From Glen To Glen

It's St. Patrick's Day! Do a little jig. Drink a green beer. Get down tonight!

Bitter and Lonely. Party Of One.

I've been sending out engraved invitations all day to a pity party. There is nothing more horrid than tossing feeling sorry for yourself. It's rude, unattractive and annoying to all involved. I think my tendency toward it is because I am a spoiled rotten only child all grown up. But I don't want to make excuses for it...I want to get past it. No. I want to stop it. When it happens, I try to make myself count my blessings -- write them down in a list on paper. That usually does the trick. But today, I was stuck. Fortunately, I had to search no further than my inbox to find a little something that made me smile and forget the engraved invitation I'd been sending out. Seriously. What's a party without a cake?

Tips For Hiring A House Cleaning Service

Something major happened to me over the weekend. I had my house cleaned by professionals. Three lovely women who don't speak a word of English came into my house and changed my world. And I'm planning on inviting them back to do it again in the next few weeks. They cleaned everything and then some. And they made a hotel fold on the toilet paper and a rosette in the Kleenex box. How did I ever live without? We couldn't find the cat for a long stretch of time after they left. She eventually re-appeared after we shook a bag of treaties. And she spent a long period of time after they left walking around the house sniffing stuff -- as if nothing smelled right any more. I didn't know what to do with myself while they were there. I just sat there while they cleaned everything including the windows and the ceiling! I felt so guilty. And my guilt was compounded by the fact that I had just read The Help by Kathryn Stockett. If you haven't read it, you should read it soon because it's going to be turned into a movie. It's set in the 1960s in Jackson, Mississippi and focuses on the relationships between middle class white families and the black women that are their help. I wish I didn't need help cleaning. But I really, really, really don't like to do it. I work so many hours out of the house, and I know I should be able to clean when I get home with as much gusto -- but I can't. I have no interest. I make half-assed attempts to clean things and then I give up. Yes, I can cook up a storm and I will attempt any recipe you give me -- but I can't seem to muster up the same passion for cleaning. I'm a good picker-upper. I operate under Betty's Rule #1: Keep your front room picked up because you never know who's going to drop by. But the rest of the house can turn into rack and ruin -- and I'm not likely to do a whole lot to stop it. I don't live in filth -- I can hide my cleaning deficiencies pretty well -- but still...when you drop by my house, you'll find that the level of cleanliness is not museum-quality. Except for right now. Right now, it's glistening and clean. And I love it. I love the smell of cleaning products in the air. It's better than cinnamon and lavender. Here's my tip for the day...have your house cleaned.

Got any fish or poultry on you?

It's Friday. And it's been a busy week. The worst news is that I have a huge list of things "to do" for the weekend. I have a love/hate relationship with errands. I love the idea of running lots of errands and checking things off my list -- but I hate traffic and shopping malls -- which always seems to be at the heart of running errands -- so I go back and forth on whether or not I want to spend my weekends running errands. I do know that I like to sleep in on Saturday morning and then watch all the television shows that I don't get a chance to see during the week. This weekend I think I'm finally going to get the chance to plant some seedlings for my patio garden. It's been a long, rainy dark winter here in Los Angeles -- and I know I shouldn't be complaining -- especially to people who live in the snow belt -- but without the good weather, there's very little to recommend about Los Angeles. Well, I like the people...and the movies...and the food...

Girl Power!

The night before Sandra Bullock stole the Academy Award for Best Actress from Meryl Streep, she appeared at the Razzie Awards to accept the worst actress award for her performance in "All About Steve." She's a class act. I was cheering for "The Blind-Side" from the moment I read it last October.

Did you get a load of Kathryn Bigelow at the Oscars? She's hot. She's like Helen Mirren hot. (And Helen Mirren looked gorgeous last night.) Bigelow is 58 years old and directs action films better than the dudes. She made her ex-hubby self-proclaimed King of the World, James Cameron, look like hyperbole!

BEST DIRECTOR: Kathryn Bigelow, after becoming the first
woman to win the directing award, said: "There's no other way to describe it. It's the moment of a lifetime."

I've read some snarky comments about last night's Oscar telecast. I disagree with most. I enjoyed the show. I love Neil Patrick Harris and Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin made me laugh. My only snarky comment about last night's show: I want the name and email address of the guy who thought it would be cool to play "I am woman, hear me roar" as a bumper as Kathryn Bigelow and Barbra Streisand walked off the stage together. You, sir, deserve to have some nasty email from a pre-menopausal middle-aged woman in your emailbox. It was inappropriate.

All this and Heaven too...

I think I failed to mention that in the middle of the Olympic fortnight, (which I don't know about you, I enjoyed very much), we escaped to California's central coast. The Handsomest Man Alive seems to have a talent for finding recently opened hotels that are running deals. That's how we found our beloved Red Rock Resort in Las Vegas. The first time we went there, I was afraid that I'd miss being on the strip. Now, I can't imagine staying anywhere else in LV. This time, the HMA discovered El Colibri Hotel in Cambria. The El Colibri has only been opened for three months and it is fantastico. Nestled along Moonstone Beach Rd., with a wine bar in the lobby and fireplaces and flat -screen TVs in the rooms. The only downside is that the entire town of Cambria doesn't get AT&T cell phone service -- which is a little freaky if you're addicted to your PDA devices the way we are. It's like the start of some kind of scary movie -- a couple goes to a small picturesque town on the coast of California and checks into a new hotel -- and at night a misty fog rises up from the swamp and they're never heard from again. Ok, that's not what happened. It's just my wild imagination. On the way to the hotel we took a scenic side trip through Paso Robles. I have a soft spot for this little wine town because it's the birthplace of my little Roxy. We found ourselves on a gently curving roadway covered in a canopy of trees with long golden rays of afternoon sun peaking through the leaves. We went around a corner and down into a little valley where a 1880s Victorian farmhouse that's now the Halter Ranch winery appeared. Behind the main house there was a wine-tasting cabin and people gathered around an outdoor fireplace. We stopped for a wine tasting...and they gave us chocolate too. Are you kidding me? Yum. When we got to the hotel, we went through a list of restaurants to find one that could give us a reservation at the last minute on Valentine's Day. (The HMA eschews planning ahead -- even though he's really good at it.) That's how we found the Indigo Moon Cafe where we dined on halibut and beef tenderloin. More Yum. The next morning we had reservations at Hearst Castle for Tour #2. Neither one of us had ever been on that tour of the Castle, and we both agree that this one is on top of our list of favs -- it includes Hearst's private rooms on the third and fourth floor and a servant's view of the kitchen. If I was one of Hearst's guests -- I'd be in his library all day reading his books. Or in the indoor pool flirting wildy with Cary Grant...

The true meaning of its name...

The native Indians named the place Leelanau, or the land of delight. I prefer to call it home.