Airport Security: Is it Effective?
It was both thrilling and awful to leave my little ones yesterday as they commenced their annual Big Boys Week with my parents. While it is always such a complete and fun success for everyone and though I am enormously excited and in real need of this incredible week off, Jack was so teary and looked so truly sad that my heart hurt more than a bit.
As it turned out, I was stopped by security who felt it imperative to X-ray, sniff and scan six ways to Sunday this little clay tchotchke I made decades ago in a summertime arts camp, unearthed in my closet while in Lake Charles and decided to bring home with me. I was absolutely flummoxed as to why this crude item was so suspicious and needed such intense examination, but while it was being scrutinized, Jack and I blew kisses and made crazy hand gestures to each other through the glass windows separating the waiting and security areas.
He dried his eyes, realized anew that his beloved Pokémon badges were in his “fancy” case (an old jewelry box of mine) in his hand and moved on, distracted in the darling way kids can be until they’re old enough to learn otherwise.
On my flights home, I read and napped and thought about what a wonderful, though exceedingly brief, time I had at home. Three generations of us plus some cousins who came to visit, a magnificent Louisiana thunderstorm, Nelson’s donuts (the best in the world), archery, sweat, Spanish moss hanging languidly from ancient Oaks, lots of swimming and a great meal out at a new restaurant called Calla.
Mom and Dad took me out my last night there, and I liked the look and feel of Calla as soon as I walked in. Chic and current but infinitely comfortable and relaxed. I had on a dress and heels, a physician had on his scrubs and there was pretty much everything in between, fashion-wise. I love that kind of place.
The most immediate best thing was the wine list which was completely and refreshingly devoid of the usual suspects. Amen, Calla, amen. I loved the Albariño I chose, so much that I ordered a second glass. Mom enjoyed her French Sauvignon blanc and Dad his Cabernet.
Calla adheres to the ever-popular small-plate style, and with nary a pause, I started us off with some blue crab beignets with almonds and mint; a beet, pistachio, tarragon and goat cheese salad; and a compressed watermelon and avocado salad feta and jalapeño. The heat in the latter dish overwhelmed all else, but the beignets and beets were terrific. Please pardon the low-quality iPhone pics; I was trying to be sly.
Later, I went for a cheese plate with lavash as well as a bowl of fantastically-seasoned red snapper ceviche. Ooh, for another round of that. And I simply had to have dessert and wisely chose the chocolate tart with candied orange peel and a ginger snap. Fan.tas.tic.
Before moving into the fashiony fluff, I want to say thank you to the many (!) of you who read my piece about Ferguson and white privilege and all who commented, here, via email and on Facebook. Thank you.
Most of time, I am in elastic-waist pajamas or clothes that very closely resemble them. I think this is swell. However, perhaps idiosyncratically, I love fashion. Clothes and shoes make me feel very happy and excited, even when eyeing them through windows or in magazines. Can I just share a few fab things with you?
Oh my goodness on this sleek, lush skirt. Not many could wear this, and I hate the shirt, but yowzers on this skirt.
Secondly, isn’t this cape magnificent? For some bizarre reason I showed it to Tom. He immediately said, “I can’t believe you want to buy that! Where and how would you wear that?”
This was one of those conversations that made me wonder if T and I had ever met. I am not a cape person. I have never owned a cape, do not feel I could pull one off, have no place to take a cape AND said nothing about buying this (probably outrageously-priced) one. He walked himself down.
Lastly, who doesn’t love Cara Delevingne’s eyebrows?! I do.