(click-Happiness is a Julep)

I just finished the most inspired article about the classic Mint Julep in this month’s Garden & Gun :21st Century Southern America magazine.  Written by Jonathon Miles in “A Drink for All Seasons,” the iconic drink is described as a “a splendid, simple drink.”  Ya’ll it does not require a special occasion to enjoy it Jonathon reminds me!  And honey, it does not require a silver cup or fine veranda, since this can be a tad intimidating.  (Personally, I like serving it in a silver cup if it goes with my flouncing outfit and when I am in lime green toile with pageant banner sash, I truly believe it adds so much to the look.)  I can promise you however that I have collapsed on my couch after a hot summer day, in plain ol’ jeans and a T-shirt to enjoy ”the ideal analgesic to a tough day at work.”  For this Saturday’s Flounce at Alligator Soul, I plan to bring my own little linen cocktail napkin, (’cause it is cute), my own silver plated Patrick Henry Mint Julep cup, and even a big bunch of fresh mint, grown right here in Savannah, just in case they need some. 

Thank you, Jonathon Miles for the inspiration. Oh, and if your consort likes to hunt and all that, you might enjoy the new publication Garden & Gun, www.gardenandgun.com since there is something in it for him, and more importantly lots of interesting ariticles for you.  http://gardenandgun.com/stories/below_the_line/below_the_line-90  Click to read Jonathon’s Mint Julep article:)

(click) Some us photographed with some lucky commoner.

Here is an interesting list: Queen Helene Masque & Facial Scrub, the Modern Jazz Quartet, the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh at the Derby and of course, the MJQs.   What do we all have in common.  We are on page one of a Google search.  If you enter “MJQ” “Mint Julep” Or Mint Julep Queens”  we share space on page one with these other topics.  Including a guy on chowhound hot topics who needed crushed ice in Brooklyn. This is the story about him.  He was planning a little party for +200 and needed the correct ingredients for a proper julep and he knew the ice must be crushed.    As he explained, he lived in Queens and didn’t know the Brooklyn area. So where do you go? You Google it.

Also Queen Elizabeth was to have a Mint Julep last year at the Kentucky Derby. Addtionally you can find out that Queen Helene makes a great clay based face masque that really clears up those clogged pores.  The Modern Jazz Quartet appears if you search “MJQ.” They have no interest in Mint Juleps. And, as of this morning, the “Mint Julep Queens Green toenails” were in the forefront. Now does this matter in vast scheme of cyber-things?  No. Not at all, but is is rather amazing to think that if a wonderful subject sees us Flounce one Saturday night through downtown town Savannah, asks for a photograph, and then goes back to Pittsburgh and Googles the MJQs…well, Voila`. There we are. Page one. Praise worthy, photogenic and completely Royal in almost every way.

3 drinks (AKA $45.oo dollars worth of drinks, not counting tips), toast flouncing.)

November 30th the MJQs met at The Mansion on Forsyth Park for drinks.  Again, I was less than impressed with the service or lack there of at this 4 star wanna be. If you need the space to have a function downtown, then I suppose this location will fill the bill, but if for some strange reason you long for a Southern experience in the style that represents the best of hospitality, good taste, and of what makes Savannah a destination, better rethink your choices.

I will stick to my very limited dealings with the place and its staff.  Last April we had cocktails at The McMansion and we were met with surly service. Not a single smile or “thank you” was uttered as we shelled out 16.00 for a single glass of wine poured into a cheap glass 2.00 stem. At the time, I chalked it up to Crown Envy, a little known syndrome of the type one witnesses from certain women that are temporarily blinded by jewels in some one’s hair. You don’t believe me? Put on a tiara and watch. A handful of ladies give you the disappoving you-r-such-a-harlot stare. Others will ask, “Where in the world did you find your cute tiara.?” So, since the wenches behind the bar were…well…wenches, their sour attitudes were ignored by us.  Now back to our recent expereinces at The McM. 

