Oh, Oscar … you did us proud last night.  Sigh.

For the first time in years, the Academy awards seemed to capture a hint of the magic associated with the golden age of film.  It was whispered in the glamor of the red carpet, images from the past, and simple song performances.  Bits of history reminded us of the rich heritage we’re building upon. Bob Hope reminded us that hosting has less to do with being trendy and more to do with a natural ability to entertain.

Sure, there will be plenty today who bemoan the fact that comedy wasn’t high … there were no tears … and, for the love of God and all that is holy, The King’s Speech beat out The Social Network.

Still, I remain hopeful that there are more who were inspired by the greatness of the past … those who took away what makes the Academy awards truly great–what makes storytelling great–and will seek to carry it on, well into the future.

Growing up, I knew one black family.  It’s not that they were the only ones I wished to befriend, they were  literally the only black family I knew.  But the color of their skin was a moot point; it never crossed my mind … until they would turn the conversation toward racism.  They would speak of injustice, continued inequality–of blatant abuse.  And I would inwardly roll my eyes.   We were, after all, living in the 20th century.  Sure, there were bigots–there were skinheads living in them there hills.  But certainly they were the exception to the rule.    

Then I moved to Dallas. 

I attended school in Oak Cliff.  Just to give you an idea, I worked one semester at a bagel shop in a wealthy suburb.  There was a guy who came in to flirt with me and a fellow student nearly everyday.  Week upon week he put up with long lines and horrible coffee (we had just got an espresso machine and no one had a clue how to work it), just to chat.  One day he asked, ”So, where do you live?”  “Oak Cliff,” I responded.  He laughed hysterically–good one–then realized we were not laughing.  He never came back.  

Oak Cliff, you see, was not the place for a pasty white person such as myself to be; in Oak Cliff, I was a minority.  In Oak Cliff I was glared at, cursed upon, and accused of killing a small boy’s great-great grandfather.  In Oak Cliff, there were those who held their children close and walked to the other side of the street at the mere sight of me.  In Oak Cliff I finally saw what my friends had talked about. 

While I’m thankful for the experience, it actually set me back.  For the first time I saw the road to equality remained rocky and uphill; for the first time, there was an issue of color.  I didn’t at all know what to do with that …  

Race, you see, is not a simple matter. 

I’m sure Martin Luther King, Jr. would have agreed.  To this day he gets it from all sides.  He wasn’t a saint, he raised a ruckus–he gave in too easily, he didn’t stay dedicated to the cause.   Perhaps it’s true.  Or perhaps he was simply human.  Perhaps he wasn’t giving in so much as admonishing the fact that only in focusing on our commonality will we ever overcome our differences. 

In The Color of Water: A Black Man’s Tribute to His White Mother, James McBride speaks of constantly trying to bate his mother into an argument on race.  She wouldn’t budge.  Finally, thinking he was ever-so clever, he asked the color of God.  Her response: “God is the color of water.”  

And there lies the key.

As this day reminds us, we still have a ways to go.  We must continue the fight–we must be willing to speak out, and to listen.  We must learn to celebrate our differences, and focus on what we share.  And we must do so until the color of our skin is no longer a point … until the only thing worth fighting for is the fact that we’re all–red, yellow, black and white–created in God’s image.   

It’s as simple and as difficult as that.

So they brought along a DVD. 

I gave in. 

And, oddly enough, I loved it too!  

The short {4-5 minute} clips contain no words–and the images and sound effects make it fun no matter your age or from whence you came.   

Needless to say, if you have a small fry on your Christmas list this year {or anyone who loves animation, for that matter}, I would highly recommend a DVD {as long as the recipient has an international DVD player}. 

With that, I will leave you with a minuscule diversion…

{Friends, Meritie ... Mertie, Friends}

Merona’s® Mertie MaryJanes–and they are truly fabulous. 

Needless to say, I still have piles upon piles of books littered about the floor, but my feet are ready for the holidays.  And I do mean ready.  Not only are these shoes like a party on your foot, they’re oh-so-comfy.  AND they’ve got treads. TREADS I tell you.  Now I’m not one to risk breaking my neck for fashion, but when I saw the bottoms of these wee heels I decided to give them a try … even in the snow and ice.  Sure enough, nary a mishap.  

If you’ve read my blog for long, you know how truly amazing this is. 

