The Salads

Some of you asked for the recipes; I'm happy to give out recipes. I just don't think much of what we do in the kitchen is a secret or should be a secret. If I find a recipe or make a recipe that I like, a little bell goes off in my heart every time you use it and the people in your life like it. When I menu for lunch, I usually go with salads. And when the entrees are salads, I go with a chicken, a vegetable and a fruit. They provide a nice range of choice for people and usually provide a nice range of color on the table, too. For this event, I used chicken, tomatoes and apples. The apple salad here is a curve but it is a recipe that I just love and is highly unique. Goes with almost anything and keeps nicely in the refrigerator afterward. The tomato salad is always a big hit and evaporates. Just can't make enough of those killer tomatoes. And the chicken salad is a signature dish here at Bellemaison. I can make it with the flu, in my sleep, with jet lag, under any circumstance and it always pleases and comforts everyone in the house.

Lemon Waldorf Salad
from The Junior League of Louisville CORDONBLUEGRASS


I am quite select about the apples, making certain they are crunchy and crisp and not mushy as some late winter apples can be. Of course, you must use Washington State apples. I also have been know to grill chicken and hot off the grill, chop it up and fold it in to this salad. mmmmm. mmmmm.


1/2 cup mayonnaise
1 T sugar
1 T milk
1 tsp grated lemon rind
3 Granny Smith or tart apples
1 cup diced celery
1/2 cup toasted broken pecans

2 T lemon juice

1/2 pound seedless grapes


Stir together mayonnaise, sugar, milk and lemon rind.
Cover and chill.
Peel, core and chop apples.
Toss together apples, celery, pecans, lemon juice, and grapes.
Cover and chill.
Just before serving, toss dressing and fruit together.


Serves 6-8.

Killer Tomatoes

from the Junior League of Memphis HEART AND SOUL

I usually serve this as a salad that makes a nice accompaniment for chicken or beef and a nice complement for fruit. I also prepare angel hair pasta, then season, oil and chill the pasta and serve the tomatoes over the top, as a cold entree. Pass the bowl of grated reggiano and Bob's your uncle .

5 cups cherry tomatoes, cut in half
6 slices lean bacon, cooked crisp and crumbled
1/3 cup snipped fresh basil
2 T red wine vinegar
2 t sugar
1/2 t dry mustard
1 sm clove garlic, minced
s & p to taste
4 T extra virgin olive oil
fresh basil springs

In a non-reactive bowl, toss together tomatoes, bacon and basil.
In another bowl, combine vinegar, sugar dry mustard, garlic, salt and pepper.
Add olive oil in a steady stream, whisking until blended.
Pour dressing over tomato mixture.
Toss lightly.
Garnish with additional fresh basil spring.
Serves 6 for salad.

The Chicken Salad of Bellemaison

I have made this salad for any and every occasion or time people have been at my house in the last 20 years. I take the time to make my own croutons which really amps up the result. I also do a hot Caesar version of this that's quite tasty. This is comfort food of the highest order.

2 C cooked, diced chicken

2 C diced celery

2 C croutons

1 C mayonnaise

1/2 C slivered almonds

2 T fresh lemon juice

2 t dehydrated onion

1/2 t salt

1/2 C sharp cheddar cheese

Heat over to 450 degrees.

Mix all ingredients but 1 cup croutons and cheese.

Heat 10 minutes.

Top with cheese and rest of croutons and heat until melted.

Bellemaison Croutons

6 plain bagels

1/2 c butter

garlic powder

salt and pepper

Carefully diced bagels into crouton-size amounts and arrange on jelly roll pan.

Sprinkle with garlic powder.

Season with salt and pepper.

Drizzle with butter.

Bake in 400 degree oven for 8 minutes, then remove from oven and turn. Bake for 3 more minutes. Remove from oven and pour into cool dish.

JBelle

Bellemaison

The 'Kan EWA

omigod. My house was absolutely trashed.

That's how I knew everybody had a good time. For people like me, who tend to be a little picky about details, absolute chaos and bedlam is vital to every foremost effort. When I clean my house, first I create an even bigger mess than I started with; I create an absolute lollapalooza of a mess, then I put it all back together in the precise order that pleases and comforts me. So in getting ready for this party for forty people whom I do not know, save for the honored and the honored future in-laws, nothing else would do but to pull all the closets apart and strew the contents up and down the halls, to polish every piece of silver I own, to carefully dust and wash the glass of every piece of art I own, then level each, and to rethink every single flower pot, vase and floral receptacle in this house and on the front porch. No small order, all of that. But it makes me happy. So it was with this party. It was a race to the finish, vanquishing winter with its dark and dust, dullness and dreary and cold, cold, stillness.

And when I was done, the house at Bellemaison became spring with flowers, colors, aromas and light in the sunny afternoon air. I looked around when the party was at a high pitch and saw the furniture and floors littered with silver punch cups, toilet paper, ribbons, handbags and smiles, smiles, smiles, and I was ever happier. You have to make a real mess to get a real result. So it was all worth it because the O'Doherty Girls laughed and laughed, kept me laughing and left here laughing still, as they scampered down the driveway into the spring evening. It was my pleasure to please and serve them and the bridal shower left me content and grateful for such darling, honest people in my life.