The poor barkeep that met us Friday evening was totally over-whelmed by a flow of females asking for wine, Cosmopolitans, and Mint Juleps. Honey, the bar was almost dead with about 8 folks already served when the first group of ladies approached. During the 45 minutes I stood at the bar waiting for a drink, this pitiful lad struggled with every concoction.  It took me 45 minutes to get my first drink.  I was never even acknowledged or greeted.

Three ladies had to flounce upstairs to get their drinks since they had waited so long. Lucky for me someone else was able to get his attention and procure the julep for me.  Now, the julep was so bad I almost gave it back to him, but frankly I was suffering from absolute dehydration and I decided I would never get another drink so I kept it.  The little pseudo-drink was, from what I could figure a concoction of ginger ale, bourbon, sugar, mint leaves and huge lime wedge perched atop the glass. Yuck.  More like a little punch.  In the future, I suppose I must resort to ordering bourbon and water, a side of mint, and a packet of Dixie Crystal that I stir in myself. I was at this bar for 2 hours and never offered another drink or even spoken to by anyone behind the bar.

Now you may ask if I have eaten at the Mcmansion? No dear heart, I have not.  I am not talking about their food or “dining experience.”  Wait.  I did attend a big gala that was catered by the McMansion. Does that count?  The food was horrible and pretentious. The wine glasses were hot, fresh out of the dishwasher.  The funniest food item they served was some mashed potato thing in a martini glass with a port wine  reduction, (AKA gravy) and shredded cheese. I know this event was a fund-raiser and the non-profit that booked the location was not wlling to shell out the ten prices needed to make a decent table of nibbles. 

Way on up in NYC, The Waldorf-Astoria, Tao, and The W all have friendly service, nicer stemware, better drinks and, here’s the shocker…similar bar prices to the McMansion. Never the less, when faced with adversity, we , The MJQs absolutely make the best of a challenging situation and rise to the occasion. We yuck it up, flounce a little, and smile real pretty for pictures so it did not ruin our time.  In fact, we had a blast drinking over- priced wine. miniature Cosmos, and bad Juleps. Then some of us went on to dinner at Wally’s Six Pence Pub, crowned our waitress, and devoured a darn good burger.  Next time though, I really don’t think we will congregate at The McMansion. Alligator Soul or the Mercury Lounge will likely be the location of choice:)

(Queen Carolyn, user of Pire Tools)

When I was an undergraduate in the art department at Georgia Southern, my sculpture professor, a guy from Tennesse that made custom knives explained that we would learn to use pire tools this quarter.  We would go to a junk yard and collect salvaged metals for a sculpture we would weld. We would sandcast an aluminum  item. We would use pire saws and other grinding and polishing pire tools to complete an alabaster piece. We would produce a plaster totem-like column for the front courtyard. It required pire tools to construct the mold. 

I was excited and fascinated.  I leaned forward and asked a classmate that perched on a metal stool beside me, ” Hey. What’s a Pire tool?” Well, I suppose you might have figured it out.  I had no hands-on exposure to such tools and so POWER tools was a translation that I had to let sink in.  Wow. POW-er tools.

I don’t know lots of women that own their own power tools. Thankfully, I do know one and she just happens to be a dear friend, God-mother to my princesses  and  regal in every way.  As November slams to a close, I was feeling the crush of the Christmas demands edging their way around the corner, going faster than is safe for a really sharp curve. Hey, we are heading head-on into full throttle holiday time and I forgot to order my Mighty-Fancy Christmas tree from Honeydew Farms.  Honeydew Farms delivers a tree to your door, lets you select from 3 stellar choices. Then they clean cut the trunk.  Put it in the stand and position it it in your home.  Well, I lost the Mighty-Fancy order form this year.  Now I was going to have to find a time that my husband and I could go tree shopping, get him to put the thing in a stand and do all this simply, cheerfully and effortlessly, at a time when we both could be there.  Impossible.

