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Satin & Sand

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Satin & Sand

Tag Archives: Memoir

Beaded Necklaces…

04 Thursday Nov 2010

Posted by stanfordblog in Crafts, Fashion, Photography, Reflections, Writing

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Beading, Crafts, George Elliot, Memoir, Murano beads, Photography, Venice, Writing

© Joan Currie - Murano necklace

These gems have life in them: their colors speak, say what words fail of.     George Elliot

I have a penchant for necklaces fashioned from handmade Venetian Murano beads. The multi-strand emerald and maroon necklace above was made with disc-shaped aventurine beads embedded with speckles of gold.

The more whimsical and delicate necklace below, given to me by my mother, was designed using several cylindrical black Wedding cake beads enhanced with glass overlays of pink roses, gold swirls, and blue dots.

Necklace with Black Wedding Cake Beads

A Morning with Julia Child…

17 Sunday Oct 2010

Posted by stanfordblog in Food, Reflections, Writing

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Julia Child, Memoir

Voilà! My Daughter's First Bundt Cake

Some people like to paint pictures, or do gardening, or build a boat in the basement. Other people get a tremendous pleasure out of the kitchen, because cooking is just as creative and imaginative an activity as drawing, or wood carving, or music.

Julia Child

After the obligatory, monosyllabic babble, the first recognizable words out of my three daughters’ mouths were pâte brisé, flambé, and bon appetit! At a time when all the other neighborhood children identified with Big Bird and the rest of the delightful characters on Sesame Street, my progeny preferred the company of the middle-aged, wonderfully eccentric Julia Child. The girls would sit transfixed around the television set as she demonstrated how to whip up one fantastique meal after the other. They became devotees and insisted on watching every time Julia Child appeared on WGBH Boston.

After each show my daughters would pour over Julia Child cookbooks, even before the youngest could read. The eldest bookmarked the pages of interest using multi-colored recipe cards – yellow for appetizers, green for salads, blue for main dishes, and pink for desserts, while the youngest made her selections known in red crayons and fruity-scented purple markers. Here too, their early word recognition included more French and technical culinary terms than the mundane English vocabulary of their activities of daily living.

They became full-fledged connoisseurs and I enjoyed overhearing them discuss the subtleties of food preparation and ingredient selection, such as whether one or two teaspoons of cinnamon improved the flavor of homemade applesauce, was our gingerbread recipe better than the one served at Sturbridge Village, and were farmers’ market eggs superior to store-bought ones when making a mile-high lemon meringue pie?

When I learned that Julia Child was promoting her new book, The Way to Cook, one Saturday morning at a mall in Cambridge, it was out of the question not to go. We found her sitting alone at a table in the mezzanine, with her cookbooks stacked off to the side. The girls rushed over and began peppering her with questions about her shows and the reasons she did this or that. She was terribly amused by their enthusiasm, made them feel completely at ease, and generously spent the entire morning talking to them about French cooking and baking as no one else appeared at the table during that time.

We purchased several books that she graciously signed along with an older paperback copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking, which my youngest carried around with her in lieu of a baby blanket. To this day, all three still have a penchant for Julia Child’s legacy that was her cooking, but especially her panache and joie de vivre. They have indeed mastered the art of French cooking – surtout the youngest!

Sense of Smell…

25 Saturday Sep 2010

Posted by stanfordblog in Fashion, Photography, Reflections, Relationships

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beautiful, Beauty, Eleven Orchids Photography, Fashion, Lauren DiMarco, Memoir, Photography

© Eleven Orchids Photography

The sense of smell can be extraordinarily evocative, bringing back pictures as sharp as photographs of scenes that had left the conscious mind.

I visited my maternal grandfather only a couple of times, but during each stay he smoked White Owl cigars. Since his passing over thirty years ago, every time I smell a cigar I am instantly transported back to those few, special moments I had alone with him. The most memorable one was when he taught me how to draw a five-pointed star. I traced his pencil lines following his simple directions: across town, downtown, uptown, downtown, and back home again.