Breanne is a lithesome Goddess. She is generous, beautiful and has flawless manners. Her two sisters are older and younger versions of her and the three of them would be quite intimidating in their beauty and grace, if they were not such compassionate, caring people. Breanne came to me in a moment of poise and care and said JBelle, there's a squirrel on the front porch eating the cake. I SHRIEKED, with absolutely no poise, at that damn razorback who has eaten probably about 2000 Apricot Beauty tulip bulbs over the last four years, ran out to the front porch to my luscious blueandwhite dottedswiss cake on my darling white wrought iron tea cart, all set up up for tea. The little porker wasn't even happy with a swipe on the corner. His grubby footprints led to the center of the cake, where he dug a divot of blue butter cream frosting, narrowly missing the B. He disappeared by the time I got there, clearly holding the higher IQ in the battle of wits that is him and me. I was horrified about serving guests cake with rodent germs but Breanne was worried about me and my parade, hoping the squirrel hadn't sent too much rain. And so in the end, that's what makes her gorgeous: her heart. It's ginormous.

It was a afternoon of girlfriends--love, care and laughter--in a springtime that you only get in the NorthLand. Viva la pedicures. Viva la wedding and bridesmaid dresses. Viva la dishes and linen. Viva la recipes. Viva la plans. Hopes. All of it. Viva.la.all.of.it.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Party #1: Shamus played football with The Christ Child and dated the lovely Breanne, who went to the protestant, do they call it public? high school. They graduated and he went to Gonzaga, she to the U. Soon she transferred back to Gonzaga and we came to believe what they knew and believed: this was forever. And now, they marry at St. Al's in a few weeks. We are all so very excited.

Bellemaison will host a bridal shower for Breanne this weekend, using the theme "Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed, Something Blue." The Chows have been absolutely knocking themselves out making Breanne a scrapbook with that theme and thanks to the generous donation of old pictures from The Little One, one of those Catholic School Mothers who co-mothered Shamus and Breanne through Catholic grade school, we have a treasure trove of shots that will amaze and delight the bride to be.

The wedding colors are blue and brown and so we are weaving all hues of blue through the house with touches of brown here and there. The flowers in the dining room will be white hydrangeas and ferns with deep blue muscari and croci; blue hydrangeas and hyacinths and tulips in a pussy willow nest in the living room with paperwhites at the punch bowl in the breakfast room. Got some really good clear blue plates at Freddy's for $2.99 apiece and will use the white appliqued table cloth with the tiny, tiny stitches over blue flowers and birds. The Russians are coming for the annual springtime polish of the silver, so we should be all Gorhamed up around here. Least for another year.

We plan to divide the party into six groups and give each group six rolls of toilet paper, paper clips, scotch tape and a stapler and direct them to appoint a model and fashion a wedding dress. Adequately fueled by the lemonade and vodka punch, the results will be a clear indicator of spring, something that's lacking here in the PNW at this date.

And the menu. The menu will fall back on some of the traditional favorites here at Bellemaison. The back of the house is busy with the first party of the year as is the front of the house so we will use some tried and true recipes that don't challenge us and that people love; on this day, the girls at Party #1 will let their nutrition go for an afternoon, in celebration of love and spring and all that is hopeful. We can't wait! Viva la fat, salt and sugar!

Bridal Shower Menu

Passion Fruit Iced Tea
Vodka Lemonade Punch

Sour Cream Banana Bread
Orange Shortbread

Strawberries with sweet cream cheese
Savory Cheesecake
Dill and Cayenne Dip with vegetables

Lemon Waldorf Salad
Hot Chicken Salad
Tomato Salad

Tuxedo Cake
Iced Vietnamese Coffee
Cappucino

Ain't love grand?

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

I met Benedict the way many people meet the Holy Father: in Rome, just yards outside his private apartment in Vaticano. It was a gorgeous Wednesday morning and hundreds of thousands of people from all over the world had come for the Wednesday morning general audience in St. Peter's Square. I was there with PoleDancer PhD, who had somehow seduced me into taking her to Rome and showing her around, because...she had never been there. Truth is, Pole Dancer PhD has never been anywhere without her husband, let alone out of the country by herself. And she was passionate about seeing Thuh Pope! What is it about Protestants and the Pope? Have they all forgotten they came through the Lutherans to be where they are today? Giving $25 to the cancer fund annually and attending Easter and Christmas church services as a cultural rite of holiday? Is Thuh Pope! another part of that cultural experience? "I went to Rome and saw Thuh Pope!" So there we were, she and I, at a general audience of the Holy Father, Pope Benedict XVI.

He was formerly known as Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger. When he became the successor of JP2, I was a tiny bit daunted and dismayed because of his extremely conservative, rigid politics. I know these Germans well. And as always, you can never separate the politics from the theology. Which follows which? But I was reassured by Monsignor Ribble himself that Ratzinger was a good man; that he was as people said, wicked smaht, and that his politics followed his theology and not vice versa. Besides, at his age, he had a brief window of leadership. I also realized that I really did believe that Ratzinger became Benedict at the invitation of Our Lord; that he was the successor of Peter by the hand of divine invitation. So Benedict is was. And is. I am a Catholic by choice and am blessed, not burdened, by church and the work of our Church.

