Purple Reign: Wistful for Wisteria

No, I'm not talking about the decades-old drama of Desperate Housewives.  Although maybe I should be, because that was a great show.  I'm talking about this wisteria vine that I saw wrapped around a telephone pole wire on Mother's Day.  Spring flowers being what they are, it's probably long gone by now.  But the sight of it and its spirit stay with me.  I love it when something that's supposed to be frail stakes its claim somewhere it was told it shouldn't be.

Huh.  Maybe I'm talking about housewives (and women) after all.    

That said, don't get me started on pansies.

On the Topic of Tropics Part Two and the Pull of Papyrus

 Mint Julep Jewel Necklace

Top: Wet Seal

Skirt: Marshalls

Shoes: Payless

Bag: Bueno, Marshalls

Belt: Candie's, Kohl's

Sunglasses: Michaels

 Spangle Tangle Necklace

Top: Merona, Target

Skirt: Marshalls

Shoes: Guess, DSW

Bag: XOXO, ROSS Dress for Less

Belt: Gifted

Sunglasses: Rampage, Boscov's

Pink Prism Necklace

Top: Macy's

Cardigan: Mossimo, Target

Skirt: Candie's, Kohl's

Shoes: Dolce by Mojo Moxy, Shoe Dept.

Bag: Candie's, Kohl's

Sunglasses: Michaels

Big, colorful blooms make great backdrops, as seen with this week's trio of rain florist-flanked rhinestones.  No surprise there.  Exotic flowers have a rep for being the most dramatic, both in appearance and temperament.  We turn to the hibiscus, the orchid, and the bird of paradise when we want to make a splash, whether it's by the pool or for some kind of formal (that is, if we're talking orchids -- and the formal's a luau).  Yet everyday blossoms breed their own brand of intrigue, however seemingly safe behind white picket fences.  Take the dandelion.  It's the Transformer of the weed world, magically morphing from a strong, sunny circle to a cloud of ethereal white fluff.  Or wisteria.  I only recently learned that this pretty purple vine is a ruthless tree strangler, a piece of trivia no doubt horded by horticulturists and "Desperate Housewives" fans. Yep, garden variety flowers have a certain cachet, whatever their super powers.  I'm so taken with them that I've decided, after years of thinking the venture hopeless, to grow a few of my own.       

Fledgling green thumb or not, like most people, I don't like change.  Despite all the conveniences available to help us cope in this cuckoo world, I find myself clinging to stuff that's old school (including the movie Old School, which airs on TBS about once a month).  I write checks instead of using online bill pay, listen to CDs instead of MP3s, take pictures with a camera instead of my phone, and watch TV in real time instead of On Demand.  But of all these outdated rituals, the one I enjoy the most is reading books on paper instead of a screen.  Because I want to experience it all.  Vicariously.  From the comfort of my couch.  And everyone knows that it's just not the same curling up with a Kindle.  So I was particularly pleased to have recently read this nostalgic nod of a passage in Sophie Littlefield's A Bad Day for Scandal: 

"(Stella) Paused at the book aisle.  Cast a sidelong glance down the neat rows of best sellers.  She used to love to read, her bedside table stacked with thrillers and mysteries and historical romances from the library.  Once Ollie was dead, she treated herself to an occasional hardcover - she loved the feel, the smell, the sensation of letting the pages flutter against her fingertips.  Only, ever since she'd taken up the banner in defense of the defenseless, it seemed like her days ended in the kind of exhaustion that didn't do well with reading a chapter or two." (177)

Although many a print book proponent gets all flowery about the feel of the pages, I never tire of hearing it (especially from a vigilante browsing a rural Missouri Walmart).  There's just something special, almost hallowed, about the aura of tangible objects, and that goes double for books.  They seem to have histories and personalities that can't be unlocked by a cold, charmless screen.  Now might be a good time to admit the irony of saying so on a blog (an acknowledgement that I've made at least once before in these some 1,000 posts).  But then again, a collection of ramblings, however colorful, is not the same as a piece of fiction, and so does not demand the same timeless trappings.   

Take that, Kindle.  You too, Ollie.  Because the pen is mightier than the sword.  Except when the sword is a Taser or whatever weapon it was that Stella was wielding when she did you in.  If there's a takeaway somewhere in here, then it's this: never cross a woman with a library card.  

Even though I think that libraries smell funny.

