in Missouri. I was fine with that - they're great cities, and at least they were in the same state and country.
I love big cities and their people, I really do. Everyone was nice, and no one was hostile. I do wish they had paid a bit more attention in geography class, but that's fine. Do I ever think the people I talked to will visit our state? Probably not. So, if you are from somewhere else and you are curious about Missouri, here are some factoids and things I personally love about being a Missouri girl:
*We are the birthplace of Harry S. Truman
*Mark Twain was from Hannibal, MO.
*The St. Louis Cardinals.
*Many actors have called MO home - Brad Pitt, Steve McQueen, and Kathleen Turner to name a few.
Here, you can experience a crisp Fall evening - warming your hands at a bonfire and telling ghost stories about the Joplin spooklight. Fall in Missouri is spectacular - the trees turn to crimson, gold, and blazing orange almost overnight. You can float down a river at your leisure, a drink in your hand and nothing on your mind but the whirr of tree frogs and crickets. You can hunt for fireflies at dusk, and go to barbecues where we drink sweet tea and eat fried chicken. We are the perfect combination of Southern hospitality and hard-working Midwestern values. We say "excuse me," and "thank-you."
We are more cosmopolitan and sophisticated than we get credit for.
My Back Yard
We still have General Stores and bait and tackle shops. Driving down Old Route 66, you will see these things, in small towns that have only one street. You will see the shadow of clouds racing across fields of fescue, wheat, and corn. You will smell lilacs and freshly-mown clover in the Spring. When you DO fly over us, look down - you will never see a more beautiful patchwork quilt.
We tend to be skeptical of people who talk a big game. This probably comes from the fact that we were a Border state in the Civil War, and there were many betrayals and feuds in our history. You have to show us, not tell us. That's how we got our nickname. Sometimes we are set in our ways, and we like things predictable. We can get a little comfortable, so change comes slowly - but it comes. And when we want something, we work damn hard to make it happen. The mule is our mascot.
There are many things I love about my state. I get tempted by the siren call of the big city at times - and get frustrated by misogynist politicians, slow-moving social change, and the sometimes close-minded attitudes of my fellow Southwest Missourians. But, even still - I remain. I love the seasons. I love the sweet smell as I follow a hay truck down a gravel road, and sledding down a snowy hill in the wintertime.
Bright lights and fancy hotels will never take the place of my Missouri. She's home.
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