Having done this general audience thing several times over, I knew what we needed to do to get to the best seats. I checked handbags and outfits before we left the hotel, in an effort to speed us through security. We left the hotel and walked into the Vatican past Castel Sant'Angelo, and wounded our way though the queues to the final security checkpoint, where we sailed through. I dashed up the side aisle and secured seats in the second row of the second section. Roughly, second row balcony right, for those theatre goers in the crowd. So we settled in to wait for the events of the day to begin.

A general audience at the Vatican is one of the most joyful things you'll ever do. Many of the people there have saved their money for years and years to be there, so they are gleeful and giddy as their dreams come true. People wear their natives costumes and nuns still looks like nuns in Rome, so there is much to see and hear, as the languages of the entire world swirl in and around your head, confounding and delighting you simultaneously. This is all staged in the set of St. Peter's Basilica, whose architectural splendor is hardly rivaled anywhere. It is a sublime experience, not duplicated in Christendom or in the other secular and religious capitals of the world. And if it's a beautiful day in Rome....

A roar went up from the crowd and the chants of "Il Papa!" began. In my previous experience, the Popemobile had come up a center aisle to the main altar set up on the steps of the basilica. I was confused by the chants of the crowd as to where the action was to begin, much as you aren't completely clear where a prize fighter will enter the arena to make his way to the ring. I scanned the throngs of people furiously, still more confused and getting irritated because I couldn't see Benedict's car and the security team in place. The crowd now thundered with a frenzy that made me a tiny bit panicky. I shrugged my shoulders in frustration and looked up and Benedict was at my elbow. He had entered on our side, right on our aisle. The people in the first row kissed his hand and bowed their head for a blessing and I stood there incredulously as he looked straight into my eyes, held them and smiled deeply, with an intensity and knowledge I still cannot describe to this day. I was literally struck down. Completely overcome, my eyes filled with tears and I had to sit down as the people and the Pole Dancer around me jumped and waved and photoed the Holy Father, Pope Benedict. I sat in my chair as the peopled towered over and about me, the energy of that one moment of Benedict's presence still clearly with me. After several more moments, I was able to join the crowd again, slowly rising to cheer in joy and jubilation of the moment and in adoration of our leader here on earth.

After the service began, I thought about what had just happened. The fact is, I was awestruck, thunderstruck, gob-smacked. I decided it was the surprise factor and it was such a close encounter at that, with the people in the first row all genuflecting, I had his undivided attention for a few seconds. I was just caught up by the wave and rolled into the surf, with the heat of the day and the swarms of people doing their part to overwhelm me as well. And I couldn't believe I never got a picture! He was right there and I couldn't get the shot off. Actually, I had dropped the camera. Anyway.

The Pole Dancer soon became fidgety and restless as the Holy Father greeted the crowd seven different times, in seven different languages. Already the novelty had worn off for her, but I am always blessed and humbled to be with people from my church that I have not met and loved every minute of the two hours we spent together on that day in June.

After the final blessing, Benedict came back down the center aisle in his car with his security team flanking him and to my utter surprise, AGAIN, his car turned and he came right in front of us. But this time I was ready; I got the camera focused and ready to go and has he approached us, once again, he looked deeply into my eyes and smiled, the smile of a person who has known me for thousands of years. My jaw dropped and an enormous electrical charge coursed through my body, knocking me off my feet, sending me back to my chair with a heavy thump and a clatter as my camera hit the bricks again. His car turned into the final exit and He turned and waved to the Pole Dancer and me. I feebly waved back, this time able to crack a little smile as I sprawled on my chair, completely weak with no physical capability whatsoever.

And then I knew, for sure, what had happened. And I knew what Paul has said is all true. Because on that day in June in Italy, the Holy Spirit paid me a visit, not once but twice, to remind me that not only was I wrong about Benedict but also that I don't have the wisdom of the ages. I don't have all the answers and I can't begin to think my way through all the answers and the variables that factor into the answers. I am not as smart as I would like to think, no matter what my accomplishments and experiences on this earth have been. The Holy spirit had me know that It works in ways known only to Itself but if I have faith, if I keep faith, the path shall become clear and wisdom will light itself, much as a beautiful painting on a wall.

So Benedict is so very special to me. Many, many people claim JP2 was their Pope. He was the only Pope I ever knew so I was happy to throw in on that one. Until that day in Rome, when the Holy Spirit spoke through Benedict, with a message of love and blessing that lives with me to this very moment. Love and blessings to you and all that read this. Keep the faith. Stay brave. Our time is at hand.

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

So The Bitch was back on the Palouse last night and she destroyed the place. Although it was a long, slow wind up, Elton John put on the show that had 12,000 mothers and kids dancing and singing together in an euphoric springtime rite of celebration. He is The Lord of arrangement, composition and performance. His left hand is like movable granite and his right hand is a gossamer jackhammer up and down the keyboard of the ten foot ebony Yamaha that is the co-star in his current road show that started in Dubai and will end July 13 in Weybridge UK.

