Bang Home

A Child is “honored” at school with the Catastrophe Award. She got it for having the most excuses for not having her homework done. I do not understand the teacher awarding for not doing homework. Bad grades are a reward itself. Why the attention?  Was it the teacher’s goal to publicly humiliate the child? The benefit of that being…total destruction of a an 8 year old or the event that launches her into a career of comedy or the spark that ignites a fuse that will ultimately lead to a life of evil? Who gave said teacher a license to teach? I will call her abilities a fail.  The Catastrophe Award needs to be returned to the teacher. It is like the Most Improved Award. (except in bowling).

I have thought about everything I need in my next home. A beach. A pool. A fireplace.  2 bedrooms. A study. A porch, balconey, deck. A washer /dryer connection. That is a good starting place. I just need to locate this dream cottage, apartment, condo, townhome, castle in Albania,

 house in the Hebrides.

 How much is a flat in Morocco? 

Maybe I should lease a live/work space and let members of my Artz council gallery there. Hmmmm…. That is very doable. I like this idea. Help? Not sure how to find such a space.

I need a hairstyle. I went looking two weeks ago and found 8 salons 5 closed three had about 26 cars each outside. I do not want fast service or lip service or you telling me I cannot have bangs because they are not in style.

 Really???? I also do not want you cutting bangs so long I have to be back in 2 weeks.

 Yeah bangs are for 8 year olds.

 Long hair is for 18 year olds.

  One more thing stylists! Every single person who enters your salon is a potential customer so your “better than” attitude needs to be checked! I am paying you for a service. You are NOT giving me a favor. Why is it so hard to find the perfect stylist here? Do I need to go back to Cali every 6 weeks for Stephanie to do my hair? 

Lady Tamarawww.LochaberHighlandEstates.com  has 2 goals today. Hair and place to live. She will be seen setting up for the San Antonio Jazz festival this evening come on by and help out.

NOT my McCoy

Mother is watching the Hatfields and McCoys. She is from that area of West Virginia. She has seen episode 1 3 times. I admit it is a bit confusing if you do not know the players. The 3 day television event should have come with a playbook, map and list of characters color coded so you know which clan member was shot by the other clan member. Not all McCoys had the McCoy last name; same for the Hatfields.  My Grandmother who was a Battin had a very distant relative named Priscilla marry a William McCoy around 1777. They stayed mostly to Pennsylvania and Maryland. My McCoys did not arrive in Kentucky until well after 1880s and as far as I can determine were not related to the McCoys. 

Roseanna McCoy

However I have not hunted for ghosts in that direction.

They did mention an event in episode 2 last night that I had just done some research on about 2 months ago that did involve ghosts from my Mother’s side.  I cannot recall the names or place this occurred but the portrayal was pretty much dead on to what happened. I am inclined to spend the day today chasing ghosts. I vaguely recall my Granny Ina mentioning the feud and to which side her family claimed. She mentioned this when I was a young teen and I was thrilled with the story and  legends, that sides did not matter. She remembered but I got the impression she was not directly involved in any of it. I did not think to pursue it. I suppose I believed she would be around forever and I could ask her some day. 

The Hatfields. 

The ancient woman I interviewed when I lived in Alabama for a school project. She had lived in what was referred to as the Oredman-Shaw House.

 It was a town home in Montgomery. The woman recalled living there during the Civil War she was 3 -7 years old. She told me her Mother had a house maid sew coins into the hems of hers and all the childrens dresses and coats. I kept that interview for a very long time but have lost it after several moves and a flooded storage room. I should have interviewed my granny. 

After checking fares to Salt Lake City yesterday I am inclined to believe that it is a very popular destination for the rich and famous. I could not find a ticket for under $500.  Do they NOT want visitors? I could fly to Dan Diego cheaper. I drove through Utah once. I did not see anything fabulous except for the cave drawings. Maybe the city itself is awesome. I will not know will I Salt Lake? What does the name Utah mean anyway? Who named it Utah?

