The beautiful, brilliant people's blogs

One of the nice things about the blogosphere is that you can write a comment about, say, a favorite author, and, through the magic of Google Alerts, that person pretty much instantly sees it. I posted a few days ago about my friend Brendan Halpin (did I mention that he was brilliant?) and sure enough, he took the bait and swam on over to check out what I said about him (he's brilliant, and he has three books coming out next year!).

Speaking of authors I love, I think I'll post another comment on Jancee Dunn's blog. In her most recent memoir, Why Is My Mother Getting a Tattoo?, she writes about her passion for obscure vintage beauty books--the wackier the better. I share the obsession and alerted her to The Beautiful People's Beauty Book by 'Princess' Luciana Pignatelli a while back. I've since found a couple of new (old) titles to share with her. (I hope Jancee doesn't think I'm a nutcase. Though Wasps aren't terribly menacing as potential stalkers go. At worst we might follow one around with a little dish of stale Goldfish crackers and a rather weak G and T, and if we did lurk in the bushes, we would definitely write a thank you note after, and perhaps even offer a little pruning advice.)

The Turkey Bowl

When I was about 12 my mom remarried and we joined the Craig family on their 40 acres in the Ohio countryside.  My stepfather was straight out of an alternate universe where it was always 1950.  He and his two sons were fiercely athletic and competitive.  On Thanksgiving they hosted a touch football game--the Turkey Bowl--and friends and family would travel many miles to attend.  There was a goalpost permanently standing on one end of the large, immaculately-kept field that my stepfather used most of the year as his personal golf driving range.  On Turkey Bowl day he would don a black and white referee outfit and lime the field, and then play would begin.  Relatively few bones were broken over the years.  But the Craigs might growl a bit if anyone remarked, "Oh, touch football, just like the Kennedys!"  (After all, one doesn't say such a thing to Republicans.) 

I can't seem to put my hands on any photos of an actual game, but here's one of mom and my stepfather on Turkey Bowl day.  There are a couple of players getting ready behind them, and there is, strangely, a towel hanging from my stepdad's belt buckle.  This was a very important part of the official referee attire. I have no idea why.  (Wait--was it to wipe the ball down when the inevitable rain or snow made the field muddy?)

Bark If You Love Me

[Originally posted September 2008]


I was catching up with a friend the other night and mentioned that my mom had to put her boxer, Max, down a few months ago because he had developed health complications, including an enlarged heart. My friend said, "Well, we all know how big his heart was; he was a very loving dog."

Mom adopted Max from Boxer Rescue about seven years ago. He was then at some indeterminate age between baby and adult. His growth was no doubt stunted by the nearly two weeks he spent chained in some depraved person's backyard with no food. When animal welfare workers investigated, Max had just enough strength to lift his funny little face up so he could be seen. This resulted in not only his own rescue, but that of another puppy who was too weak to move.

Max was devoted to Mom from the time she took him in, and clearly recognized that she was his savior and his champion. He adored me, but he understood that I wasn't his person. If I said, "Where's Mommy?" when she wasn't in the room, Max would look anxiously around until he located her. I do believe that Max's heart became enlarged by all the love he received after his traumatic start in life. He was a sweet, gentle soul and he is greatly missed.

Speaking of boxer rescues, there is a wonderful memoir called Bark If You Love Me that reminds me of Max's story. Louise Bernikow, a New York writer and someone utterly unaccustomed to animals, finds herself adopting an abandoned boxer on impulse, then becoming infatuated with and transformed by this charming interloper. I highly recommend it as an unusual sort of love story. One that will make your heart larger and fuller.

The Rock Lady of Cincinnati, Ohio

[Originally posted March 2008]

Previously I posted about creative moms--specifically, Evelyn Ryan, the indefatigable heroine of The Prize Winner of Defiance, Ohio. Well, mine may not have won lots of contests, but she raised her children to be curious and to use their brains, just as Evelyn did.

My mom, Betsy Craig, was known as the “rock lady” when I was growing up, because she shared her love of geology and archeology by bringing fossils and pottery shards to school. She also volunteered at the Cincinnati Nature Center and the Museum of Natural History. (I liked to visit the latter because of the two huge and slightly scary woolly mammoths posted outside.) So it’s no surprise to her children that mom just received the North Carolina Wildlife Federation’s Conservation award for Environmental Educator of 2007. She was recognized for her creation of Rivercourse: Coldwater Conservation and Fly Fishing Youth Camp. Here's an article about the award.

I’m very proud of mom. (Even if she did sometimes call me "the little black cloud” when I was growing up. For some reason she and my brother thought I was inclined to be a tad sulky or grumpy in the morning. No comments from the peanut gallery, please.)

Oldies But Goodies

Hello to all of my readers!  Including those couple of bewildered folks from Serbia!  (According to Google Analytics, anyway.)

I am reactivating this blog, making it more generally about Wasps (White Anglo-Saxon Protestants) and their ways, but will be re-posting my "greatest hits" from the past.  I'm also using this website for what my brilliant, funny and prolific writer friend Brendan Halpin calls "shameless self-promotion," as I'm preparing a proposal for my family memoir The Speedwell Society: How We Missed the Mayflower, Jesse James and $70 Million.  (All of those things really happened, or rather, didn't happen, to my people.)  The story of the Tailored Woman store will be one of the chapters. 

Wasps are by nature somewhat dour and reserved so it's a struggle to call attention to oneself, but a family history as nutty as ours deserves an audience.  Stay tuned for more!