Mike the Bike Stud was thrilled when Sir Elton opened with 'Funeral of a Friend'; Mike has seen EJ' show 8 times but never seen him do 'Funeral', his all-time favorite. And although the Palouse itself did a mighty rendition of its annual 'Springtime' yesterday, complete with delicious and sensual sunshine accompanied by sweet, soft air wafting in from the wheat fields, when the lights went down promptly at 8 pm at Beasley Coliseum and Sir Elton advanced the stage in embroidered tails, sat down at his piano and cranked right into 'Funeral', I knew this was why we had come to the Palouse on this day and that this was the show we had come to see.

The band is second to none. First with the legendary Nigel Olsson playing drums, can the night be anything less than a fulfillment of prophecy? Davey Johnstone IS Davey Johnstone on lead guitar. He can follow the Gossamer Jackhammer like he' s a dragonfly in a head set, darting in, out, over, under the lines and progressions; diving through the music, coming back up for air in a big spark, and then disappearing in a wisp of smoke. In a word, his music is thrilling. If for nothing else, Davey Johnstone is awesome because he looks like a heroin addict, a blond warrior and veteran of things best left unspoken. He looks like a bad, bad boy as only guitar gods can and should be. And I hear he's Scottish. The guy is the complete package.

The tech is all light and sound. Forty or so cams with spots from 3 points out. It's very eighties, but updated for grace and elegance. The tech perfectly, beautifully frames the essence of the evening: music. There's nothing particularly visual about this show, just wonderful, wonderful music emanating from a bright, colorful spot that's away, beaming in to you in perfect clarity, as you sit in complete darkness. It's a musical light and dark thing. Just killer.

So as I sat in the darkness with all the other sons and daughters of Washington State and let this music enter me, I could feel the decay and fatigue being separated and excised from my body, where its treachery has been lurking and slyly reproducing. And when we walked to the car under the starry, dark, midnight skies, I felt year and years and years, and pounds, lighter. And in the wonderful way that transformation is, I was smaller but bigger.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

You Belong in 1986

Wild, over the top, and just a little bit cheesy. You're colorful at night - and successful during the day.

What Year Do You Belong In?

Oh my! Dare ya.....


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

[somewhere i have never travelled]

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

So I find myself in a place where I never dreamed of but I place where I always have always worked to be: my youngest child is graduating from college soon. My one ambition in life has always been the education on my children. I wanted it to be value-driven, thoughtful, disciplined, yet free from the "tyranny of precedent" as Clara Barton would have it. Their education has always been at the forefront of my ambition and of the activities and past times of our family.

As it turns out, I have raised one child whose politics are liberal, one child whose politics are conservative, one child who hasn't realized yet that he can vote and that people do vote. I've raised three children who are solid, bona fide, no matter whose definition you use, good cooks. One who likes to travel, two who like to be at home. I have three children, each with well developed senses of humor. One of my children will always be Best Dressed in any situation; two who will be doing what they can to keep up. uh oh. I bet I have ruffled some feathers with that one. All right. How about this? I have two children who drive expensive, fast cars that are head turner cars and one child who doesn't own a car.

My point is that they all act as their own agent, yet hold each other and me, quite dearly. They are all educated and learned. My work is done. Which is pretty darn scary for me, as I have to find a new job. And I dunno what exactly appeals to me better than showing my kids around and pointing out the pitfalls as we walk.

Sooooooo. Only one thing to do. Partaaaay. So partaay we will; celebrate our successes and anticipate our futures. One gig at a time. Let's do it.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

This is an Air Force recipe that I have used forever. It is fabulous. And fabulous to have in the refrigerator for a quick sip. I put big olives, celery, pickled spicy asparagus, and/or pickled spicy beans in a tall glass, fill to half-glass with ice, then pour in the Bloody Mary. yeah baby.

Dick's Bloody Marys

1 can V-8

2 lemons, squeezed hard for juice

4 drops Tabasco

2 dozen shakes celery salt

1/3 cup Worcestershire sauce


Combine all ingredients into half-gallon bottle. Fill to the top with vodka. Shake well. Refrigerate.

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

You have asked for it, waited for it, prayed about it and now here it is. The famous brunch recipe of Bellemaison, served with fruit salad and little tiny cinnamon rolls washed down with Dick's Bloody Marys:

HOLA MEMPHIS!
from the Junior League of Memphis 'Heart and Soul'

6 - 6-inch tortillas

1 1/2 pounds lean mild sausage

1 c chopped onion

1 minced clove garlic

1 tsp crushed dried oregano

1 tsp ground cumin

1 tsp ground red pepper

1/2 tsp salt

2 cups shredded Monterey Jack cheese

8 eggs

2 1/2 cups milk

1 4-oz can diced mild green chilis, drained

1 c dairy sour cream

two tomatoes, chopped small
two avocados, chopped chunky
1 can olives, sliced
large wedge iceburg lettuce, sliced fine
two bunches green onions, chopped chunky
salsa

Spray 13 x 9 baking pan and line with tortillas, cut to fit.

Using a fry pan, cook sausage, onion and garlic over medium heat; drain. Stir in oregano, cumin, red pepper and salt. Spoon sausage mixture into tortilla-lined dish. Sprinkle with cheese.

Preheat over to 350 degrees. In a large bowl, beat eggs and milk until well blended. Stir in green chili pepper. Pour egg mixture over sausage and cheese.

