Mary Kay Andrews

Okay, I’ll admit it. I color my hair. I started going gray at 16, but put off coloring it until I was somewhere in my thirties. My hair is naturally curly, very coarse and very dry, so those gray hairs stick up like crazy gray antennae. I don’t even attempt to color it myself. I’ve heard too many of those color catastrophe stories, and let’s face it–we all have at least one girlfriend who always has a big patch of gray at the top or back of her head that she can’t see–but we can. I have one friend who always has a gray halo because she insists on coloring it herself. People! If you must do this yourself, get your husband or girlfriend or somebody to glop that stuff on the back of your head for you! Also, just because you had coal black hair at sixteen (like me) doesn’t mean that it looks normal for you to be walking around with Morticia Addams hair at fifty. And don’t get me started on old ladies who dye their hair I Love Lucy Red in their seventies. Okay, rant over. The other reason I pay cranky Doug (whom I secretly adore) lots of money to do my hair is that I like the results. The process he uses leaves my hair much softer and shinier. Not to mention not gray. And I’m not ready to go totally gray yet. Sunday, I went to a wedding shower for my college roommate’s daughter. The shower was sweet, and the bride-to-be is beautiful, and I got to catch up with another roommate whom I hadn’t seen in a couple years. Lyle’s hair has gone totally gray. And her gray is lovely. It’s shiny and cut in a flattering style. At the end of the shower her husband came by to pick her up, and I remembered why it’s okay for Lyle to go totally gray. Her husband–who is three years younger–is totally white-haired! My husband, Mr. Mary Kay, has only a healthy sprinkling of gray in his dark hair. I am a month older than he. Of course, we realize that most men CAUSE our gray hair, or, as Doug calls them, “stress highlights.” So, as you can see, I will not be going totally gray until he does. I am just not ready to be mistaken for his mom, or to be fitted for a set of Barbara Bush pearls and a granny swimsuit. Yet.

It has been WEEKS since I had a good junk jaunt. Okay, two weeks to be exact. But still…There were a couple of decent sounding estate sales in the AJC yesterday, and I hoped to get up early and hit them. But life got in the way. A case of poopie puppy sent us to the vet, so that ate up the morning. And then I had to go buy baby food and feed it to her. And I’d SWORN by all that’s holy that I would write a whole chapter yesterday. So I stayed home, and I did. I finished Chapter 10 of THE FIXER-UPPER, and I was doing the happy dance all over the place. Only one member of the posse, Jinxie, could saddle up today. But we went to Buckhead and then to Roswell, and then back to Buckhead, and I did find some goodies. My favorite find is the circa 1968 oil painting of the shrimp boats in Thunderbolt, which is a little fishing town just before you get to Tybee Island, outside Savannah. It is destined for Maisy’s Daisy, once I figure out how to spruce up the frame, which looks like it was bought at Lee Wards at about the same time. Also found 12 great scalloped ironstone salad or dessert plates. They are really elegant looking–would make a great wall accent. I’ve decided they might be French–but did the French even make ironstone? Don’t know. Also bought an antique twin brass bed. Very fetching. Here’s a coinky-dink. This week I was checking out the new Gourmet magazine website, which is really nice. There was a neat essay about the Betty Crocker Boys and Girls Cookbook, which was originally published in 1957. The author reminisced about cooking through the book as a youngster. I remember that book, too. Especially the bunny rabbit salad, which consisted of canned pear halves placed on lettuce leaves, with ears fashioned from blanched almonds and tails from “cottage cheese balls.” So very retro. The recipe right next to the rabbit salad is for something called rocket salad. Giggle. I’m sorry, but this is so, giggle, phallic! Perfect for Valentine’s Day, if your sweetie has a sense of humor. You take a pineapple slice for the “launching pad” and inside it you place half of a peeled banana, upright, for the rocket. Now, the “nose cone” consists of half a maraschino cherry toothpicked to the top of the banana. heeehehehehehee. Here’s the link to the essay.
I bought the “new” version of the cookbook, which was updated in 1973. Can’t decide whether I should take it to Maisy’s Daisy, or keep for my own future grandchildren.

As I was saying before life rudely interrupted…Saturday night’s GoodGawdAmighty Party in Your Nightie event was held at the Fresh Air Home. The home acts as a summer camp for inner-city, under-priveledged or just “in crisis” kids who need a week at the beach. It sits on a gorgeous plot of land right on the ocean, and the old red brick buildings are really atmospheric. Part of the proceeds from the weekend’s festivities go to Fresh Air Home, and part go to St. Michael’s School. We had a fun girl band playing when everybody walked in Saturday night, and the bar was serving the Blue Breeze, our signature cocktail from SAVANNAH BREEZE, all served in fun flamingo or palm tree glasses. In between all the dancing–picture emcee Jeffrey twirling around the floor in his tuxedo, surrounded by a sea of boa-wearing women to “Dancing Queen”–it was that kinda night–we had the final rounds of the Miss Savannah Breeze pageant. The first round consisted of the ladies parading in their festive pajama-wear. Several groups of women had cleverly concocted matching pjs for their posses. The real fun came with the “talent” portion of the evening. And when I say talent, I mean that in the loosest possible interpretation. One gal did a rap about the weekend with her posse. Another read an original poem she’d written. Still another–one of those wacky Middle Georgia girls–demonstrated how to have “big hair” through judicious use of styling product. But the winningnest–and weirdest–talent came from a 60-something retired algebra teacher named Linda who demonstrated a talent she’d picked up from her daughter during said daughter’s sorority rush at Auburn University. This talent is called “butt quarters”. Well, I warned you about the Auburn connection. Let me just say that the talent was performed while fully clothed–albeit in a pair of side-slashed, rhinestone-studded jeans that looked like they’d been freshly pried from the body of some back-alley hoochie-mama. How could we not name Linda Miss Savannah Breeze? Linda and her daughter Happy were thrilled to pieces! After the crowning we had more dancing, drinking, and miscellaneous hilarity. By 10-ish my own sparkle was starting to seriously wear off, so I took myself off to bed, while others did the Tybee pub crawl, which mostly consists of Doc’s Bar. The next morning we met for brunch at the wonderful home of tour operator Linda Odum, for yet more bloody mary’s and mimosas before saying good-byes. Some of the women even stuck around ’til Monday for a tour of nearby Beaufort, S.C., where they hit my favorite shop there, M Designs. Here’s another gallery of photos:
http://spotted.savannahnow.com/galleries/index.php?id=327133

Been running around all day trying to get my booth at Seaside Sisters all spiffed up for our 2nd annual SAVANNAH BREEZE weekend at Tybee. Well, it’s spiffed, but I didn’t get everything done that I’d hoped to. Oh well, the party trolley picks me up in fifteen minutes for the Margarita Meet n’ Greet–so I guess it’s as ready as it’s going to get. I hope to have a picture of the booth—Maisy’s Daisy–to post tomorrow. Supposed to rain cats n’ dawgs tomorrow, but hopefully that won’t dampen our party mood. More later!

The weatherfolk were predicting a “wintry mix”–aka sleety slush for Atlanta when I set out early afternoon for Savannah. When I got to Macon, I figured the weather stuff was for real, becuz, besides the nasty rain, I was following four DOT sand-trucks. But I made it down here by dusk, which was my plan. I’m staying at another of the wonderful Mermaid Cottages. This one is called Cheney Cottage, and it’s new to me, altho it was built in 1936. As always, this one is adorable. Nothing fancy, but bright, beachy colors, comfy beds, scrupulously clean and cheerful. And wireless access! The older I get, the more I realize what a creature of habit I’ve become. After I unloaded my suitcase, I made a beeline to the Tybee Market. There I bought what I always buy for a winter stay at Tybee. Spaghetti fixings, a big bottle of cheap chardonnay, Diet Coke, cereal, milk and bananas. The weather is perfect for writing. I can hear the rain beating against the windows, hear the wind whipping around, even the ocean–which is only four houses away here. Inside I am toasty and warm. After my nap–after all–a girl needs a nap after a four-hour-drive–I did what I always did when I stay in a new rental. I skipped around, opening all the cupboards and drawers, assessing the owner’s taste in kitchen gear, dishes, and most importantly, reading materials. Since this house is a rental I didn’t expect much in the way of personal effects. Still, I always get a thrill when the owners leave out a family picture, or some well-loved books. The books were kind of a let-down, heavy on the James Patterson and Catherine Coulter. Ah well, their house is very cute. The dishes are plain white melamine. But plenty of wine glasses, which is always a plus. I always hate drinking my cheap wine out of equally cheap plastic tumblers. And they had a stash of green Jadeite coffee mugs–major score! I’ll have my tea from one in the morning. Right now, I’m going to go wash up my dinner dish, pour another glass of wine, and prop myself up in bed with my laptop. Writing like this–alone, with the weather raging outside, is pure bliss!

Here we are–the Scribblers–posing in the library at the Weymouth Center for the Arts.
Getting away for a week to write is amazingly helpful–but coming home and catching up with all the daily stuff you ignored while you were hiding out and writing is not such fun. About the writing. I hit my goals–producing a detailed, thought-out synopsis of THE FIXER UPPER, and writing 50 kick-ass pages to get the book off to a good start. Dempsey Killebrew, my protagonist, is now a fully-formed person in my head. I know what she looks like, what she likes and dislikes. I know her parents–wait ’til you meet her mother, Lynda, who lives in L.A. and makes jewelry out of bits and pieces of the stuff she picks up off the side of the road–like broken taillights and beer can pop-tops. With the help of my writer buddies, Alex, Bren, Diane, Katy, Margaret and Sarah, I figured out what the town of Guthrie, GA. looks like. This is a huge, huge accomplishment. We are ramping up the promotion of DEEP DISH, which comes out Feb. 26, and I am going to be incredibly busy with that for the next couple months, so I really needed to have a good handle on THE FIXER UPPER. Which I do now. Tomorrow I’m off for Tybee Island, for our second annual Savannah Breeze Weekend. In the meantime, I’ve got to get together all the goodies I’m taking to Tybee to re-stock my antique booth at Seaside Sisters. In between writing stints at Weymouth Center for the Arts, I did manage to do a little junking, so I’ve got all kinds of cool stuff for Maisy’s Daisy. It’s hard to find good stuff in the winter, because this isn’t really estate sale season, and that’s usually where I find my best stock, but, after all, when the going gets junky, the junky get going.

I’m here at Panera Bread in Aberdeen, piggybacking on their free wi-fi. Ain’t technology grand? Yesterday was a very good writing day. A good day in general.
I made my 10-page quota for THE FIXER-UPPER. With all of us in attendance, we settled into our writing routine. Generally, some of us gather in the kitchen in the morning for coffee and breakfast, then we break up and go off to our corners to write. Lunch is potluck–out of the groceries we brought. We all worked more in the afternoon, and then about 7 we broke for dinner. I’d brought the black bean soup and salad stuff, and we had good crusty rolls–and wine. You can’t have a writer’s retreat without wine! Also M&Ms–plain and peanut. After dinner, we gathered in the lounge at Weymouth. It’s a very evocative space, houses the NC Literary Hall of Fame, so as we sat there sipping our wine, we had Thomas Wolfe and Louis Rubin Jr. and tons of poets and novelists gazing down at us. The best thing about the retreat is the chance to bounce ideas and questions off other published writers who understand this awful business of writing a book. We took turns talking about our work in progress, and brainstormed where needed. I came away with lots of questions answered about THE FIXER UPPER. With the hard work out of the way by 10 pm, some of the girls wandered off to bed, while the others of us stayed up to play Balderdash, a word game like Dictionary that I’d never played before. We had a blast, trying to fake each other out with definitions for words none of us had ever heard before. It was great letting our creative minds come out to play with words instead of work. This morning, I polished the synopsis some more, and now I’ve just emailed it to my editor and agent to see what they think. Now it’s back to work–I’ve got to get started on my day’s quota of pages.

I am on a six-day writer’s retreat with my writer pals from North Carolina, whose ranks include Margaret Maron, Sarah Shaber, Diane Chamberlain and Alex Sokoloff. We’re staying at the Weymouth Center for the Arts in the beautiful town of Southern Pines. Right now I’m sorta playing hookey, because we don’t really have internet access at the mansion that houses Weymouth. I’m working away at THE FIXER UPPER, but a girl’s gotta check her email, right? And blog, right? Anyway, I’m only four pages away from today’s ten-page quota, so I feel justified.
One of the wonderful things in this world of ours is a library. I wanted to print out the pages I’d written so far, so I went in search of a library where I could do that, so here I am at the teensy library in Aberdeen. It is an old block building, probably from around the turn of the century. But they have books and heat and internet, so it’s all good. And as I turn my head to the right, I see they even have my books–including HISSY FIT, LITTLE BITTY LIES, and SAVANNAH BLUES. So Aberdeen, NC rocks.
I drove up to Raleigh Tuesday and spent the night with my friend Beth, and we gossiped and drank wine and had a splendid time. And she let me shop in her antique shop in her basement, which is not the only reason I love Beth, but it is an incentive, you know?
Wednesday I visited my hair-dresser Roi, bought groceries at Harris-Teeter, then set off for Southern Pines and Weymouth. Of course, I had to stop in Cameron, which is on the way. Cameron is another wonderful teensy NC town–which basically consists of a bait shop and a bunch of antique shops. I scored lots of goodies at Cameron Antiques, many of which I’ll put in my booth at Maisy’s Daisy down at Tybee next week. There’s a great ’50s oil painting of a fishing boat, and a pair of radically retro ’50s lamps, and some other smalls. Next weekend is our second annual SAVANNAH BREEZE weekend at Tybee, so I want to have the booth all stocked up and full of goodies. One new thing I’ll have are Breeze Inn T-shirts. More about those later. Time to get back to work. I’m on a FIXER-UPPER roll, and I don’t want to lose my momentum.

Some of you have asked to see more pix. Ok. You know who you are. You just want more cute Weezie pix. Or pix of the house. That’s fine. I’m not against decorator porn or puppy porn. So here you go. The top picture is of the master bathroom. I’ve been collecting shells for several years now, a collection that started when my younger sister Patti brought me back some amazing seashells from Belize. That prompted me to decorate our master bath with the shells. The middle two pix are of Weezie, who gets feistier by the day. And the feistier she gets, the more disapproving Wyatt gets. He reminds me of Arthur Treacher–frowning in deep disapproval at a puppy version of Paris Hilton. Only, Weezie is not nearly as slutty. Or stooopid. In one of these photos, she’s pausing from her attack on my bedroom slipper. My theory is that because my slippers are white and fluffy, kinda like her, she thinks they are her brothers–she had about four in her litter, and she is rough-housing with them. But that would disprove my theory about her intelligence. Hmm. The bottom photo is of my office, decked out for Christmas with the blue aluminum trees I found at an estate sale this summer for 15 bucks. Ok. That’s all the porn for now.