TV Tuesday: Desperately Seeking a New Sunday Night Address: ABC Says Goodbye to Wisteria Lane

I've always loved "Desperate Housewives."  From its spine-tinglingly whodunit first season to the bitter end eight years worth of intrigue, romance, and heartbreak later, I remained firmly fixed on my couch at 9:00 each Sunday night to find out what was happening on Wisteria Lane.  Sure, it was soapy and catty and made up of sensational plot lines.  But the thing that set "Desperate Housewives" apart from other shows of its kind was its sincere and ever-present reminder that things are not what they seem and that life is precious and can change on a dime.  Smart and satiric, it revealed the untidy gardens of life behind suburbia's white picket fences.  But it snuck in sentiment amidst the snark, and in the end, its poignancy was what made its heart beat.

Yet despite all of this, I didn't expect much from last Sunday night's series finale.  The big question of how Susan (Teri Hatcher), Gaby (Eva Longoria), Bree (Marcia Cross), and Lynette (Felicity Huffman) were going to get out of going to jail for covering up the murder of Gaby's abusive stepfather seemed to be losing steam, especially after it was revealed that Bree's ex-husband Orson was the one sending those creepy "I know what you did" notes.  Although I sensed that no one would be put behind bars, I was unprepared for the dying Karen McCluskey to confess to the murder.  At the beginning of the show, Susan, Gaby, Bree, and Lynette agreed to look after her so she could die at home.  Never sure of their true feelings for her, Karen expresses her appreciation in a fitting act of unselfish symmetry, showing that everything happens for a reason and that despite all the mistakes the four friends made over the years, they are ultimately good people worthy of a second chance.

The last minutes of the two-hour show time Karen's last and Susan's granddaughter's first breaths, reminding us that death is a part of life and that life goes on.  Then we get a glimpse of the women's futures.  Lynette and Tom move to New York City so Lynette can become the CEO of ex-housewife Katherine's frozen croissant company, Gaby and Carlos move to California after the launch of Gaby's successful personal shopping business, and Bree marries her trial lawyer (Scott Bakula) and moves to Kentucky to become a politician.  Each of these women's destinies seems perfectly suited to her, both professionally and geographically, and it's no accident that these formerly desperate housewives end up achieving both personal and career success.

Still, we don't really know what happens to Susan.  Ever the nurturer, she is surrounded by her children and grandchildren - perhaps her destiny - as she drives away from her just-sold house for one last spin around the lane.  Mike's absence is palpably painful.  Mike and Susan's love story was perhaps the most genuine of all on the show, which was what made it so wrenching to watch Mike die of a gunshot wound in Susan's arms.  And yet, as initially out-of-the-blue as Mike's death seemed, it had been gently foreshadowed during the pilot episode when Susan and Mike met at - of all places - Mary Alice's funeral.  Always a powerful if unseen presence, Mary Alice fulfills her narrator duties right up until the very end, telling us that Susan feels as if she's being watched.  Sure enough, all of the characters who have died on the show, starting with Mike and ending with Mary Alice herself, appear on the lawn to give Wisteria Lane's nicest resident a bittersweet sendoff.  Then, in a classic "Desperate Houswives" twist, the scene cuts to Susan's old house, where the young new owner is stashing a suspicious box - not unlike Mary Alice's - in a closet to the tune of eerie music.   

I'm sure I'll watch whatever new show claims "Desperate Housewives' " vacant time slot.  But Sunday nights will never be the same.                

Movie Moment: American Reunion

If you graduated high school in or around 1999, then chances are that you have a kind of connection to the American Pie movies.  Having belonged to the class of 2000, I was particularly excited to see the fourth and presumably final installment, American Reunion. 

Thirteen years have passed since Jim (Jason Biggs), Kevin (Thomas Ian Nicholas), Oz (Chris Klein), and Finch (Eddie Kaye Thomas) made their epic pact to each bed a babe on prom night.  Despite adulthood having descended in the form of wives, kids, and careers, the gang's all here (even Oz, Heather (Mena Suvari), and Vicky (Tara Reid), who were conspicuously absent from the conga line in American Wedding).  Not surprisingly, life hasn't turned out the way any of them expected.  Jim and Michelle (Alyson Hannigan) are adjusting to life with a baby, Kevin is an architect-slash-stay-at-home-husband, Finch has been leading a life of exotic but vague adventure, Oz is a sports commentator with a spot on a "Dancing with the Stars" type show (hosted by Neil Patrick Harris!), and Stifler emerges from his mother's (Jennifer Coolidge) basement to crash the party yet again, apparently buckling beneath the demands of his secretarial gig.