Bake about 45 minutes or until knife inserted near corner comes out clean. Let rest 5 minutes. Frost with sour cream.

Cut in pan and pass bowls of tomatoes, avocados, olive, lettuce, onions, and salsa.

Make 8 servings.



JBelle
Bellemaison
THe Kan 'EWA

I like 'you of my heart, send me a little word'. I would like to think that if I was being my very best self, I could be this. Call it all joy.

it may not always be so; and i say

it may not always be so;and i say
that if your lips,which i have loved,should touch
another's,and your dear strong fingers clutch
his heart,as mine in time not far away;
if on another's face your sweet hair lay
in such a silence as i know,or such
great writhing words as,uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;

if this should be,i say if this should be-
you of my heart,send me a little word;
that i may go unto him,and take his hands,
saying,Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face,and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands.
                          -- ee cummings

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Man. You gotta go with the classics. Wait! You knew this was coming! It's National Poetry Month! This for all my unhappy friends, with, yes, LOVE:


you shall above all things be glad and young

   you shall above all things be glad and young
  For if you're young,whatever life you wear


  it will become you;and if you are glad
  whatever's living will yourself become.
  Girlboys may nothing more than boygirls need:
  i can entirely her only love


  whose any mystery makes every man's
  flesh put space on;and his mind take off time


  that you should ever think,may god forbid
  and (in his mercy) your true lover spare:
  for that way knowledge lies,the foetal grave
  called progress,and negation's dead undoom.


  I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
  than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
                                   --e.e. cummings


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

I bet I didn't mention Las Vegas. That's okay, I guess, as LV is almost timeless these days. Where else can you go for a super-hit of fun, elegance and beauty, with now, surprise!, great restaurants? LV. Who knew?

We went for a long weekend in February and ran up and down the strip, squandering money at the roulette wheel, the pai gow tables and the Hermes and Chanel stores. It's a fabulous weekend! The people from Southern California tear around, all greased and cinched up, and make a terrific spectacle for the international tourists, who at this time, are about 50 per cent of the take in LV. Gotta love that puny dollar. Restaurants are the single biggest trend of the new millennium in new LV. In the old millennium, LV food was second to none in it malevolence. It's a new day and a new deal and you can now go to LV on restaurant treks. There are that many and they are that good. Bouchon delivers everything it promises. Emeril's for Cajun food was weak but it does remain a lovely restaurant, steeped in immaculate restaurant technique of impeccable service and flawless food. Just no heart and soul. Maybe true to form for an LV Emeril's? The Palmat the Forum Shops is fabulous for steak. They do meat and all that meat needs with a touch that is sumptuous and soothing. Best all time steakhouse. And finally, Italian at Bertolini's at the Forum Shops by the fountain still is one of the best, lovely dinners in town. We were there on election night in 2000 when President Bush ran against Al Gore. We sat down and ordered wine and antipasti and when they brought it, they said things were too close to call. Then when they brought the funghi e pasta, they said VP Gore won. When they brought the tiramisu, they were then saying, Wait a minute! Come to think of it, I am going to book a room at Caesar's for Election Night 2008 and relive the moment. And celebrate.

Saw The Divine Miss M on the 3rd night of her new show. She looks fabulous. She is singing fabulous. Her set and tech is phenomenal. She mentioned the tech budget figure and it escapes me at the moment, but my jaw did drop at the mention. And I was happy for her. What a buzz to perform in that theatre with a stupendous production budget at this point in your career. She was wickedly and profanely funny. Her gift shop is chock full of cute and wonderful things. It's all so, so good. Saw 'Love' with Cirque du Soleil. Hauntingly gorgeous. It explores the backstories of the songs and the childhoods of the Fab Four. Alls I gotta say is that the Cirque must have 6 or 8 clinical psychologists on staff; how else could they climb into your head and heart so fast and go so deep? Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. Beautiful.

Oh, yeah. Speaking of which, then there's the Bellagio. When is it that you go to that place and they aren't at the top of their game? Wynn, Schmynn. The Bellagio is a sensory feast and a true place to promenade when in LV much as one promenades on the Champs d'Elysee when in Paris. And everyone goes there, at least to look around. It is a teeming mass of a broad spectrum of international humanity. My favorite Bellagio delight is breakfast in the breakfast room. Five Star Food, which with scrambled eggs give you new appreciation and respect, Five Star Restaurantmanship, Five Star Design. But another emerging favorite came up this trip: on Sunday morning I bought a NYT and wandered down the hall to the chairs set in the windows outside the bathroom of the convention center. Sat in the sun, sipped coffee, read the paper and watched people. Yuuuum.

How can you not love LV? It' s both a definition and a reality in and of its own.

JBelle

Bellemaison

The 'Kan EWA

This why I'd rather read Michael than anybody else on the internet.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

The New York Times Magazine has a great piece today by Virginia Heffernan on how the Internet has changed the world for the obsessive collectors, or as I refer to myself, those with collection affliction. sigh.

I don't know if it's museums or seeing a representative body of work or identifying a trend statement in American retail but ... I am afflicted. With collections.

Yeah, you know about the Starbucks mugs; I've told you about them. Some bastard over at Mike's Mugs actually catalogued every mug Starbucks has ever put out, which is like a mondo red flag for people like me. Man, I gotta get back to the mugs and get serious. Serious? you ask. Well, yeah. How can anybody take me serious with only 244 mugs?

