The Great Jammie Wear Out of 2010

It is official–I have worn out every pair of pajamas I own. This is no mean feat as I have oodles of jimmy jams from all of you nice people who sent them to me last year (thanks!).

But I don’t have a single pair now that does not have holes, thin spots, fading, stretching, or drawstrings that have disappeared. Some have the softy softness that comes from age, but others got harder and scratchier with each wash.

In the past, I could go years with one pair, maybe two, before they got worn out.

Clearly, I wasn’t spending enough time in bed.

All that has changed. If there is an award for excellence in the areas of sleeping and lounging, I think I have a shot at the title this year. I might have some competition if cats are allowed in, but I don’t think that would be fair as that is really their only job. Whereas I also have to get up and write, read, and entertain Barrett (whose pajamas are in fine shape btw, in fact, I might need to wear them some to keep them from feeling neglected).

So I am on the hunt for new pajamas (or pah-jah-mahs as Audrey of Roman Holiday days would call them). Any tips on where to get the ideal pajamas? Must remain soft after many washings, be cute (of course), and last for ages.

They must be made of sturdy stuff to keep up with my demanding sleep schedule.

Happy napping!

Love to you all,

Bridget

I Think I Might Be Cheating On My Tea Company

It is no secret that I am a ginormous tea fan. There are so many wonderful things about tea — it’s good for you, tasty, and sometimes even has caffeine in it, the miracle of modern civilization.

There’s something about the whole process too that is just so zen-like and appealing — selecting the tea and the teapot, boiling the water, checking the temperature, steeping the tea for just the right amount of time.

Lovely, lovely tea. I have been ordering tea from the same tea company for the past eight years. I love TeaSource‘s Yunnans and Assams and am absolutely hooked on their Scottish Breakfast tea.

But I have been seduced by another. Sure, I try tea from local tea companies now and then–a mild flirtation really, nothing serious. Until now. I have been unable to resist Holy Mountain Trading Company. They have a great selection including a rare type of white tea from Sri Lanka, you can order sample sizes to try and, the most seductive of all, they have luscious and long descriptions for their tea.

While TeaSource describes their Jasmine Dragon Phoenix Pearl like this:

The youngest leaf tips are scented with fresh Jasmine blossoms 8-10 times and hand rolled into pearls yielding an intense, slightly sweet, floral flavor. May be infused many times.

Holy Mountain describes their Dragon Phoenix Pearl Jasmine:

Organic Dragon Phoenix Pearl Jasmine tea gets its name from the visual characteristics of the tea bushes climbing the hillsides like a Dragon coming out of the water. The women pickers, chosen specifically to pluck this type of tea, give the appearance of dancing phoenixes next to the Dragon’s long slender body. The tea is grown in an area in Fuding City near the border of the Fujian and Jiangxi provinces. The area is mountainous and is often shrouded in clouds or fog. The tea is picked in April and May and held until August and September when the finest jasmine blossoms are in bloom. The jasmine flowers are picked before noon and set aside until evening when the petals begin to open in the cool night air. Once open, the “marrying” of the jasmine to the tea happens in two applications after which the jasmine petals are removed. When the petals are removed, women begin rolling each leaf and a bud into tiny pearl-sized balls. Once rolled, the tea is wrapped in silk mesh and dried by fire to set the form. According to analysis done by Chinese researchers, Organic Dragon Phoenix Pearl has a higher concentration of Vitamin C and amino acids than other teas. Use spring water at a temperature of 80° to 90° C. (180° to 195° F.) and multiple short steepings.

There is nothing I don’t like about that. Irresistable.

But it doesn’t end there. No one could hold out against the power of Holy Mountain Trading Company. It is quite another thing when you find yourself ordering from a company that barely has any description of their teas and doesn’t even tell you where the tea comes from.

I’m talking about Twinings. So they’ve been around since 1706 and have a Royal Warrant, that is no excuse not to entice me with your catalog copy. And yet, I found myself with a nostalgia craving for Lady Grey which is difficult to find loose leaf in the states and ENDED UP ORDERING FOUR KINDS OF TEA FROM THEM!

Is there no end to my licentiousness?

Love to you all,

Bridget

My Life As a Horse Thief, Part II

So I wanted a pony or horse and loved them and couldn’t figure out how I had missed out on Sundae because I’d been too small to appreciate her.

I took some riding lessons, but found going around inside a barn while a lady shouted at me and spending an hour cleaning tack and things was not for me.

There was a pony/horse riding place not too far from my house that was much more satisfying. For the hefty price of $5 you got to take the pony and/or horse of your choice off into the wilderness for an hour.

This was great.

When the neighbor girls and I could wrangle $5 out of our parents and convince them to drive us there and pick us up an hour later.

Which was not nearly often enough.

When you live on a long five mile stretch of road with less than a handful of houses on it, you tend to know every inch of it. It had not escaped our attention that a certain old man owned a lot of land nearby but did not live there. It was fenced in.

We were intrigued.

So we crept down the path in the woods to see what we would find.

And there they were. Two perfectly lovely horses housed in an old ramshackle barn in the middle of the woods in a tiny meadow.

We were in love.

And started scheming. Now there wouldn’t be much of a spot to hide these horses if we stole them and brought them home.

So we decided to just steal them temporarily.

It is not that easy to get on a horse without any kind of equipment when you are not yet very tall. The trick was to lure one over to the ladder or short wall in the barn and then try to leap on top of them. Sometimes our efforts did not get much beyond this.

But the times we did manage to get on one and steal it away—oh, those were good times.

The neighbor girls and I would ride our bikes down, hide them in the bushes, and sneak down the path to “our” new horses.

Even getting thrown off a horse you’ve stolen for the day is immensely satisfying.