The usual gross-out antics and naked ladies rim the edges of what amounts to be an oddly touching story.  Because beyond all the madness is a quiet reminder that everyone gets older and that life goes on.  Nowhere is this message more apparent than when we learn that Jim's mom died three years ago.  Jim takes over the role of caretaker as he gently nudges his dad (Eugene Levy) to dip his toe into the dating pool, an experiment that produces hilarious results.  Speaking of second chances, Oz becomes jealous of Heather's cardiologist boyfriend, Dr. Ron (Jay Harrington, the very same "Dr. Ron" from that guest spot on "Desperate Housewives" many moons ago), right around the same time that his own girlfriend ("30 Rock's" Katrina Bowden) is beginning to grate on his nerves.  But at the core of the crazy is Jim's moral dilemma presented in the form of an all-grown-up and smitten girl he used to (and this is kind of weird) babysit.   

Unlike the Hangover movies, American Reunion serves up a sex comedy with a conscious.  Sure, it makes you cringe in places, but it's the cringing that balances the sap, ultimately making the sap that much sweeter.   

Book Report: Bed of Roses by Nora Roberts

I've finished the second installment (third for me, really, since I started with book number four) in Nora Roberts's bride quartet series, Bed of Roses. This time the bride-to-be is florist and nice-girl-slash-man-magnet Emma. As I've mentioned in previous posts, the series centers around four friends who run a wedding planning business, each one with a different personality. But then, each member in a fictional group of friends seems to fall into a preordained category. Take Desperate Housewives, The Golden Girls, and Sex and the City.  In each clique you have the nice ones (Susan in DH, Rose in GG, and Charlotte in S&C), the intellectual ones (Lynette in DH, Dorothy in GG, and Miranda in S&TC), and the sexy ones (Gabby in DH, Blanche in GG, and Samantha in S&C). I realize my logic falls a little short because I left out DH's Brie and S&C's Carrie, but you get the idea. Anyway, Emma embodies the dual and seemingly discordant goody-two-shoes and siren stereotypes, which works for the most part. Still, she has the annoying habit of eating only slivers of food at a time. She says she does it to savor her food, but her behavior strikes me as the earmark of an eating disorder. (I'm not trying to be flip; I just hate stories that perpetuate the idea that women eat like rabbits.) Hmm. It's beginning to look as though I didn't really like this book after all, does it? And I didn't even get to the part about Emma's brute of a commitmentphobe boyfriend who takes offense to her doing nice things for him and - gasp - spilling cosmetics on his manly bathroom counter. But I suppose all's well that ends well because he falls in line with an engagement ring at the end.

Although romance novels are fun, the one-dimensional characters sometimes get on my nerves. But then, I'm bound to feel that way since I started reading the anything-but-one-dimensional page-turner The Help. More on that later. (Much later, as it's quite thick.)

Book Report: The Castaways by Elin Hilderbrand

Some novels use characters as props, never plumbing the depths of their personalities to reveal their greatest fears, their biggest regrets, or even what they like to eat for dinner. The Castaways, by Elin Hilderbrand, is a tale that unabashedly plumbs. The story is about the Castaways, a group of four close-knit Nantucket couples, one of which dies in a boating accident. Each of the friends takes turns discussing the incident in his or her own distinctive voice, revealing secrets that both complicate and illuminate the tragedy. The Castaways has a dark, soap operatic quality not unlike that of "Desperate Housewives" in the good old days. The characters are the kind of people you'd run into at the supermarket or at PTA meetings; well-meaning and idiosyncratic and protective of their shadows. The small-town island setting lends intimacy, quietly reminding us that each character is an island with problems isolating himself or herself from the others. Yet to solve the mystery and move on with their lives, each must band together like any castaways bent on survival. Striking a balance between literary symbolism and everyday life, The Castaways delivers an enriching tale that will resonate with readers long after they've shaken the sand from their beach towels.

Book Report: Deadly Housewives

As it turned out, I wasn't far from blogland after all.

Now, about this paperback cover. The white picket fence. The four women. And that title: Deadly Housewives. All a little familiar, isn't it?