Then there's the Hermes scarves. OmiGOD, I love those things. I love to buy them. I love to wear them. I love to take them out and play with them, rearrange all those acid free boxes on my close shelves. I love to go to Paris in January to buy them on sale. My favorite is probably...Couvee d'Hermes, which I have in several colors, but I like the shell pink the best. I just bought five new scarves in Las Vegas; it's The Year of India in Hermes time--of course, I had to get them all! The colors are so gorgeous. My Holy Grail scarf, which in the vernacular of wizened Hermes Scarf Collectors, YES WE HAVE A USER GROUP OVER ON YAHOO , means the scarf that we want, we want, we want, but cannot find, is 'Alpabet'. It a set of 26 vignettes of French country life, with a big block letters of the alphabet identifying each by name. It is a primer in letters, images, living and sensuality. I have been looking for this scarf for five years; to no avail. I remain undaunted and encouraged. I will find one to bring home to Bellemaison. The Chows will dance and do back flips. We will cut up extra turkey hot dogs on that night and gorge, gorge, gorge in our good fortune, the Chows and me. We will overcome. We will twist and knot 'Alpabet' around our necks in this lifetime. Wait and see.

There's the vintage Catholic Parish calendars. I used to see these on the walls of the houses in my old neighborhood and was fascinated by them; didn't know what they were and what they meant. Remember, I'm a convert. I found some of these same type of calendars in a Quonset hut in Worley in the '80s and just started collecting them. I LOVE these things. I have the St. Al's Parish 1929 calendar, with all the Wednesdays and Fridays in Lent represented by a fish.

There's the art collections; two, actually. The regional contemporary art collection, which if I do say so myself, is magic. No, really! It is. Makes me smile even thinking about it. It's magic. I just acquired some lovely VietNamese pieces that are just, well, not describable in the big scheme of things. Then there's the antique botanical print collection, but I have told you about that before, too. It' s lovely, lovely, lovely. Peaceful. Wonderful. With collections inside the collection, like the pine cone prints. Those pine cone prints are fabulous.

Actually, I have another art collection: the most valuable one I own. Done by my children when they were in grade school, this collection hangs in our den on Easter/Alleluia walls and I love it more every day. I love it. Back in the day, Peedy Pupperelli specialized in furious marker art; nobody could put more marker strokes into a picture than The Pup. Jammer did the ubiquitous yet highly convincing self-portraits. When you've seen that tongue sticking out in your direction a dozen different ways, you know it anywhere. Beni Hana's pieces are few, but exceptional. He explores the dark side of his gene pool with ease, persuading you that the Celts might not have been cave people after all. All Beni, all the time.

Then there's the Wedgwood. I thought only grandmothers collected Wedgwood. I went to the factory in Stoke-on-Kent once and despite fierce internal protestations, became quite attached to Wedgwood. But collected it only here and there until I discovered it on eBay. Now it' a whole new ballgame. This stuff make me crazy with joy. I'd rather open up a box with colored Jasperware by Wedgwood than just about anything. In the last month, I've indulged a fettish with the covered boxes; God, they are just cunning. I am looking for the bean-shaped covered box in pink, if you see one. I need it to go with the others. The pentefoil collection is coming along nicely; there should be a black one in the mail to join the others as we peak. Hooray for eBay! Rah! I say!

There's the JMS Early Pottery Collection and the AMH Early Pottery Collection, both in the galleries of our downtown offices. I think a lot of the clients think it's Pre-Columbian art and don't realize The Pup and Jammer had well-known clay careers at The Spokane Art School back in the day but chose instead to go into soccer and Scouting. But I have the evidence of their primal talent. There's the umbrellas; they bore me these days. The birdhouse collection has been in storage for at least 5 years; when we moved out of the lofts downtown I had no place to curate them. sigh. I bet there's other collections in storage, too, things that I have just forgotten about. Just as well, because clearly, they bore me. too.

I have never done a drive by on a flea market; I always stop in. I can blitz two estate sales in the morning and still be at work by 7:45. I can sort 7000 items on an Internet search in seconds flat. I can look straight into the heart of every dealer out there and spot the larceny. It's a gift, this collection affliction, because beauty is all around. The face of God is everywhere as Ignatius would put it and I see him talking to me in just about all things.






JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

I like the snow. Here in The Kan EWA we received four inches yesterday and it's snowing hard again today. Hurray! We get just a little more before it gets hot and the mosquitoes and aphids battle for sovereignty in the gardens of Bellemaison.

And being a gardener, my outlook is definitely odd. Maybe because I don't shovel, worry about getting around or otherwise am not burdened by the snow I can just enjoy it at face value. And I do enjoy it. I sit and look out the window now, memorized by the fluid white windowscape that is nothing but pink and blue with hydrangeas in July. In a minute, I will get up and get more coffee and the entire south wall of the kitchen will be a windowful of winter. The garden is as beautiful and lush with quiet, white mounds of fluff today as it is June when the roses and rhododendron bloom or in October, when the asters, chrysanthemums and viburnums take the final bows of the season. The winter garden holds no second place in my heart. It's clean, soft, peaceful and content.