After whining at lunch with Queen Carolyn, she calmly suggested that we should go ahead and get the tree and get it home.  No problem and no headaches.  Within one hour, we had gone to the friendly Snowy Mountain Tree lot behind Spanky’s. We selected, not one but two trees, had them tied to her roof and got them home.  That afternoon Carolyn came by with her little pire saw, extension cord and extra tree stand. Quick like a bunny, she clean-cut the trunks. Extra branches were trimmed off and trees were put in their stands. Not a curse word uttered. Not a bead of sweat appeared, and certainly no unpleasantness.  That little pire saw was so helpful. I want one!  No, not really.  But it was perfect for the job and Carolyn was one with the machine while she finished off those trunk bases.  I know she has renovated many a house and it is different from dealing with baseboards, cabinets, moldings, and other stuff I would pay carpenters lots do.  I was still impressed and thankful.

 (click-Queen Stacy and Me flashing some pink. Did I mention Cate Lyon used to work for Victoria’s Secret?)

New clothes cause a stir in my house.  The cause is having two daughters that adore girly dresses and cute outfits and of course, me.  I love a new dress especially when I have had a challenging day.  Way, way back when I was in college, one of the stress busters for registration day was going to Tillie’s in downtown Statesboro and buying another dress. This was in the years prior to computer assisted registration agony.  After I had stood in line for core courses in the old un-air conditioned gym, just to find out every class I wanted was full, and I would have wait and then go to “drop/add” to get the crap I needed.  Not wanted.   Drop/add was equally tough and it required at least a new pair of skin-tight Chic jean. Think 1980. Old habits are hard to break and lately I have been under a lot of stress.

Braving the wet of a steamy Savannah drizzle, I went by Cate Lyon’s shop on 2 Oglethorpe and selected fabrics and watched her draw a couple of new dresses for me.  Then she scheduled muslin fitting when Cate will adjust the fit in simple muslin prior to even cutting a piece of gorgeous satin. It is a very up-scale walk-in. Be pampered, feel special, choose your color experience.  Now honey, I can afford “You want pedicure? “Choose you color” moments, but a custom dress? Not really.  However I can justify it. The way I see it, one dress is commensurate with buying a Talbot’s suit at full price and Donald Pliner shoes to match.  Or it is similar to Channel sunglasses and a Coach bag. For any woman who needs this ammo, think of a foursome at Savannah Harbor with lunch, drinks, and of course, cart fee. Or hunting licenses in Georgia, South Carolina, shells, and what?  Not a hunt club membership, too. Sweetie pie, that is much more expensive! Keep in mind, previous examples serve as rationalizations, as well as helpful reference points to use as needed. 

When I was little, having anything handmade was utterly disappointing. My mother tried really hard, but whatever she made never fit quite right and the fabric looked all wrong.  In fact, if I hadn’t realized how awful it looked, she would tell me in a self-depreciating way. “I just can’t sew.  I don’t know why I try,” she’d say in a disgusted tone. I might wear the thing one time and then banish it to the back of the closet before, years later, giving it to Goodwill.

Cate Lyon realized at a young age that she would learn to sew better that her own mother.  When she was only about four years old, she remembers watching her mother make a grand entrance wearing a blue organza cocktail dress with tons of glittery, glittery jewelry.  Oh Mama! You’re so pretty! To see her very own mother looking like a Queen was so exciting.  The memory stayed with her for years.  If you are fortunate enough to see your mother looking like gorgeous Royalty, then your own dream must be fact.  “I am indeed a princess,” you must sigh to yourself.  It is tremendously empowering to know that. When I said I wanted a fifties inspired dress that rustled when I walked and swished when I flounced, Cate thought of that Oh Mama dress that she had seen her mother make and wear in the mid-fifties. 