So why am I tell you this?  Because I care, that’s why.  I noticed they’re sold out online.  So if you have a Target nearby, and Mertie happens to be in stock, do not think twice–take them home {after you pay for them, naturally}.  Then, not only will you be quite able to help Santa {for no one will hear you coming} … but you’ll be ready for the party afterwards–where, I imagine, you’ll want to give an eggnog toast in my honor!

And I don’t know about your neck of the woods, but here in the desert, we’re always at risk … wretched dry air. 

I’ve tried a bit of everything–high end,low end, ornate glass bottles and plain plastic tubs.  Naturally, I assumed the more expensive, the better.  And I was near sure a better looking package would deliver the best results.  But, alas, nothing–Nothing {with a capital N, no less}–beat out these two…

{my, what soft hands you have}

{soft as a baby's butt}

I know, I know, they’re nothing fancy on the outside … but the inside?  Pure magic, my friends … pure magic!   

My disclaimer:  the above links will take you to Amazon … Magpie & Muttonfly’s store, to be precise, which means if you order via those links, I’ll get a wee percentage.  However, you can also find these fabulous products at your local grocer, Target, Walgreens, etc.

I read a few back in the day, you see.  They were novels filled with characters who refused to speak naturally–everything was oh my darling … yes, my darling … goodbye, my darling.   There was no passion.  None.  Couples in these novels were about hot as dead fish.  A peck on the cheek was a risque as they got–they didn’t even kiss on the forehead because WHO KNOWS WHAT MIGHT TRANSPIRE … which, you know, is kinda true, but still.  And in moments where desire might possibly creep in, it was veiled with a prayer.  And I’m not talking, Oh sweet Jesus help me; I’m talking long, drawn-out prayers for our nation and beyond. 

Needless to say, you can imagine my horror when my mom and I were shopping at Borders a few weeks ago and she picked up this book …

Not only did she buy the book, she liked it.  She leant it to friends, and they liked it.  Then she turned on me…

Do you want to read it? *silence* I think you would like it.  *change of subject* 

I was valiant in my stance, dear readers, oh so valiant.  Then she brought out the big guns: 

Let me get this straight, you’ll read the whole Twilight series, but you refuse to even give this book a try? ……………………………  Yeah, I had nothing. 

Grudgingly, I took the book, vowing to stop reading the minute I spotted a misplaced prayer.  And what do you know?  I read it all the way through.  And I liked it.  I did.  As a matter of fact, it was perfect anecdote to stressful days. Alexander paints a vivd picture of life on the frontier. Her historical fiction, set in the Colorado Territory, is full of imperfect characters–ones you can’t help but like. 

And for the record, I absolutely loved the thing that finally stole Dr. Molly Whitcomb’s heart.  *sigh*  

That said, if you’re looking for good, clean fun–for a sweet romance–for a story you can trust will end on a high note, but still draws you in–consider Beyond this Moment {by Tamera Alexander}…

{leather pro camera bag from PorteenGear}

A new DSLR wouldn’t hurt either. Or maybe I should just learn about what I’ve got rather than randomly twist knobs and push buttons.  Hmmmm…

It was another whirlwind weekend for me. Got a couple things marked off my list–did a bit of weeding and cleaned out and organized my bedroom closet.  That was a project in and of itself, let me tell you…which begs the question: why, oh why, do I let it get so bad?  Or, more to the point, why, oh why, do I insist on holding on to things that I have not worn for a decade?  Egads!

To make up for the pain and misery, I packed the rest of the weekend with good food, great friends, and loads of fun–though nary a picture was snapped. 

I’ve got nothing for ya, but this old vacation photo…

True, it has absolutely nothing to do with this post.  But wouldn’t it be lovely to be there at this very moment?  We could chat and laugh … sip mango ‘ritas… soak in the rays… splash in the waves… and then lounge about with a good book.  *sigh*

But, alas, I must be content with hearing the birds chirp merrily outside my window–and cling to the hope that this is the week projects are finalized and invoices  FINALLY sent out.  Please, oh please … 

If you’re lucky enough to be on holiday this week, do enjoy it for the rest of us. 

And for us all, wherever we may be, and whatever we may be doing–may the week be blessed with a little bit of inspiration and a whole lot of happiness!

And I’ll start with this apron from Pier 1 {please and thank you}:

My aunt gave it to my mum for Mother’s Day–and it’s ridiculously cute.  More so than the photo could ever convey. 

I wonder if my mom would notice it missing?  Or maybe I should buy my own…the vintage halter, perhaps?!