Red Dorothy stuck her head in my lap just now and said she'd like to go out. She likes winter, too. Of course, she's got a good coat.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

From the Galleries of Bellemaison


LOVE MEANS ...

...good friendship--really, good friends
...treating people nicely

LOVE MEANS...

...going camping
...playing with friends
...going to McDonald's
...doing math and having recess.


By Jon

JBelle

Bellemaison

The 'Kan EWA

So Gonzaga is one and done in Carolina. Oh my.

There is not much I can say that hasn't been said and said by keener wits than me, cleaner analysts than me, more astute observers than me. But I will say this: Few should sharpen up his resume. It'd be my preference that several of the people he recruited do the same. Because they just don't get it any more. They just don't get it.

Matt Bouldin made a startling remark last weekend, in hyping the match up with Davidson this week. He was referring to somebody or something Davidson-related as reminding him of Gonzaga, back in the day. Back in the day? BACK.IN.THE.DAY?

What the hell is he talking about, back in the day? This is the day! This is the day and we made it! It is all ours, because it was us who painstakingly put pieces together whose sum is greater than its parts. Where is the world is Matt Bouldin's head and more importantly, his heart? As I watched Gonzaga fumble around against a tightly bound and solidly unified Davidson team on Thursday, it was quite clear where Matt's, Mark's, and the rest of the team's heads and hearts are: up their tailfeathers.

These days the entire Gonzaga basketball organization is so taken with themselves, so intent on monitoring their own headlines, believing their own spin, that they have forgotten, this IS the day. And it's our day, born of ambition, hard work, and unwavering commitment. But pride, team, community and school are not what GU is playing for now. They are playing for themselves.

They butt each other for position and prominence, for stats and stardom, they are playing to lay the groundwork for that shoe contract and that glittering NBA career that surely lies in their future. They aren't playing for their fans. They don't play for pride. They don't play to honor the legacy that built the Mac or the common sentiments and beliefs that make us a community along the north banks of the river, just past the I-90 off ramp. They are playing for themselves. And when their "efforts" bear no fruit, they are bewildered. Flat gobsmacked. Some fall to the floor and sob. It is just not supposed to turn out like this!

Instead, every one of those players and coaches needs to fall to their knees and pray to remember where they came from, and pray to be able to believe in each other and in us, and to remember where we all, all of us, came from. Our basketball boys of GU need to acknowledge that they wander the wilderness aimlessly and are likely to continue to do so unless they turn away from the golden idols that success sometimes brings.

I think a page from Billy Donovan's playbook is in order; for the non-basketball among you, Billy Donovan is the coach of the Florida Gators. The Florida Gators were the National Champions last year and this year, didn't even make it to play offs, getting knocked out in their conference tournament. So Donovan ceased allowing these "players" to train and practice in the state of the art gymnasium/workout/entertainment facility that that been built for them on the Florida campus. Instead, he now holds practice across campus in the old gym, where they are forbidden to wear anything logoed or lettered with Florida Gators. They go there to work. Work at playing basketball, work at earning the honor to represent Florida and the Florida Gators community. He believes, properly, that it's a privilege, not a right and it's earned, not handed out on a silver commitment letter.

So Mark Few has everything to gain and a whole lot more to lose by continuing to forget where it all started and who it all came from. These days, looks like much of the GU legacy has picked up and moved on to San Diego.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Riding my bike through Vietnam was, hands down, one of the most spiritual experiences of my life. Each day was a high mass in the most sacred of all cathedrals, and I was the acolyte serving the liturgy in the holiest of holies. And I'd go to bed exhausted. And then get up and have it all again. Every day. A spiritual feast everyday for three weeks. I still can't believe it happened to me and that I got to do this. I rode on the highways, roads and paths of Vietnam, from Ho Chi Minh City to Hanoi. I rode through the frenzy and tangled snarl of the cities, by the bustling markets and harbors of the villages and over the mud paths of remote areas. People riding expensive bicycles dressed in spandex are a novelty in Vietnam still and I can only imagine, quite a sight for all to see. So as I rode, anywhere I rode, I was greeted with shouts, smiles and big waves, as if I were Lance Armstrong riding through the villages of France. While it pleased and charmed me endlessly, the comparison of me to Lane Armstrong still makes me laugh. So it was a delight on so many levels and the Vietnamese people quickly became to dear to me. So, so very dear. And I laughed and laughed with the parents and the children, all the way from Ho Chi Minh to Hanoi.

But as I rode on in the buffer zone outside of My Lai that day, I cried for all of us. All of us that were there at My Lai, then and now, and all of us that will be there; fully absorbing that war is and always has been a piece of civilization, even though it is deeply wrong--on all so many different levels. And at the base of my tears was the grief and shame of being an American. We know better; we know better. We're the people that kicked Hitler's ass; we're the English-speaking people who stand up in the face of tyranny and oppression. Where did it all go so wrong for us?

After about an hour, I emerged from the buffer zone around My Lai that serves as a remembrance to those killed that day and the rice paddies began to pop up everywhere. Although the tears had stopped by now, I was still deeply sad as only one with a real knowledge can sometimes be. I heard a voice, way off in a rice paddy, directed to me: "huuuuuuuuh-llloooo!" I turned and waved, almost surprised that anyone would be speaking to ME. I saw someone in a conical hat with a huge grin, giving me a two-armed wave, from three rice paddies over. Amazing.