Lady Tamara  www.LairdOfLochaber.com will now be contacting Anthony to see what help he needs for the Jazz Festival.

Stay jazzy everyone! Now where is my Etta James collection?

King David's Very Great Granddaughter

Katherine Warham’s father is listed as John Warham and her mother as Jane Dabinott. Her father was born in England and moved to Connecticut where he lived and died with his family allegedly never stepping foot into Virginia for any reason. However all the information I can find on Katherine claims she is a Warham, daughter of John but born in Virginia.  Katy was born in 1637. There are children ahead of her in birth order and behind. One has a birthdate of 1638 and Biblical names. He touted his pregnant wife over wilderness trails with a toddler or two in tow to live in Virginia long enough to give birth, impregnate his wife and then haul her back to Connecticut with two toddlers and a baby and pregnant again? I do not think so. Not even believable if they boarded a ship and did this. Then you  tell me that William Parker passes by all the Virginia beauties, goes all the way  to Connecticut to find the one girl, Katy, who was born right there in his hometown and hauls her back to Henrico to marry her? NO NO NO……  You people who know what is up and are keeping it secret why? Like the hairdresser in West Virginia who has done extensive research and has a book almost written that she never means to sell or give to anyone and she has no children and her brother does not care. Maybe my William Parker is not the one who married the mysterious Katy and it does not matter….. Maybe John Warham was the father of Katy but Jane is not her mother. I seem to think that this fits the best right now. It would make a lovely book because if Katy is the child John Warham and Jane not her mother there would be a very huge scandal. (not telling because I may write a brilliant work of fiction based on this story).  I have found one little obscure piece of information that mentions John Warham,  Henrico and …..  Perhaps he did more in Henrico than broker a trade deal. Just one more thought…. If John was never in Henrico, and Katy is not really a Warham then where did the name Warham come from that was used for 3 generations? ……..hmmm how should I start?

…..like little mewlings from a newborn kitten were the sounds that came from behind the closed door. There were no cats in the next room though only a midwife, Millie and the tiny baby who grew to be known as Christine.

Lady Tamara www.HighlandTitles.com  has discovered through the research of others who do share that her father’s Great Grandmother Phoebe is in a line of descendants through a woman named Anne to the Royal house of King Solomon 

and therefore King David

 son of Jesse, chosen by GOD to rule HIS people. I had a very productive weekend chasing the trail of crumbs to this prize. Thank you Emperor Charlemagne and Duke Philip Augustus.

The day has started with Scarlett tearing into the bag of cat food I had bought and set on the table. There was food in the bowls so I saw no threat of her doing this. I found the bag on the floor open side down and of course as I picked it up cat food spilled out onto the antique Parisian, Coco Channel once owned rug. Next as I was pouring cream into the cream pitcher for my breakfast tea it became Niagra Falls and poured into the pitcher over the pitcher and onto the tea tray doily. It is just now 6:47 A.M. what other adventures will unfold for me?

I could be going to Salt Lake this week…..checking flights again!

Boxes needed

I am packing up boxes. I am shedding old things. I am choosing different beautiful things to keep or give away. My seashells, pinecones, and rocks are staying with me. They are my favorite decorations and when I am gone they will go back where they came from. Nothing can compare to the art of GOD so why not use it, look at it, and enjoy it. I do not need some man created obelisk no matter how lovely or inspiring. Leave those for the people that enjoy and find wonder and beauty in those things. I am keeping the paintings and prints I have gathered over the years. I am in a quandary over the prints in my room that I have never in 16 years ever framed. I have stapled them up and taken them down and stapled them back up in the next house and next apartment and the next house and the next and they are so full holes but look so perfect with what I am trying to say about me in my bedroom I loathe parting with them. I need something to inspire me in a different direction in my room or figure out a new and different way to use these prints. Let me further add that the redecorating budget for my room is $10.