Ordering a dress is an ultra-luxury that I can try to rationalize. Why pay Neiman’s 500.00 for a dress anyone with money to throw around can buy?  Let a talented designer make something regal just for you.   Queen Becky C is having her Mother of the Bride dress made by Cate.  Queen Terri recently tried on one of Cate’s creations and exclaimed “I look gorgeous!”  Honey, Queen Terri is terrifically chic and lovely so just try to imagine her with a drop-dead dress on.  I want that. Where’s my checkbook? Do you remember the walk-down-the-street scene that John Travolta did in Saturday Night Fever or the walk through the office sequence in Renee Zellweger’s  Down with Love? This is the way I see it.  If all the world ’s really a stage,  I want the right costume.  Preferably something show stopping, in a stunning shade of green.

(Hold your breath and click)

In one of the riveting scenes in Gone with the Wind, I always gasp with white knuckle fear as Bonnie Blue falls off her horse during a jump. Rhett carries her limp body up the stairs as Scarlet accuses him, “Rhett, you promised not to let Bonnie Blue jump.” The understood sub-text is, “You bast***d, you killed our daughter.” That image makes me not want my daughters to ever ride.  Plus, my consort is suffering now with an old dislocated shoulder injury caused by a nasty fall of a big ol’ darn horse. His orthopedist loves him and so does his physical therapist.

Queen Leslie continues to risk life and limb riding on her favorite big ol’ animals. Her passionate pastime is horseback foxhunting.  Is that redundant? Well, being redundant is a hell of a lot safer than being equestrian.  Last month I thought Queen L was in Thomasville drawn there like the sailors in Greek myth were lured by the sirens to their rocky saltwater doom.  Honey, she was in Thomasville for a month or two.  She was there recovering from a fall that broke her right arm.  When she told me the details and scientific name of the bone that was pinned and cast, I was close to blacking out with fear and shock. Fighting back the mother-in-me that warns with wagging finger, “If you don’t stop that, you’re going to break your neck.” How many times have I said to my Princess Selia, the same exact phrase and when she crashes, and I draw in a lung full and then I can’t breath again until I know she can.  

I have come to accept that side to my daughter and my friend Leslie, as well. They know no fear when doing something they love.  With Leslie, it is sitting astride a horse chasing cute little foxes through the brambles of woods around Thomasville.  With Selia, it is jumping off the sofa arm, over the ottoman with one smooth leap.

Leslie just had her second surgery to fix a poorly repaired break.  Those orthopods in Tallahassee weren’t too neat.  Luckily, Queen Rhonda’s consort knows a thing or two about that bone stuff.   I hear tell that a splintered arm bone does not just take care of itself.  (Actually it can, but forget about returning to activities that required a functional arm and hand, like brushing your hair or putting on eye shadow.)

Since the joy of flying through the air on the back of a large animal seems to have its hold on Queen L, she has suffered two injuries in the last couple of years. And what about the lessons she has learned? Well, first get that bone back together and then get back up on the darn horse.  Show him who’s boss and keep chasing helpless forest creatures. Preferably with a pack of dogs.  Second, Savannah is a pretty nice place to recuperate, re-energize, and re-connect.  Literally and Figuratively.

MORE November Birthday Queens- Dennis fixing Wendy’s Royal do (Birthday November 19). Erica (Birthday November 4)and Carolyn. Emma blowing you a kiss, (Birthday November 5) (click) see Patty G (Birthday Nov. 2) below.

Queen Emma has said to me that friendships are like planets and heavenly bodies. Their orbits around us change.  Sometimes they are close to you like a moon, an up-lifting presence that shines on you, brightens your path, and shines through dark times.  They can be just like comets that streak throught the sky in a blaze of beauty and excitement and then they are gone.  Like Venus, a friend can be there, waiting for you to find them amid the scattered stars that threaten to out shine them or confuse the search until all the glitter around them looks the same.  They are there never the less. Finding the true steady light of the friend, enjoying the time you have with them whether they are close or not is the challenge.   Calmly, methodically you can find them.  Their orbit seems far away, but it really is the perfect distance for them and for you, whether you know it or not.

Every friend has a purpose, a role, and a meaning in their path.  I try to be accepting and enjoy the balance of these shifting planets, comets, and stars.  Allow them to give me joy and peace and see it all a part of the design of my life’s journey. I still struggle with the acceptance part and Zen of this orbit idea that can describe friends’ relationships.

There are times I really need a kind reminder and Emma paints the friends as planets picture for me so I can stop trying to force my own agenda on people. Let it be. Just let it be what it is at that moment. My goal is to recognize their individual value, beauty, and place in my exisitance.   Next time your solitary gaze searches the quiet purple sky for the marvel of smooth light Venus, the haze of the Milky Way, an exiting comet, or our own constant moon, remember a friend you saw today, a buddy that you haven’t talked to in a few weeks, or the fun companion that helped make you laugh many years ago.   The journeys, the orbits that our friends take will not always be close to us, but their effect on our lives is as beautiful as the glow of the distant stars and planets.

 HAPPY BIRTHDAY QUEEN PATTY.

(Queen Patty looking royal. Click)

While I was writing a draft of November’s birthdays post, I  looked for images of the birthday Queens.  I had so much stuff to sort through, re-size and change to thumbnails and pages. I am embarrassed to say my photo software is a wreck with scattered folders. I have many files with just one lone, pitiful  image and I can’t figure out how to merge them.  

When Queen Becky C told me she had not figured out how to print and download the cute pics I had sent her, I breathed a sigh of relief.  When you are as techno-challenged as I am, it can be an isolating feeling and to hear someone admit their computer challenges is reassuring.   I travel slowly around that dangerously sharp learning curve of the digital cyber-highway.  I don’t know about you, but I can’t afford to have an e-crash at burn.com.   Would the geek squad rescue me with the jaws of life?   I can’t figure out why my digital camera won’t work ever since I bought a new memory card that allows for more images. What do I do now? Put in the old memory card.  Problem with that is I lost the darn thing, so I resorted to 35mm film for a family birthday party.  So I vow that I am going to teach Becky how to retrieve images I send her and I will ask Queen Carolyn to teach me how to use an ipod.  It’s humbling. My problems with technology go on and on. I won’t bore you with the rest. Just be patient with me and with this site.

(click) Queen Rhonda and Queen Emma at April 2007 Coronation. Queen Jennifer, our most recently discovered and Coronated Queen and Her Friend, Cecelia at Alligator Soul, one of our Favorite Savannah restaurants. 

If you are being asked all about the MJQs or if some charming, stylish, fun-loving lady says, “So, I hear you are one of those Mint Julep Ladies.”  Sweetly correct her. “Queens.  Mint Julep Queens.”  Then she may ask all about us.  My answers are as simple or as complex as I feel like being at the moment. I can yammer on about dress-up time, flouncing about, being outrageous and re-invention of public perception.  Re-naming your own archetype or taking ownership of that part of yourself that allows for self assuredness and extravagant re-birthing as The Queen, The Goddess, The Celestial Mother is fun and empowering.  When I am really on a roll, I can even launch into a comparison and discussion of ”Women Who Run with the Wolves” by Clarissa Estes.  It’s a great book about divine and mythical archetypes, wild women, maidens and mothers, old crones and diva types.  (I recommend that you take note and when I start up with all that mess, it’s a good time to excuse yourself and go to the bar for another.)

Given opportunity and enough libation I will, and have, held forth on the joy of creating little moments that make my life and lives of my unknown subjects more enriched, or at the very least more memorable.  Like the time a little girl, no more than 3 years old was the only child cramed onto one of those tour trolleys rolling down the streets of Savannah with guide and adults all focused on architecture, history and the Southern stories that haunt this city.  She looked up to see me sashaying out across the street to place a child-size tiara on her head, which by the way is a ritual I have every Coronation. (If I don’t give away at least one tiara, I see it as a a bad omen for the future reign of the MJQs.) The grown-ups smiled and took pictures as she grinned and insisted that I was “Belle” from “Beauty and the Beast.”  Having placed the jewels in her brown curls, I told her that she was indeed a pricess and that I was so glad to have found her.  She had forgotten her tiara and I had come to give it to her.  Then I swished off into the sunset, self-satisfied that I had made that girl’s Savannah tour an event she would not forget.  And if she does forget, her parents have loads of picutres to remind her. 

Well, that type of little moment is one of the things I love.  Not to mention hanging out with friends, dressing up, having a drink, and not worrying about a darn thing, but how can I arrogantly think a tiara and mere greeting from me matters to anyone.  Maybe I wish that I had those kind of memories  and maybe I am projecting my own desires, wishes, and regrets of childhood and adolence onto that simple experience.  

Queen Emma and I  had a memorable meeting at the last Coronation.  Emma had gone to the powder room and a pretty, slight brunette told her with a smile, “I love your crown. I am so jealous.” 

Emma responded in typical Queenly fashison, “You don’t need to be jealous of me.  You need to buy yourself a tiara and wear it.  It’s so much fun.”  The admirer said, “Oh, I never could do that.” She left with a smile and a nod to Emma and  returned to her friends at the other end of the bar. 

As the night unfolded, we decided to give her the tiara I had brought for just such a purpose. Obviuosly she wanted one, which is the first sign that you  may already be a Queen.  Emma and I went over to three ladies and found out the lady with crown-envy was there with her friend and her friend’s mother.  Ladies Night.  We gave the taira to her and she beamed.  “This is one of the nicest things that anyone has done for me.”  Her friend then gave me a cool, super-size ring so I can offer select subjects the chance to “kiss the ring.” I refused the kind gift and said it was just too much.  She assured me it was a Steinmart piece and I could accept it without reservation,  which I did.  Very Pretty ring, plus a bargin.  Love that. 

So the moral of this story is that being part of the MJQs and being a Queen can be whatever you want it to be. Personally, most of the time the Mint Julep Queens are just pure fun and a chance to play dress-up.  But sometimes, the fun can mean a tad bit more… 

 Click on image to see the lovely banner and Tiara that Annie and I gave away:)

A Julep Spelled Any Other Way Tastes as Sweet.
    Next let me address a spelling problem that has caused some consternation in the realm. I gave my Mint Julep Queen sash to a lovely lady in waiting from California that we met at a party last year.  I think her name was Kathy and she was having a girls’ night out and so enjoyed meeting us that Annie gave her the tiara right off her head and I draped her with the banner right off my chest.  I had to order a new one. (I love www.beautypagentbanners.com) .
     My sweet consort offered to place the order and charge it. It arrived in the mail and as I opened it, my heart sank.  “Mint Julip Queen” in emerald green was printed across the darn thing. I fussed and fumed and said they would have to refund my money since it was wrong and now I didn’t have time to get another one before the next party. Damn them.
     My consort sheepishly asked, “So, how do you spell ‘Julep?’”
     “J-U-L-E-P!!” I yelled. “How could you not know that?”
      So after all, I can demand no refund since the error was our (his) fault.  Now I have another banner for my collection of gag-gift banners. Turns out though, the joke is on me. A couple of months ago, I was asked, (along with several MJQs that made themselves scarce) to attend “The South’s” wrap party.  Surprise! I came home 30 minutes prior to the party in a rush and sweat. Slinging glittery eye shadow and applying extra makeup with my handy, dandy spackle knife.  I knew not a single Queen had responded that they would meet me, so I was representing the MJQs. Carrie Johnson, the editor had asked if I would wear full regalia, and that required tiara, pageant banner, and green gown.  Sure, any excuse for wearing tiara and green satin. I grab my banner. Pin it on and dash to the party without a second thought. Imagine my surprise when there I am in the damn “Julip” misspelled banner, radiant and posing for the camera.  Lovely.
     Andres, our web-designer suggested that I buy www.mintjulipqueens.com as well.  “If Stephen (my consort) can’t spell it, imagine how many other people can’t spell julep,” he wisely notes.  Probably the same amount that can’t make one, which is quite a lot I have found. So when in doubt, breakout the Webster’s and the always have a Bartender’s Guide on your reference shelf.