Maple Leaf Ball…

09 Thursday Sep 2010

Posted by stanfordblog in Fashion, Photography, Reflections

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beautiful, Beauty, Bill McClaren, Bobby Orr, Date night, Fashion, Hockey Fall of Fame, Memoir, Photography, Writing

© Bill McClaren

I could have danced all night!
I could have danced all night!
And still have begged for more.
Lerner and Loewe

My all-time best date night was at the Maple Leaf Ball in Boston when Bobby Orr, of Boston Bruins fame, was the co-host. When he greeted me I reminded him that I had had a summer job working at the Press Department at the Canadian National Exhibition, and had escorted him to see his Hockey Hall of Fame exhibit there for the first time.

Later on the dance floor my date, a huge Bruins fan,  pointed to Bobby Orr on the balcony and said -“There’s Bobby Orr!”I looked up and Bobby Orr waved and said, “Hi, Joan!” Needless to say, my date was very impressed.

Models – Lauren Currie & Oleg Galagan

Shared Experiences: Sailing…

08 Wednesday Sep 2010

Posted by stanfordblog in Art, Fashion, Photography, Reflections, Writing

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beautiful, Jesper Brandt, Lucy Macdonald, Memoir, Photography, Sailboat racing, Sailing, Writing

© Jesper Brandt

The initial bond is the shared experience.
Lucy Macdonald

Some time ago, I signed up to crew in an overnight yacht race across Lake Ontario from Toronto to Rochester and back. I had sailed with this all-male crew many times before, save for one new member, John, who was to share the same watch.

Once under sail, both the weather and our stomachs turned bad. It was the worst night of my life – apocalyptic downpours requiring the storm jibs to be changed every hour, heaving over the sides of the boat, the boom hit John in the head and sent him flying overboard, the skipper and first mate had a fist fight on deck, and we were disqualified from the race for hitting another boat.

The next day, I received a phone call from John telling me that the night before had been the best of his life! He wanted me to be the mother of his children and there was another overnight race the coming weekend – when could he pick me up? Was it the head injury or did this man, after witnessing me at my sick and bedraggled worst, still want to meet me again? It was amazing how we had such different takes on the same experience, but beautiful in that John saw beyond the difficulties of the event and still wanted to go back for more.

© Jesper Brandt

Engaging in Life…

06 Monday Sep 2010

Posted by stanfordblog in Fashion, Photography, Reflections, Relationships, Writing

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beautiful, Beauty, Fashion, Jesper Brandt, Memoir, Photography, Sailor Moon, Writing

© Jesper Brandt

Sometimes we have love and sometimes we lose love. Sometimes love can hurt terribly like a deep wound. In our world we have lots of ups and down, pleasures and pains. But that’s life and we learn to accept the bad with the good. Without the bad times we wouldn’t appreciate the good times. Life is precious and I cherish ever single moment. – Sailor Moon

A newly married woman I know worried that her husband was going to leave her because there was so much drama in her life. Family and friends were constantly asking for her help with serious issues and there seemed to be no end in sight to the bad tidings.

It turned out that she did not have to fret for one moment about her husband’s commitment to the marriage. It was her way of engaging in the messiness of life and not turning away from helping others – getting her hands dirty as it were, that he adored and loved about her most. He knew also that if the time were to come when he needed help, she would be right there at his side.

Consider a mosaic: shards of glass, stone or tile are set together in such a way as to form an image. If all the pieces are white – no picture is evident. Add a few fragments of light yellow or beige and perhaps the beginning of an image appears. But add some black and glittery gold to the work and now you start to have definition from the contrast between the light and the dark. Further, when you add shards from the entire color palette, a vision emerges that has depth, intensity, and profundity. We have only one chance to create the image that is our life. It can be shallow or it can have depth. The choice is ours!

© Jesper Brandt

On Recognizing Love…

05 Sunday Sep 2010

Posted by stanfordblog in Photography, Reflections, Writing

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Emily Dickinson, Frederik Rubin, Love, Memoir, Photography, Pia Ulin, Writing

© Pia Ulin

Beauty is not caused. It is.
Emily Dickinson

Prompted by a discussion about the female romantic poets’ lives, my English professor told the class about an offer of marriage that she had received some years earlier. Her suitor had sworn his undying love and devotion  – saying she was the first woman he had ever truly loved. He was utterly devastated when she said she could not marry someone with such a limited capacity for love.

