More Open Salts

I do love these beautiful silver salt cellars, and it's hard to part with them, it really is. I saved a few for my special little girl, and kept a few of the tiny spoons that are so precious.

I bought a set that I had often admired in my in-laws home town which were never part of the collection, and I'm saving those. Doesn't seem fair to keep lovely things in boxes when someone perhaps has a collection she displays. I hope.

Off to the resale shop and then I will bake a delicous apricot tart using dried apricots and a crust with cornmeal. I hope this is good. The apricots are from the 'cot king in California. All his 'cots are divine, including the hot pepper jelly and the syrup. www.apricotking.com/

My 75 pages of Festival Madness have been tweaked until they just hum, and S.O. has offered two good suggestions. He's becoming a useful editor, having sat through a zillion hours of writing discussions and panels. Who knew?

Onward, onward and onward.

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In relaxation mode in robe du chambre

The Wall Street Journal had a long article yesterday about how hotel guests are trekking all over the hotel, esp. to the public rooms in the robes provided for use in the spa. Other guests do not take to the sight of hairy male legs, cellulite, exposed bellies, etc. during their brunch or cocktails. Some hotels are trying to be strict about this--others are apparently throwing up their hands and yet others are trying to find less revealing designs for the robes.

For years it has been de riguer to wear shoes and a coverup between the pool and your room, and not stroll about in your bathing suit. The idea that anyone would wonder around, and even sit in the bar in a bathrobe causes wonder in my (all right) somewhat conventional brain.

One guest told the reporter: "it alerts the world that I am in relatxation mode and that I am pampering myself becaue I believe I'm worth it. " So as always, it's "all about me." What Bullshit!

It's the Sonny B. syndrome. In suburban Chicago, we had a neighbor, Sonny B., who was very overweight and wore a too, too short bathrobe. Sonny B. used to sit on his freezer in the garage (door open) in his robe, a weird if familiar site. He also wandered out to pick up the morning paper in his robe, with nothing underneath, or course, and when he bent over, well, you get the idea, a horrible sight that the entire neighborhood knew and chuckled about. I guess he just thought WTF? It wasn't about Sonny; het just didn't care. Or as the Journal quotes, "It is about overtly displaying that you are 'at home' in such a luxurious environment, and therefore relaxed enough to be seen in public in your robe.'" More B.S.

I dunno. Or as Noel Coward asks, "Why Do The Wrong People Travel?"

I have to confess I have been known to nip out and retrieve the newspaper in my jammies, which are modest, and I'm not in the freaking hotel lobby, in fact I'm not in a luxurious environment at all, but in the front yard. Early in the a.m. But I am overtly displaying that I am at home, because I am at home.

Toddles on A Plane, The Day of the Killer Bathrobes, the Relentless Robed Ones. What do you think?

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