Revamping

About to revamp, repost and rewrite some of the entries on this site. Missing the writing life a bit and am considering relaunch.

Because seriously, I love talking about me.

what i did last weekend

i'd never seen a lavender moon
except for in my dreams.

but there it was,
escaping sunset and changing
its face
through pink and purple hues
in rapid, short, gasps -
hanging low over the outer banks
basking in the north carolina wind
caught between blades
of swaying beach grass
above the cool, shell shocked sand.

it climbed high into the
peach fuzz clouds
battling with the ever darkening blues of dusk
to be the most arresting view in the sky.

and as night fell dark and warm -
wrapped in stars and satellites -
the moon completed its cycle of color
and changed back to its flat face
of bone and teeth.

at peace.

Maybe Rove will go that way too...

Roxy has been out and about in the sweet backroads of Virginny and feels compelled to post a bit of news that she learned about one Mr. Jerry Falwell, the leader of the Morally Bankrupt.

It seems to be a confirmed fact* that Mr. Falwell's death wasn't reported 100% accurately.

While I must say it pains me to tell y'all that NPR was wrong, I am abso-posi-fucking-lutely happy as a redneck watching Nascar to inform you that Jerry Falwell did not die in his office at Liberty University as reported.

Your pal Roxy, while doing field research in Lynchburg, Virginia this past weekend, discovered that the Fartwell went out just like the King.

That's right folks, Jerry died on the shitter.

Which is so apropos since it really doesn't matter where he was - in the office or on the john - he was definitely full of shit.

And that is reason enough to resume posting on my blog.
*Fact confirmed in a bar by a reliable source who confirmed with EMT's on the scene.

I do declare!

Why Chapel Hill, you're as refreshing as a cool glass of tea on a hot August night. In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd have thought you were trying to woo me away from your sultry cousin Virginia.

Despite my hatred of North Carolina (on par with my feelings about New Jersey), I must say I'm simply delighted to be staying at the Carolina Inn at UNC Chapel Hill with its richly appointed entrance, lovely grounds, elegant sunroom, and delectable four-star fare. What a charming seductress of a town, all cafes and college cottages tucked between flowering butterfly trees and long slips of brick pathways. I'm simply mesmerized at the enchanting atmosphere of the places I've seen so far: UNC (I linked their awesome "Virtual Musuem of Univeristy History" - check it out), Vespa Cibobuono, and Franklin Street.

I'm half tempted to take back what I said about this state earlier this year.

Then again, even though you did launch such fine acts as The Squirrel Nut Zippers, Ben Folds Five, James Taylor, and those fine hunks of redneck rockabilly Southern Culture on the Skids, (and soccer great Mia Hamm), I don't think I'm prepared to love you as a whole entity just yet.

We'll see what happens next month when I come here again.

Forget the taming mousse, I'm shaving my head

It is so humid here.

I was deceptively lulled into believing that our East Coast summer was going to be all breezes and butterflies.

Apparently not.

When I left the house this morning, I caught my reflection in a window. With my unruly, curly hair running wild on top and the kitten heeled peep-toes adorning my feet, I could have been mistaken for a Jersey whore.

Thankfully I don't have 2 inch bloodred fingernails with little rhinestone designs. I'm sure that's the only thing that kept the guy outside the Metro from offering me $50 and a good time.

Saturday

Dawn rose in hazy pink hues this morning, breaking sunlight just east of the white domed Capital building. The golden rays turned the silver spikes of the Missing Man Memorial into a golden crown.

Thin clouds veiled the horizon, a humid cool skyline punctuated with spires and obelisks.

Days like today make me love the nation's capital.

Snow day, a memory, a birth and New Orleans

Today is a SNOW DAY! No work. Why I'm up doing email at 6:00AM I just don't know.

Today is Valentine's Day. Three years ago, I received a Valentine from my husband and first new that he "liked" me. Aww, how 6th grade. But, here we are married and happy - and about to leave for New Orleans to escape the frigid East.

This morning, I thought of last Valentine's Day. We were in a hospital saying goodbye to an extraordinary woman. We had spent the night before in the critical care unit, just below the maternity ward. Throughout the 18+ hours, we paced hallways, brought food, talked with friends and family, and crossed fingers and toes to cling to hope. That time was punctuated with strains of "Lullaby" from the hospital loudspeaker announcing to the world every new birth on the floor above us. I remember thinking of new life even when one was so close to leaving.

This Valentine's day began when I opened the email annoucing the birth of little Ethan. I cried for joy for Shalen and Pat. And then I shed tears of sadness for Remi who lost her mom last year on this day.

Later today, Oliver will arrive into this world for Amy and Travis.

The cycle continues.

Death, birth, renewal, and hope - what miserable and wonderful things. Life is too short, too serious most of the time. The only thing left to do is celebrate it all. Starting tonight, I plan to drink and flash with my husband, best friend, and Aunt in New Orleans. We will be celebrating those we lost last year (in order) - Sally, Claudia's dad, my great-gram and co-conspirator Ruth, Bettina's dad, Uncle Dave, Uncle Larry, and Gene.

In the crowd, we'll see their faces and our memories.

And I'll have some King Cake for you, because all the drinking I do is going to be for me.

Everything must go!

It's official. We are moving to Washington DC. Well, at least northern Virginia.

We're packing the boxes and donating half the house contents. We definitely have too much crap.

And, for the first time I can remember in my life I can fit all my clothes into one closet.

But don't even think that I'm getting rid of all my shoes and purses.

Savages.

Week in Exclusive Detox Resort!

Your host Roxy would like to let you know that she is currently not posting to her blog due to her extended detoxification and "All About Roxy" stay at an exclusive, trendy resort with sweeping mountain views, and a gorgeous private suite. She's very busy with her numerous facials, massages, and occasional drug binges.

Ok...

Actually...

Replace "detoxification" with "no food or liquid, just IV's"
Replace "All About Roxy" with "doctors and nurses poking at Roxy"
Replace "exclusive, trendy resort" with "hospital"
Replace "gorgeous private suite" with "not bad private hospital room"
Replace "numerous facials" with "numerous tests"
Replace "massages" with "needle pricks"
Replace "occasional drug binges" with "morphine drip"

The morphine drip is the best part...hopefully I'll be out before another week passes.

Scottish Italian

Alasdair, my dear college friend, is here for a visit from Scotland for an entire week. He will get to participate in my stupid American Sopranos Party and see the glory that is Arizona.

In other news, we had torrential rain yesterday. The grocery stores were packed and the shelves were empty. I just went to get some chicken parm fixings and felt like I was attending an End of the World party. I know it's Arizona people but jeebus, it's just some rain. No ark required.


Tonight's menu for the Soprano's party:

Antipast platter including roasted red peppers, caprese salad, breadsticks, prosciutto & melon, homemade cheddar biscotti.

Chicken Parmagianna

Strawberries & chocolate fondue




"Mangia!"