Without warning, I approached a little village and collided with the changing of the shifts at school, as I did quite often. School starts at 7 am in Vietnam, goes until noon and then another group begins at 1pm and goes until 5 pm. The kids ride their bikes and skip along their mothers' sides back and forth to school and it's magic to be among them, as they laugh and giggle and wave, with big shouts of "huh-loooo!" They are happy, clean, well-nurtured children, each with hats to protect from the sun and many with masks, as is common these days in most parts of Asia. They are never far from their parents and their sunny, shiny spirits pick you up and carry you to heaven. This day was no exception; they kids were so excited to see me and the mothers laughed and waved and let their children stand by the side of the road and hold their hands out to be slapped, as true athletes do with each other. The older kids turned their bikes around and rode beside me, practicing their English: Howareyou? Iamfine? Whatisyourname? Iloveyou! Their smiles and giggles are infectious so it's impossible to be anywhere around the children of Vietnam without being in your best and finest self. But at a point, they all were safely at home and in school, as I rode on alone.

I watched the people toil in the rice paddies up to their hips in muddy water and marveled at how those kids turned my mood completely around. I rode on, so deeply grateful yet again, for generosity towards a stranger. And then I almost ditched the bike as I realized what was missing: fear. hatred. These kids nor their mothers were afraid of or hated Americans. They had nothing but hospitality and friendship for me, even in the face of what had happened to their entire village, only a generation ago. Utterly amazing.

It was the mothers of My Lai who never taught their children to hate Americans and never taught them to be afraid of Americans; instead showing them how it is we open our hearts to each other, particularly strangers among us. I was washed clean by the hands of the mothers of My Lai and on that day during Advent 2007, I felt the true and sweet measure of reconciliation and redemption, at the hands of Buddhist people of My Lai, Vietnam.

I believe the mothers of My Lai should be nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize, for giving peace a chance, for turning away from fear, for walking toward a new future in forgiveness. I now know how it feels to be truly forgiven and I pray with the deepest of all gratitudes, that I, too, will always be a person with a smile and an open heart. I also know now that nations will never resist the seductiveness of war and that as since the beginning of time, our nation, like many, will make war with other nations. But I know that between people, peace always stands a chance. And that true Peace really can happen, one person at a time.

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

The day was beautiful and sunny, with no humidity or other distracting annoyances so I was completely focused as the driver pulled into a beautiful complex with a lovely simple building. I got out of the car in tears and with a horribly wrenched up stomach and quietly went into the building and climbed the marble stairway up into the principle monument that is now My Lai. At the top of the stairs, the exquisite, extraordinary art work began. I stopped dead in my tracks and was fascinated, delighted, dumbfounded and soothed; I immediately relaxed and thought, this is going to be just fine. This I can do. Who knew there would be ART at My Lai? The exquisitely rendered depictions of the horrors of My Lai somehow calmed me and oddly, gave me courage to absorb what lay just around the corner. And so I was deeply grateful for the first time that day.



Public places and monuments in Vietnam remain a principle place for the Communist Party to sustain and uphold manifesto through propaganda and My Lai is certainly no exception; however, the propaganda is quite easy to isolate and set aside and so it was with me that day. Once in the exhibit hall of the monument, I focused on the maps, the pictures and the transcripts from from the US Army court martial proceedings. My worst fears were not confirmed; my worst fears did not come close to the atrocity and malevolence that were in fact visited upon the heads of the children, women and men of the village of My Lai at the hands of the soldiers under Lieutenant Calley's command. They were mostly black and latino, these men of the US Army who slaughtered family after family in a manner that would have made a butcher flinch. What no one bargained for of course, was the Japanese photojournalist who got it all on film and who backed the howls of outrage from the American helicopter pilot who ultimately became the hero of the Vietnamese people. Hugh Thompson is the thing that this country is really about; and he was a baby. Twenty four years old he was, when he stood up for, all the way to the very top, what is really right and what is really brave. He is an extraordinary man who did an extraordinary thing and all he had in his pocket were his values and convictions. Really think one guy can't make a difference? And so I was unexpectedly grateful for the second time that day, so deeply grateful for Warrant Officer Hugh Thompson, United States Army, protector of freedom, guardian of the precepts upon which the United States of America was founded. It's the Hugh Thompsons of the American war efforts that keep our country safe.

I wandered through the garden of My Lai, ashamed and humiliated, indescribably sad and troubled, but finally beginning to understand, having glimpsed demons with whom Tim and Butch and Dick and Marc went mano a mano, nearly 40 years ago. I didn't linger.

I climbed on my bike and began to ride through the exquisitely beautiful Vietnamese countryside. So much about war and its horrific mystery had begun to crystallize for me. As I pedaled through the buffer zone that now cradles the former village of My Lai, where the monuments sits, I became ever more troubled and angry as I thought about the United States of America and this irreactable, despicable, horrific, unforgivable war we wage in Iraq. God, will we ever, ever get it right?

And what we did to these people in this little tiny town in of My Lai shamed me in a way I have never been shamed before. I pedaled on, in solitude.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA