kate rothwell

I can't think of a way to get a picture of nekkid me. Not without asking another person to take it and there's no one here who'd do it. Heck, there's no one here who has any interest in seeing such a picture much less taking it. Fortunately, I do have a nude picture. It's my mother. She was a nude art model too. This is a picture of her in Raphael Soyer's studio in the 1940s. (That's Raphael at the easel. I don't know who the other people are. If anyone thinks they might know, say a visiting relative, they should go ahead and click on the image to make it bigger.) I had a couple of pictures of me that people who drew me gave me, but they were umm. kinda ugly. I don't know where they went. Here's another one of mom. I have another one of her that's actually on the wall. A little one. Maybe I'll see if I can make a copy of it.

So what did you think it was? It's just what I said: a horse made of bread for someone's birthday, as described in Joy of Cooking. But. . .why? you ask. Why not? The middle sag happened after a day or two and the wooden barbeque stakes holding it together are more evident. The pretzel ears and raisin eyes were an addition, as was the bagel tail. I've turned past BBHs into french toast or bread pudding, but I think this guy is toast, as in no longer edible.

1, Her laughter because it's contagious 2. The fact that she would eat poptarts with such a look of loathing 3. The ability to sum up a situation with one particularly trechant remark 4. the fact that she will never again never ever howl the words "not in my front yard" at me because it makes me nuts. 5. right. Yup. Pig's'll fly. On the other hand, I suppose it's good to be reminded of life's most bizarre moments. 6. Right after I had my third boy she was my first visitor. 7. Mockery that is even better than Mike's and that's saying something. 8. Switch plates and forks and other things that could be boring but never are at her house. 9. She's a cheap date. One glass of wine and she starts to laugh and see number one. 10. She always calls. Do I call her? Do I? Noooooo. She has to call. But I do know her number 11. Her work ethic even when it's dialed up to 11 = "crazed". 12. Her kid is very very cool and she doesn't try to mak...

FIRST let me say that I love this cover because it's so. . .so. . .very. . . I just do, okay? From: Summer Devon [mailto:summerdevon@comcast.net] Sent: Tuesday, September 26, 2006 12:55 PM To: Davis, M Subject: Fw: Pocket/EC anthologies This is the one coming out in January (it says Ellora's Cave but it's a Pocket) Gotta love those trousers he's wearing! From: Davis, M Sent: Tuesday, September 26, 2006 12:59 PM To: Summer Devon [mailto:summerdevon@comcast.net] Subject: Fw: Pocket/EC anthologies I think the impressive thing is that, old as I am, those trousers still fit me. I think I got them way back in my old Chippendale days…

We sweaty women at the gym were discussing what sort of luxury we liked best. This is left over birthday stuff. I got flowers and a birthday bread horse but no presents and so I've decided this means I may buy something Just For Me without guilt. I haven't bought my self-indulgent gift. So I asked the women what they consider the perfect self-indulgent present. Chocolate! everyone at the gym says. Not for me until I'm skinnier. Until then Food is to be declared an Enemy. I refuse a lifelong enmity with chocolate but that works just now. (Besides I had TWO kinds of cake yesterday.) Here are the other suggestions the women came up with: Massage Jewelry Pedicure Manicure Facial Bath oil Hair products Great new shoes Fun new clothes A trip to a tropical island (oh, hey, maybe that one? but in february?) Naw, I don't crave any of it. So I came home and heated up the leftover coffee and now I'm on the back deck (which really could use a cleaning). I'm all alone. The w...

So Doug (talk about overkill, I'm referencing Dr D again?) has a SBD has about the overuse of dogs in romances. I can see his point but. . .perhaps he's just overindulged. Too much of the same author--too much time with the same genre-- and it's "not that again" when someone does something as innocent as raising an eyebrow. When you spend too much time together, all the sweet little touchs you love about a writer's style eventually look faker than Geraldo R. in a war zone. (okay so similies aren't my bag). When I want to smack that historical heroine who lifts her chin and I have to talk myself down-- What? It's just a simple chin lift. It isn't worth throwing a whole book against the wall-- that's when I know it's time to get out something like litterachur or at least someone like Elmore Leonard. Last week I read Hit Man by Lawrence Block. ** Perfect antidote to any romance jag. When I discovered Loretta Chase, I went berserk and read he...

One of my PUBLISHERs sent me an actual card. My dang ebox has three emails from corporations I didn't lie to, wishing me a happy birthday. My sisters (all three) have sent emails. I got a birthday bread horse (see Joy of Cooking) and I plan on taking myself out for coffee later. And I'll be ordering myself some presents from the internet any second now. As soon as I can find the right credit card . . .the one that's not all tuckered out. My first year here, I didn't know anyone and I desperately missed my friend Leslie. When I mentioned it to L down the street, not only did she wish me a happy birthday, she took the baby and me out for coffee and I've been grateful ever since. She saved me from falling into a huge well of self pity that it would have been hard to climb out of. Heck, she keeps doing that. With the bread horse and the champagne another neighbor says she'll give me, I'm all set. Don't forget to wish my twin Doug (separated by parents and a ...