I am really going to move somewhere. That thought just struck me, a little in shock now. I have no idea where or when I am just getting ready. Maybe a local apartment or maybe Austin, maybe Cedar Lake California, maybe Maine, maybe across the street just to irritate the hate-filled neighbors…hahaha

What is wrong with women? I take Shaggy to a hairdresser yesterday and I have no make-up, my clothes do not match, my hair is dirty and every hairdresser in the place mean mugs me? What is up with that? I am old enough to be their mother? I am not competition for men, food, jewelry, shoes or a jeweled Tiffany i-phone case. I am sure I am not interested in what they are interested in what is their issue?

Lady Tamarawww.LochaberHighlandEstates.com remembers a Realtor up by Bear Lake giving her his card last year…..where did it go? Looking……. Hey maybe I can find an old unloved painted lady in some po-dunk Texas town that needs my love…. 

Magnolia Mill

We were not the only guests staying at the Lodge, we had some noisy guests who stayed outside. They decided that if it was daylight and they were up that everyone else should get up also. It was like it was 1774 and there were the town criers.  Honk Honk Honk…..rise and shine people!!!

The view from our front door was amazing.  Looking over the North Fork of the South Platte River across Highway 285 and up into the mountains. There was a brilliant Lightening storm one night with snow. One woman called it Thundersnow, which made it sound awesome, mysterious and a little spooky. We ordered a pizza grabbed a couple bottles of wine and drove back to our cozy little room where we lit a fire and relaxed.

We followed a trail and ended up at the base of Mt. Lincoln. In the Ghost town of Montgomery which at one time boasted the largest dancehall in the area.  Now all that is left is the Magnolia Mill and a few skeletal remains of some cabins. 

The majority of the town lies under a reservoir. It was beautiful yet there was a melancholy that surrounded me while I was there. The Middle Fork of the South Platte River tumbles down through the mountains and flows into the reservoir. 

Climbing over boulders and standing on ledges to get photos at an elevation over 11,000 feet was challenging and breathtaking, really! 

Lady Tamara www.LairdOfLochaber.com still has much of Colorado to explore and I am anxious for another trip. My thanks and love to Anthony for gifting me with these wonder-filled adventures.  On to Alaska!... or Palm Beach…. or ……

My garage door is being replaced today. My mother gave it to Shaggy for her Birthday along with a card.  Shaggy laughed at first and then appeared shocked and as I was about to explain she collapsed into devastation, she wanted cash for her move to Cali and as I was forming the words to comfort her she laughed again and looking at me said “ Now Mom, you cannot have a stroke from the stress and the hateful neighbors and I probably will not come home this Christmas.” I giggled and we drove on.

Breakfast Letters: London Mill

Breakfast Letters: London Mill: These are a few of my favorite things. Raindrops, Thunder, Lightning, Snow, Wildflowers, Roses, Rosemary, Soaring mountains, Sunlit mead...

London Mill

These are a few of my favorite things.

Raindrops, Thunder, Lightning, Snow, Wildflowers, Roses, Rosemary, Soaring mountains, Sunlit meadows, Lazy waves caressing beaches, Crashing waves scattering treasure over waiting sand, Mashed potatoes, Fresh vegetables, Brave red wine, Pussy-willow, Grey skies, Sun showers, the sound of water as it plays over rocks, Cool air, Mimosas.

Mother’s Day I received all but the beaches. The morning dawned bright, sunny, clear and full of joy, peace and adventure. We headed out of Bailey. Our first adventure came in Fairplay Colorado. We were hungry and looking for breakfast. As we drove past an old Hotel I noticed they had a restaurant and it was open. We explored the town a wee bit more and returned. Inside we were met by the proprietress as she asked if we were there for the Mother’s Day Special. “Yes” I said with great enthusiasm. She swept us inside the dining room and before I could order, Mimosas were sitting before us. A cheerful man was playing guitar and singing songs I had not heard in years. Breakfast was two of the biggest, creamy pancakes I had ever seen and sausage cooked exactly how I love it. She came over as we ate and presented me with a beautiful long stemmed rose. The hotel was old and we were encouraged to take a tour. It is haunted by a ghost they call Julia and you can sometimes hear her dancing in the Ballroom.

