The Blue Pitcher

that which may be filled and emptied

Month: August, 2008

Is this what they mean by hormones?

So, I went into CVS to buy some dental floss. It was early morning; my back sort of hurt; the lights had that awful glare to them that all pharmacy lights seem to have, and then standing at the counter staring at celebs in their swimsuits and wanting to crawl into a hole and rot, the tides shifted, and I had what I’m certain was the most pleasant experience I’ve ever had with a cashier (at least on my end; she may very well have been terrified she’d run into another nutjob).

Her: How are you today? (but said with such deep, genuine concern I get teary.)

Me: I’m alright. Doing pretty good, I guess.

Her: Weather’s beautiful. (but again said in such a way that she seems to truly care about the weather, worry about its ups and downs, hold an aching, heartbreaking investment in it.)

Me: Thank you so, so much. (Burbling, gushing, clearly crazed.) You are so kind and compassionate, and it’s just so nice to know there are people like you in the world. (Blahblahblah)

And then the door dinged, and I was back on the street choking back tears the whole way home.

Hot Diggety Dog

Looks like my brother, the inimitable Joseph T. Hefner,
also fell under the spell of love this weekend!!!
He proposed to his very lovely girlfriend, Natalie,
and they too are going to walk down the ole aisle.
I always love the idea of another Hefner in the world,
especially one I like as much as Natalie.
Congrats! Can’t wait to celebrate.

Wedding Extravaganza

Yesterday was so filled with love I’m nearly exhausted.
Two weddings, two towns, all sorts of happiness.
Here’s Sanj & Fredrik from the morning wedding,
just after they promised their lives to each other:
Me feeling sari for myself;
hubs in shock that we’ve got twelve more hours to go:
After a three and a half hour drive to Connecticut,
Amy, another absolutely stunning bride:
Amy, Michal & friends cutting cake:
Back in Manhattan, for Sanj’s reception,
me & the little one in a conga line:
Last shot after last dance after last wardrobe change:

All in all, it was one of the most memorable days I’ve ever experienced. Between the love and the dancing, the cake and the laughter, I just feel so fortunate to live in a world where happiness is something that–if I’m not careful–I could take for granted.

Week 23

Your baby is now over eight inches long from head to rump and weighs more than one pound. She is the size of a small doll.

Looks like the plum is no longer a plum…

Manicures & Mendhi

One of my dearest friends is getting married this weekend in a Hindi ceremony, and as part of the wedding ritual, we bridesmaids gathered yesterday for manicures and mendhi. I’ve never experienced a Henna tattoo before, and I must say, typing now, my hands seem like a stranger’s hands, but I loved being part of something so ancient. I was reminded of a book of hieroglyphic poems that dates back to between 1567 B.C. and 1085 B.C.. Translated by Ezra Pound, I gave the book–Come Swiflty to your Love–to my husband when we were in our very earliest days of finding each other. This poem I love: The shrill of the wild goose
Unable to resist
The temptation of my bait.

While I, in a tangle of love,
Unable to break free,
Must watch the bird carry away my nets.

And when my mother returns, loaded with birds,
And finds me empty-handed,
What shall I say?

That I caught no birds?
That I myself was caught in your net?


Yesterday, sitting at a picnic table in Sag Harbor, supping on chowder and watching boats bob the way boats do, a few friends and I wandered into the most compelling conversation. What, one friend asked, do you compulsively do but rarely admit to?

We started out rather lamely. Yes, it’s true, I can’t see a clock that says 11:11 without rushing some wish, but it got better and better. There was the, uhm, dirty sock sniffer, and then another who shudders in delight whenever she finds herself inside a public restroom. I confessed that I can spend long hours trolling Weight Watchers message boards (yes, I really am that interested in the Fiber count of Kavli) and that there are times when I can think of nothing more relaxing.

Anyway, it got me going, and now I want to hear everyone’s private compulsions (or public! Who cares–I’m hungry for confessions!). What is it, dear reader, that you compulsively do but rarely admit to?

Anonymous replies are welcome.

I’ll Admit It, I Want Some

To Be Young Again?

My sister-in-law sent me a picture of this “redneck tank top” yesterday, and it got me thinking about being young and how my cousin Melanie and I used to stretch the necks of T-shirts and then wear them upside down as we paraded through Myrtle Beach, sneaking eyeliner and pretending not to be twelve. Ah, homemade clothes and dirty bras–I can think of few things that epitomize the transition from girl to woman more for me.
A few weeks ago I sat having tea with a very young woman (early twenties), and I was so charmed by the dirty bra strap that hung loose from her wife-beater that I wanted to grab her and say, you know, I used to be young! I haven’t always been this pregnant woman with a tea-cozy and a sugar bowl. I too wore dirty bras!

Instead, I arranged watermelon on a pretty blue plate and stuck toothpicks into the sweet, pink cubes. Lord knows we wouldn’t want sticky fingers.


New Bathroom:
Bigger Belly:
Fancy Pants for Poets: