These Liz Taylor as Cleopatra eyebrows

What's with eyebrows on models currently?

 

Are these exaggerated eyebrows some new craze? Is there some new product that makes eyebrows look as if they are stenciled on?

 

Remember when people had fits over Brooke Shields' bushy brows?

 

She survived without them being painted on. Did quite well.

 

And then there is the Jean Harlow pencil brows. I'm not a fan...no eyebrow goes that way naturally and the plucking involved must have been painful.

Unless the brows were shaved with a razor.

Dangerous to say the least.

 

I think I have to blame the Kardashians. With their generally dark hair, I would guess their faces would look rather naked with trim eyebrows.

 

Yet another thing to blame those poor girls for.

 

(It took me several pluckings back in my teen years to shape my eyebrows. I have never had anyone complain about them, after the swelling went down.)

 

 

And this photo was taken after the chemo that destroyed my eyebrows and lashes...I'd say nearly a year later judging from the length of my hair. Half an inch every month....

More wonderfully fake relatives

Digging up dead relatives that never existed is a little game I play to make my life seem more worthwhile than it really is.

The greatest thing about these non-existent relatives is that they are surrounded by riches and fame and notoriety, yet they somehow manage to avoid or completely miss the spotlight. Which, when it comes to cleaning ancient toilets or fixing lunch for a gangster, isn't that bad an idea.

But, as it usually does, another one of my fake ancestors came to mind last night when I was trying to fall asleep. History gives him the name Noroaster but we refer to him as the sheep boy.

Good ol' Noroaster made his drachmas tending the sheep of richer Bethlehemenians back in the day. He had plenty of responsibility--watching over the cash crop of lambs and mutton back when the innocent animals were used in sacrifices in the temples that riddled the dry desert towns. By day he would watch them gambol in the field. By night, he would snuggle up with some of the fluffier ones and sleep, vigilantly with one eye open waiting for the occasional lion or panther or sheep rustler. Evidently there were plenty of sheep rustlers back in the day.
The sacrifice business was going pretty good there for awhile. If you wanted to appease the Lord God Yahweh, you killed an innocent lamb and waited for Yahweh to respond. Somehow. I'm willing to bet the temple priests ate lots and lots of lambchops, but I digress.

Noroaster's one misclaim to fame was that one night as he was drifting off to sleep, still with one eye open, he noticed a big hubbub over on the next hill. The sky was filled with fuzzy blurs, blaring trumpets and lovely singing in Latin. Being fairly nearsighted, things were blurry, and he had his ears nestled in the woolly coat of a big ol' mama sheep, so he didn't pick up what exactly was being sung.

He noted the annoyingly bright light of this huge star twinkling over head, but rather than investigate, he snuggled back down, pulled a lamb close to his shoulders and went back to sleep.

Reminds me of the famous line from the movie Endless Summer. (Shoulda been here yesterday, friend. Waves were terrific.) You just missed it.

I won't eat that

A true trial in my life.

 

This one won't eat this stuff. The other will eat one thing on that imaginary list, but adds more things on her own list.

 

Personally, I won't eat mangoes, lamb (makes me quite ill) or things that are spicy hot. Peppers, red, green, yellow or chilies--not good. Nasty tasting to me.

So, I can sort of understand why there are certain things my offspring would not and still, in their advanced ages, do not eat.

 

But really.

One won't eat fish unless it is with chips and fresh. One won't eat sauce on spaghetti but insists on marinara sauce for her mozzarella sticks. One won't eat fruit. One gags at the mere thought of feta cheese, yet yonks down all sorts of cheeses, even smelly ones or oozy ones.

 

Neither will eat sandwiches.

One hates jelly. The other has to have super salty food.

 

Can you imagine how difficult it was to feed them when they were babies?

 

I used to be a good cook. Before the kids came along, I more or less outdid myself nightly. Recipe collections? I have about 50 cookbooks and have used them all. Julia Child. Justin Wilson, Jacques Pepin, Betty Crocker, an assortment of books with recipes from Europe...all of 'em. Seafood, colonial American recipes, southern, Mexican...and about 30 different kinds of cookies at Christmas.

 

Then the babies came and our food choices went very PLAIN. Sigh. Buttered noodles. Hot dogs (one has to have Kosher beef ones, not the pork and beef ones their father loves) cut into coins. Chicken nuggets, hamburgers with cheese. Toasted cheese. And they insist on yellow American cheese, which I think tastes faker than the white kind.

 

Now, my husband only has a few things he won't eat. Mixed vegetables and pirogies top his rather short list. He will eat burnt food, too. He makes his own prodigious breakfasts every day, always with some sort of meat included. I don't do meat for breakfast.

 

Why am I writing about this? Because it is part of my life. In my books and stories, I feed my characters well. One book has a chef as the heroine. Another has all the characters living and working above a restaurant.Nobody starves or diets in my stories!

 

I enjoy food.

 

Especially pizza and lobster.

I have determined that I could exist for long periods of time on pizza and/or lobster.