Our adventure continued and we drove up Park roads that gave way to dirt trails. We went over, around, beside, mountains, creeks, rivers, gorges, gulches and long ago laid rail tracks. 

The light sprinkle of rain had become less of a sprinkle and more of a tiny sleet which within moments became drops of white very powdery snow; bundled together in miniature snow balls.

 The fluff balls turned into flakes and the flakes into beautiful lace doilies and back again into little crystal flakes. It was a fashion show of snowflakes. Just a sampling of the kind of magical beauty GOD can weave for me for Mother’s Day. The locals were all claiming they had gotten more snow in May than they had in March.

We had been driving back into Mosquito Gulch when the wind came up strong and the snow fell like a curtain. The temperature dropped to 32. It was more than I had hoped for. I had wished for snow as I had checked the weather forecast before I left (just so I would know how to pack). There was a slight chance of snow in the mountains over the weekend the website read. I would love that! I thought to myself and said to GOD. 

When I was a child my mother had this penchant for Pussy Willow.

She never grew any but any time we went to West Virginia in the spring my dad would pull off on the side of a country road and come back with an arm load of the stuff. My mother would give me a small branch full of the fluffy buds to pet. I was always amazed at how soft and beautiful it was. I was very allergic to cats and ended up in a Doctor’s office in Paris one night because of a cat, so, this is as close to petting one I could get. I had forgotten that until we stopped near a creek to watch the trout and there beside me were pussy willows. Fuzzy warm buds of soft fur. I reached my hand out wondering if they were really as soft as I remembered; they were and just as beautiful and mysterious, another wonderful gift on this day.

Way back into Mosquito Gulch is the London Mountain and at the base of the Mountain is the London Mill. 

The towers from the aerial tramway can still be seen far up on the mountain. It was the only way to get the gold ore to the mill. We played in the creek and looked for treasure in its muddy sides. Very tiny sparkles much finer than glitter is what we found and as a sun shower hit us the shovel we were using twinkled as if made from golden powder. The rivers, streams, brooks, creeks in Alaska all glitter and sparkle in the sun, the ones in Colorado do the same, they are beautiful.

I would like to tell you the adventures of the rest of the day but this would be a very long letter. I shall send this one off now and continue the tale for tomorrow.

Lady Tamara .www.HighlandTitles.com has other adventures to begin today and others to end. Have a profitable day me Hearties!

Boreas Pass

Como Colorado was our finale stop, named for Lake Como Italy by the Italian coal miners who settled there. They were the builders and keepers of the Denver, South Park & Pacific Railroad Roundhouse. Having had a Grandfather who was a yardmaster I am a wee bit fascinated by trains. We had just climbed from Breckenridge to the Continental Divide via the old narrow-gauge tracks, called the Highline Route over Boreas Pass.

 We had to explore Como. We drove the dusty streets and looked around ending up at what was once known as the Pacific Hotel and Como Depot. We decided to stop and try the Steamengine Ale; we were expecting dingy, dark, dirty bar filled with locals. We discovered a bright, clean pleasant comfy bar and restaurant. They were anxious to seat us for dinner. We insisted we only wanted the Ale. George was playing some guitar (he was also very talented with a harmonica and a mouth dulcimer) and a few guests were eating. We decided to peruse the menu. It sounded delicious and smelled wonderful. We stayed for dinner. Best food EVER!! I had Roasted pork tenderloin in brown onion gravy, mashed potatoes and fresh zucchini. Soooo tender! I had bread pudding in a brandy cream sauce, glazed pecans, and fresh whipped cream. It was amazing!!!

 The owner took us on a tour of the hotel and explained his plans to further restore the hotel. He told us stories about a bike race he is a sanctioned stop for. Wonderful hosts! There were signs all over Como warning about Moose on the road we never saw one. We did see a beautiful red fox.