I picked up this bargain book at Borders the same day I purchased Julie & Julia and Second Shift. Funny how that feminist theme snuck its way into all of my picks. But on to the review.

Blatantly cashing in on the popularity of the TV show Desperate Housewives, the Deadly Housewives short story collection features women who have moved beyond desperate into the more disturbing realm of, well, deadly. I think just about every story centers around a housewife murdering someone. Some of the stories are funny, others are just downright dark. Similarly, some were cheesy while others boasted more layers. All in all, it was the kind of book I was embarrassed to be reading. (Which might make you wonder why I'm broadcasting it to the world here. But as I often say, this blog is dedicated to reporting an accurate cross section of all my intellectual and artistic experiences, however good or bad).

That's not to say that I wasn't entertained by this murderous missive.

The story that intrigued me the most was "Next-Door Collector" by Elizabeth Massie. Its heroine is Anthea, a stay-at-home mom and artist who likes to be alone. The drama begins when a new neighbor, Lisa, moves into the house next store with her forty or so dogs and cats. As messy as Anthea is pristine and as sociable as Anthea is aloof, Lisa takes every opportunity to invite Anthea into her unkempt and fur ball-ridden home, cheerfully explaining that her pets are like the children she could never have. But Anthea, put off by Lisa's slovenliness and forward nature, politely declines, insisting that she needs time to work on her paintings. Meanwhile, Anthea notices that Lisa often ventures out to her yard in her bathrobe past midnight to haul a veritable forest of plastic storage bins into her basement. Although troubled, Anthea seems content to satiate her curiosity by spying. The story most likely would have ended here had Anthea's only son not taken a shine to Lisa and her menagerie. He sneaks over along with the other neighborhood children to play with Lisa's pets, much to Anthea's horror. She forbids him to return, her anxiety ignited when she hears that her son's two best friends -- twin brothers -- are missing. Convinced that Lisa and her ominous boxes are somehow to blame, Anthea creeps into Lisa's basement one night. As predicted, Lisa is there in her bathrobe, handling the boxes. Her movements are punctuated by crying that seems to be coming from beneath the floor. Sure that's she's hearing the pleas of the twins and countless other kidnapped children, Anthea bludgeons Lisa, killing her. The deed done, Anthea peers into one of the boxes and finds -- dogs. Piles and piles of dead dogs awaiting burial. Then Anthea returns home and begins painting a picture, entirely in black, in a frenzy. In the morning her husband sees her and says, "You've killed another neighbor, haven't you?" And that's when we realize that the "next-door collector" isn't Lisa, a mere lonely woman with too many pets, but Anthea, a paranoid serial killer who's murdered neighbors in various cities, forcing her family to move time and time again. (The twins, by the way, resurface quickly, having run away.)

Creepy, huh?

Desperate Housewives Season Premiere: One Housewife Gets Crafty

During last night's season premiere of Desperate Housewives, when Susan (Teri Hatcher) announced that she was going to help pull her husband Mike out of debt by selling the "really cool handmade jewelry she'd been making," I knew I was in for something good. Sure enough, Susan, who is an art teacher, pulls out several trays of oversized baubles to display for her Wisteria Lane cohorts in Lynette's kitchen just scenes later. Dubiously, the others examine the too-large necklaces and earrings while trading sideways glances. Bree jokes that she'll buy Gaby a pair of huge earrings because "her Latino ears can handle them," and Gaby retorts that she's buying Bree a bulky necklace to wear around her "sturdy Protestant neck." Oblivious as ever, Susan blithely regales her friends with the story of how she set up a table at the park to market her wares. Yet the climate of bitchiness hasn't reached its full pitch until Lynette's old college friend Renee (played by guest star Vanessa Williams) bursts into the room and starts sparring with Lynette. Ever the peacemaker, Susan urges them to stop before someone gets hurt. Right on cue, Renee asks Lynette if things have gotten so bad that she has to resort to wearing the earrings her kids made her at summer camp, leaving a crestfallen Susan to plaintively utter that too late, someone already did (get hurt, that is).

I know this little tableau was designed to make Susan appear as naive and dippy as ever. And I did think it was funny. Yet as a fellow jewelry creator and peddler, I also felt a little stung. Of course, I'm usually commiserating with Susan over something or other. I can't not, what with her being to Desperate Housewives what Betty White's Rose was to The Golden Girls. (If that left you in the dark, then I should interject that I'm wont to spout off my enthusiasm for all things Golden Girls and Betty White at random intervals.)