I wondered why she dismissed him on a quantitative versus qualitative measure? A person may fall in and out of love all the time – does that make him more predisposed to form a lasting relationship? I think not. Surely the depth of a love, the recognition that the person you love is the one is some predictor for a lasting relationship, I just do not know how one would measure it.

© Pia Ulin

Singer – Frederik Rubin

Fishing…

02 Thursday Sep 2010

Posted by stanfordblog in Photography, Reflections

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beautiful, Beauty, Fishing, Georgian Bay, Memoir, Photography, Thoreau

© Joan Currie - Fishing

Many men go fishing all their lives without knowing that it is not the fish that they are after. – Henry David Thoreau

My father loved to fish! At least once a year he ventured into the wilds of Quebec in search of rainbow trout. He always came home with his limit and many a tall tale about the fish that got away.

Dad first taught his two daughters and son to fish in Georgian Bay, Ontario. We learned the finer points of bait selection, casting, and how to remove the hook by holding the fish firmly in one hand and carefully extracting the instrument of death with the other. Often we released the fish back into the water and then worried about the creatures swimming around with holes in their mouths – the fish equivalent of a cleft lip.

Father bought fishing rods for his grandchildren as soon as they could walk. I was amazed to see my three daughters reach for minnows to bait the hook, reel in the catch, and unhook with such confidence and more ease than I ever had.

Bonfire…

01 Wednesday Sep 2010

Posted by stanfordblog in Art, Photography, Reflections, Writing

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beautiful, Beauty, Bonfire, Capitola State Beach, Dante, Memoir, Photography, Writing

© Joan Currie

Heat cannot be taken from fire, or beauty from the Eternal.
Dante

During the day few people stop to notice this bonfire, but at night it takes center stage for many types of gatherings. This weekend, the annual Burning Man event will take place in the Black Rock Desert, Nevada. The event notice prompted me to think about the bonfires of my youth.

My first exposure to bonfires was at a girls’ summer camp in northern Ontario, Canada. I remember the darkness of the night and being lulled into a dreamy state by the cinders dancing up and around in the hot flames – broken only by the occasional cracking sound, like that of a ringmaster’s whip. The counselors sang and played on their steel string guitars the melancholy tunes of Joni Mitchell, mostly from the Blue album. I’m Leaving on a Jet Plane was also a favorite that they played over and over again. Those sessions were pure magic and the lyrics of the songs are emblazoned in my memory forever.

Just as we are drawn to the bonfire, so are the beasts. There is a certain vulnerability when seated in a ring facing the fire with our backs exposed – an uneasiness about who or what is lurking in the shadows. Ghost storytellers know this and so did an older boy when, at a local bonfire pit, he delighted in recounting a gruesome tale about a green-eyed monster. To this day, the monster has a habit of rearing its ugly head when I am alone at night – walking along deserted streets, in the woods, or going down to the cellar. Sometimes the imagination fuels the fire even more…

Bittersweet: Love Letters…

19 Thursday Aug 2010

Posted by stanfordblog in Photography, Reflections

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Lauren DiMarco, Love, Love Letters, Marc Virata, Memoir, Patty Griffin, Writing

© Marc Virata

How hard would it have been to say some kinder words instead… Patty Griffin

Every now and then when I find myself alone on a Sunday afternoon I settle into my favorite wingback chair and place a jewel-encrusted box in my lap. In a ritualistic fashion, I reach inside and withdraw a bundle of letters held fast by a pale pink satin ribbon, untie it carefully and gently press open the pages of the first read.

Some of the letters are penned on elegant gold-edged stationary while others are on thin blue airmail sheets. They are manifestations of a sweet, naïve young love. Within the pages are poems of shameless yearning, devotion and imaginings of a world where all things seemed possible.

My fingers trace the tender words whose power has not paled over the years on reading after reading, rather they pull at my heartstrings more now than on first consideration. I truly appreciate the sentiments, knowing how rare and lovely a feeling it is to feel valued, prized – even worshipped.

I wonder how different my life today would have been if the spell of a particular suitor had not been broken. But broken it was and it is a pity that the lovely words memorialized here had been confined to these pages alone.

© Joan Currie – My Love Letters

Model – Lauren DiMarco

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