Speaking of fox…. Breckenridge was closed up and deserted except for a beautiful red fox that was on a trot-about through town. We drove around and headed up to the Boreas Pass. 

The Highline Route was a graded dirt road that went up and around the side of a mountain, sheer drop on one side, mountain on the other; only skinny Aspens between my door and a drop, one car lane wide. We drove on and on and passed a Cadillac on its way down. As we were about half way up we came across Bakers Tank. 

There were no train tracks and we were puzzled. We kept going up. At the top of the pass we came to a closed gate, the Continental Divide and the Boreas Pass Operations.  

We had to know more and Como hit our list of places to go. So beautiful up there and a brilliant 39 degrees and yes it was snowing.

Lady Tamara must now pack up and move to a new location. 

Vapor

Your woman is loaded down with two oversized bags and a cup with a wobbly lid. You are standing at the window looking out blabbering about the pool when she drops the lid and straw and one of the bags comes sliding off her shoulder as she attempts to pick up the lid. You get agitated as you hear no response from her about the pool. So you say it louder. Dude!!! Your woman, needs some help! I am sure she does not bloody care about the pool. It is 45 degrees outside and you are checking out.

I board the plane get to a seat I hope will provide me with a great view. I sit, buckle up and look out the window to see….. a wing. I unbuckle and almost get up to move when I decide to believe I was prompted to sit there for a reason. I am very curious at this point. Will there be a fascinating person sit beside me? Someone with a child who will need help? The answer to those two inquiries becomes clear and the answer is no. We take off and as I look out the window all I can see is vapor dancing over the wing and trailing along behind us. Magical! We are surrounded by clouds and no hope of flying out of them or over them in sight. I did not need a view I learn as the pilot explains we are in a huge weather cell and cannot fly high enough to get over it but we will change our course and fly around the western side of it. I read, I colored and the next thing I know we are landing 20 minutes early at our destination. I did not miss a view.

Are you ever one of the first to board an aircraft only to find you are the one person no one wants to sit by? That is me. People will sit with other people before they will sit with me. What is up with that?

We ate at the Bull and Bush last night. Yes it is a pub/brewery.http://www.bullandbush.com/ 

Before I close this up, a brief word from Lady Tamara….www.HighlandTitles.com  If you cannot walk in heels over 2” then do NOT wear them. Trust me here, seeing you walk around bent over forward because you feel you may topple is NOT sexy, NOT attractive and looks like you may be trying to hide a deformity.  Walking like an arthritic Frankenstein is NOT pretty either. Your knees are supposed to bend. Heel toe, heel toe. Practice!!! I have practiced since I was 4!!! You may believe you were giving Paris a run for her money in your leggings, sheer draping top, knee high spiked heel boots pulling your luggage and shouldering a large designer bag but one word can sum it up for you….FAIL!  However the sparkle in your eyes and laughter would give one pause to watch you. Enjoy your flight!

Nails at night

I have been faced with an obstacle course full of some very challenging ordeals; one of them right now being that I have a nail on my left index finger that is torn/ broken past the quick making it difficult to type. My nails are long and they are mine (not store bought in a crystal gel nail salon), they are hard and seldom break. When they do give they give at the softest part, the quick. I could not cut it last night because cutting your nails at night is bad luck or bad omen. I forgot about it this morning until I came down here for tea.

* Some say hunger and poverty will enter a house if someone cuts their nails at night. (Afghanistan)

*Nails should not be cut at night for fear of evil spirits (India)

* Don’t cut your nails at night because it will cause death.  A reason for the nail-cutting superstition is that you shouldn’t turn a blade (even a small one as on a nail-clipper) towards yourself at night because it brings demons closer to you. (Japan)

* If you cut your nails at night it falls into the food of God.  (Hindu superstition.)