It must be mentioned that Susan endures far worse than snide remarks about her handmade jewelry in this season's inaugural episode. By the end of the show Mike is talking about going off to Alaska to work on an oil rig to earn enough to repay his creditors. Understandably alarmed by this prospect, Susan abandons her jewelry enterprise in favor of the far more lucrative gig of doing housework in her lingerie on the Internet. Which is very depressing. But that's another post for another day.

Make and Tell Challenge: Day 48

Tonight I added a second coat to the Beach Tropics tote while watching Desperate Housewives and Brothers and Sisters, two of my favorite shows. The tote is finished except for the ironing, which I'll do when it's dry tomorrow. I usually don't enjoy doing the second coat because it feels redundant, but tonight I felt as though I were adding something that hadn't been there before. As for the shows, Desperate Housewives was okay, although overall I think it's kind of dull this season. The mysteries were so good the first two seasons, but then they sort of petered out into muddled and predictable nothing plots. The characters are interesting, though, so I still watch. Brothers and Sisters is the better show now, at least to me. The Walker clan seems to have an endless supply of skeletons in its proverbial closet. Yet oddly, the plot is never cheesy. Instead it's believable, probably because of the realistic family dynamics. Speaking of TV (and particularly ABC TV), I caught the season premiere of Ugly Betty on Friday, also while painting. This is a show I never watched from the beginning, dismissing it as shallow. But then my sister said I'd really like it, so I watched a couple of episodes. And she was right! So much so that I couldn't believe I hadn't been watching it all along. It had crazy clothes and zany characters all wrapped up in a timeless coming of age tale that should have been trite but instead always struck the right cord. The premiere didn't disappoint, although the move from the Thursday night lineup to Friday is a little foreboding (as in, I hope it's not on its way to being cancelled.) In the beginning of the premiere, Betty's sister presents her with a businesslike blazer to commemorate her promotion to editor. Betty doesn't want to wear it, saying it "isn't me." The two-hour episode continues with the usual ups and downs, one of which is Betty's discovery that some of her coworkers have been making fun of her outfits on a blog ever since she was hired. To make a long story short, Betty ends up wearing the blazer in the end. Mark snaps her picture with his camera phone for the blog, then murmurs, "Hmm. This one isn't so funny." I had mixed feelings about this. Obviously, the entire show centers around Betty's climb up the publishing ladder. She's supposed to change and grow. But I felt a pang when she abandoned her unpopular but original wardrobe (secretly love those getups!) for something more conventionally corporate. Oh well. Let's just say you won't see me wearing a blazer any time soon. Back in Tote Trove land, I've got lots of new tote ideas brewing. But I may take a break tomorrow to make another eraser necklace. My Friday afternoon trip to A.C. Moore netted me eight new Iwako (well, Iwako knock-offs; more on that later) erasers, and I've been itching to transform them into more kooky jewelry ever since. Until then.

Make and Tell Challenge: Day 41

Today I went shopping with my mother and picked up some much-needed jewelry findings. When I returned, I made another ribbon necklace with my remaining wooden beads (I still have a fair amount of my handmade magazine beads). At one point I ran out of the wooden beads and was forced to start incorporating some plastic ones, which really messed with the look of this necklace. Not that it looks bad. It's just not as vibrant as its predecessors. After taking a Desperate Housewives break, I moved on to a necklace involving this orange paua shell pendant, which I picked up in Walmart the other day. Who knew that was such a source for cute, affordable jewelry stuff? Anyway, I decided to make this necklace double-stranded, using gold glass bugle beads for one strand and rainbow glass seed beads for the other (both also purchased at the Wall). Although it has a simple, elegant look I can't help but feel that it comes up a little short. I'm regretting not picking up more paua shell pendants (they came in green and red also) to intersperse throughout the necklace to make it a real statement piece. Then again, that would be my taste, and not everyone likes over-the-top stuff. So maybe it's better the way it is. Besides, I can always make the more elaborate version later. Tomorrow I'm looking at another homebody day (hooray for Christopher Columbus!). Since most of my more mundane chores are out of the way, I'm hoping this means I can delve into some more exciting projects.