Then one day we heard a noise.

Footsteps down the path and some sort of “whump, whump, whump”.

The Old Man appeared. Hitting his leg with a sharp, whippy stick.

Someone hadn’t hidden their bike well enough.

We were pretty sure that we were going to get whipped within an inch of our lives which probably came from reading far too many books as none of us had ever experienced anything like it personally.

Instead, he gave us a talking to. A very, SCARY talking to using the stick to emphasize his points.

He convinced us that there was a rabid bull in the woods that would surely kill us dead if we stepped one foot over the fence ever again.

My life as a horse thief was over.

But it did lead to a fascination with thieves in books, particularly ones who are actually good at it and don’t get caught by old men with sticks.

They occasionally even pop up in my novels.

Novel thieves are SO much more clever than I.

Love to you all,

Bridget

My Life As a Horse Thief, Part I

To understand how I came to be a horse thief, we have to start at the beginning of the story. When I was wee, my father acquired a sleigh. He went to a local pony owner and asked if he could rent the pony to pull the sleigh. The guy said, “No, but I’ll give it to you.” My dad was all, “Really, I just want to rent it. I’ll pay you.” But the guy insisted. “No, but I’ll give it to you.” This went on for a while until we ended up with our very own pony.

I know that non-Wisconsinites have this idea that WI is covered in farmland and it’s all about cows and things. Not so in the north half of WI. It’s thick old fat forest up there. Any farms you’ll find are small and were cleared by strong backs of spunky farmers who plucked out each tree one by one, ripping the roots out of the ground with stump removers.

We did not live in such a place. We lived in the woods. Lots and lots and lots of woods.

So this pony became a woods pony and we let it roam free in the wilderness.

My mother hated the pony.

The pony hated my mother.

The pony’s name was Sundae and when my mom walked down the long driveway to get the mail Sundae would sniff her out.

And charge away, nipping at her.

For some reason, the pony loved my dad.

When my dad went skiing down the trails through the forest, Sundae would trot after him like a ginormous puppy.

This sounds cute and probably was, but big old clodhopper pony hooves completely ruin ski trails.

So the pony went to a nearby farm that had room for one more.

I wasn’t even in Kindergarten yet. I did NOT get to enjoy the pony, not one little bit.

There’s a picture of me on Sundae but that is about it.

This didn’t bother me until I turned about ten, read too many Misty of Chincoteague books and the like, and realized that what I was really missing in my life…

Was a pony.

But I’d even have settled for a horse.

Stay tuned for Part II of My Life As a Horse Thief (in which horses might actually be stolen).

Love,

Bridget

The Other Couple Who Lives at My House

No, not that couple.

Although…

They do look quite cute together.

But I’m talking about the other couple.

Harpo and Pumpkin have been together for eight years now, but sadly I don’t have any pics from their kittenhood together. Not because I don’t have a million pictures of them. I do.

They are just so cute.

But we don’t have any pics of them as kittens together because they weren’t kittens together. We got Harpo first. He was just a wee little thing, fitting in the palm of my hand. And he came sweet–a really cuddly cat.

With a very large mouth.

But he was also a hyperactive kitten. We had to save him from certain destruction every few minutes. He didn’t have a natural sense of self-preservation and wanted to splash in the toilet, eat dental floss, stick his head in spaces smaller than himself, and generally cause havoc. We’d come home to find the entire house decorated with toilet paper. One day I drew myself a steaming hot bath and when I went to get in, there was Harpo, wading around sniffing bubbles.

He needed a friend. But we couldn’t go through kittenhood again so soon. Pumpkin was 9 months old when we got him–a pre-adolescent who was almost full-sized and naturally mellow and Buddha-like.

And they’ve been together ever since–keeping each other’s ears clean, sleeping nose to nose, and playing Chase That Cat together.

Love to you all,

Bridget

Years 13, 14, & 15, In Which Barrett Wears the Same Shirt for Three Years

Year 13, We’d just moved to Portland and I think we’re in the bird something or other, maybe a sanctuary? Notice the white shirt.

Year 14, The Portland Auction where I sported Starlet Hair by the awesome Lori Ann at Halo. Is it the SAME white shirt?

Year 15, The Summer of Love and the white shirt is still there!

Expect the next 16 year retrospective in 2026!
Love to you all,
Bridget

Years 11 & 12 of 16, Our First Two Visits to Portland, plus Vegas!

I’m not sure what happened between 9 & 11, but photographic evidence is not forthcoming. I could put up a picture of me and my co-star sharing a malt and pretending to be in love in the World’s Fastest Librarian and maybe even try to photoshop Barrett in, but it would be a sham. I’m guessing that hidden box of photos would be handy right about now.

But we must move on.

Year 11, Our First Visit to Portland

Year 12, Our Second Visit to Portland (take note that this is the year I stopped straightening my hair)

Year 12 Bonus Photo, I also found a picture of us in Vegas in which I forgot to pack my contacts (it was an early flight!) and Barrett has some kind of slickster hair, but he’s wearing that cute suit.

More olden times photos to come (well at least a year or two back)–keep a look out!

Love to you all,

Bridget

Years 6 & 9 of 16, The Woodpile and Painting Re-creation

Year 6:

That’s us working! Look at those muscles. My mother said we’d want pictures of us working in the woodpile someday. I thought it was just an excuse to take pictures instead of help us, but lo and behold, we now have evidence of our labors.

Year 9:

The re-creation of a painting (I’m not saying it’s a good re-creation as we had never seen the painting when we took it and were going off the photographer’s memory, but that was the idea–bringing the Renaissance to life for John Zimm). Thanks to John Zimm for taking the photo and Jacob for sending it and helping me fill in this year.