*If you cut your nails at night, some animals like mice will eat your nails, and then they'll become you or they'll take your spirit. (Korea)

It is rainy this morning and there is a chill in the air. Wonderful! I want to put on fuzzy socks and make muffins. Lady Tamara www.LochaberHighlandEstates.com is off to the kitchen.

Hate Mail

Once again a series of unfortunate events while on their own may seem insignificant to others were crushing to me. Had they appeared farther apart I might have been able to have muddled through. I am unable to. So ….. the grin that now occupies the lower half of my garage door, that you may recall my daughter put there while learning to drive. Will for a time longer have to remain. This is going to cause the home owners association to file a law suit against me. This is what I have been told by the association that sent me a letter on behalf of the home owners association.  Since suing me will still not produce the money to pay for a repair or replacement garage door my situation will continue to become worse. To add to that the terrorists who live on my street, who still know nothing of my situation have made their usual wrong assumption and sent me yet another ugly, hurtful, threatening piece of hate mail. The male person at the association found it humorous and claimed could do nothing about. He can send me a letter about fixing my garage door, as though I just do not want to fix it, (REALLY!!!!????) and am flat out refusing to fix it because I want to live in a bloody messed up house! I calmly told him he knew nothing about me or what had just happened. He admitted he did not know me. He advised I confront the writer of the hate mail. WOW!!!! Why did I not think of that? The bloody coward who wrote the letter did not sign it nor put a return address on it. Give it to my attorney he said. Right, because I have so much money I can afford to keep an attorney on retainer. What planet is this man from? Or am I just out of the loop and does everyone have an attorney? Like I just pick up the phone and say “hey Mandy, is Preston available I need to fax him over this piece of hate mail to put in my home file. Thanx!” I do not live in a movie! 

I actually would have had the money but two things happened with in (take out the weekend) 3 days of each other. I had three sources of income and on Tuesday I had one. Garage door money has now paid for my electricity, water, car insurance, internet and laundry detergent. It has gotten so I am actually terrified to get up each morning for fear of what other crushing blow I may receive via, phone, e-mail or mail.

Lady Tamara  www.HighlandTitles.com  has fired her yard guy and is now hiring a new guy. Hopefully that will not cost me $80 per month and if he does at least I might get some work out of him. Like weed killer that really kills weeds.

Since I can tell I have lost my mind bring on the next horrible event, I will be taken away laughing hysterically. 

Moroccan Argan

Moroccan Argan oil, do you know what it is? Neither do I but it is a bragging right of my new shampoo. It claims to be a “renewing” formula. That is not why I bought it. I bought it because the bottle is a lovely shade of Tiffany blue, a bit less green, a little more pale and faded. But I like the color. Second reason I bought it is because it has the word Moroccan in it. “Renewing” will be a benefit. Shall we together discover this magic ingredient?

Argan oil is trendy among celebrities and models. It has been for centuries buy Berber women of Morocco. They use it to remedy dryness on their skin and in their hair. It beautifies skin and hair, dramatically repairs the appearance of damaged skin. Hydrating and revitalizing dullness and it nourishes the skin and hair while doing this.

Increases suppleness and repairs dry damaged hair. 

Reduces fine lines, dullness, uneven skin tones, alleviates eczema, psoriasis and acne. The appearance of scars is reduced.

It is quickly absorbed into your nail bed thereby making your nails stronger, less brittle healthier.

It comes from the Argan Tree, harvested from the nut of the fruit. Argan trees grow only in Southwestern Morocco in a desert-like environment. Berber woman use the nut, the fruit, and the bark of the tree in cooking and making oils for skin, hair and nails. The tree can live well over 200 years. The nut is full of fatty acids and vitamin E; squalene, phenols, carotenes, and tocopherols. 

Amlou is a thick paste similar to peanut butter that is used for dipping bread. It is made from dried almonds that are ground with the nut of the Argan tree. The oil is also used as a drizzle over couscous and bread.

The pure form of the oil is the best for your skin and hair because it contains the most nutrients.

Lady Tamara is going to her local health food store for some now!