Current mood:

amused

"Reverse Sophistication"
A few years ago, I went back to my small home town to spend a week with my extended family. The town had one major attraction during the sleepy summer months and that was to become the very quiet and very private playground for the rich and famous from the Chicago area. Surrounded by as many as twelve pristine lakes along with the opportunities to fish the teeming waters, jet ski, or just enjoy the sandy beaches and clear waters, it was the perfect area to have a summer cottage, near enough to Chicago to get there within a few hours by car or an even quicker trip by private plane.

In a round-a-bout chain of events, my aunt became the caretaker/housekeeper/friend to two wealthy and famous men from Chicago and watched over their cottages during the work week while they were in the city. Often times they would come back on the weekends to have parties, barbecues and provide entertainment for their friends.

One day during the particular week that I was visiting, my aunt had to inspect their cottages to make sure everything was ready for the men and their family's arrival on the weekend. She asked if my sister and I would like to tag along and see how the "other half lived".

As my sister and I waited for her to check the linens, check the door locks and water the plants, we became quite intrigued by their eclectic decor. Their house was filled with eye-jarring vibrant colors and bold patterns in oranges, bright blues and neon greens. We had really never seen anything quite like it in our humble parts and wondered if it was because of their African-American heritage or the fact that they were from Chicago.

As we wandered about the living room, we noted with interest the pictures of him with various celebrities and also the plaques for the awards he had won over the years. We finally came to the fireplace mantle and stopped there in bewilderment.

"Now, that's interesting," I said as I beheld three large empty frames, each one smaller than the other. They weren't hanging on the wall above the mantle, they were tilted against the wall and sitting inside one another.

"Why did they just leave those empty frames there?" my sister asked.
"I'm not sure," I replied.

With puzzled faces, we peered closer at what were apparently very costly, antique frames just sitting there empty.

"I bet those were very expensive," she remarked.
"I bet they were, too. Why don't they have any glass in them?" I asked.
"I'm not sure," she said, "Maybe the wife is going to get them professionally fitted when she has time," she answered.

We stood there in silence a bit longer.
"Do you think she's going to get some oil paintings to put in them?" my sister asked.
"I don't know. Why would she buy the frames before she bought the pictures?"
"Yeah, that doesn't make sense, how would she know what size frames to get?"

"Maybe they're supposed to be that way? Do you think?" she ventured.
"No way," I said. "That would be weird. Three empty frames just stacked there?"
"No, you're right, that is too strange," she said, "Why would someone do that? Leave three empty frames just sitting there as a decoration?"

We both stood there in silence, contemplating the three mismatched, leaning frames, all nestled inside each other, reminding one of those dolls from Russia.

Just then my aunt came by with her keys, finished with her inspection.

"Are you guys ready to go? I'm all done," she said and then noticed what we were staring at, "Oh, those," she said as she leaned in closer to look at them, too. "I don't think they're done unpacking everything yet. I think Ruth just stacked those there for now until she gets some pictures for them."

"Ahhhh," I said.
"Ahhhh," my sister said.

We smilingly filed out of the house, secure in our beliefs, satisfied in our conclusions.

A few months later, I was thumbing through Harper's Bazaar at my doctor's office and I will let my readers guess what was adorned the mantle of one of the richest homes in L.A, decorated by one of the most highly acclaimed interior decorators in the country.



In other news, my husband and I decided that canned soup was very bad for him since it had so much salt, and went to the store to get some things to make homemade soup. I decided it would be a good idea to use my new crockpot for this as I could let it sit and simmer all day.

In our local grocery store, we found some dried barley, dried split peas, navy beans and a soup mix called 15 Bean Mix. The latter was just a mix of 15 different dried beans and came with it's own "real ham" flavoring mix.

Later on, as I was holding up the bags of beans and standing behind him, I asked, "Which type of soup do you want me to try first? We have Split Pea, Beef and Barley, Navy Bean or 15 Bean Mix."

"15 Beans!!" he spouted, "Why do I need 15 bean soup?? We're not going to buy fifteen different kinds of beans and make soup out of them, that's just ridiculous! Just make one kind of soup with one kind of bean. You're going to a lot more trouble than you have to. No one needs fifteen beans in their soup, where did you get such an idea?"

At that moment he turned around to see me silently holding the bag of 15 Beans Mix like a waiter holds a tray.

"Oh," he said.

"Exactly," I replied.