My mom was uber talented, and had a keen sense of fashion – she single handedly developed high fashion for GI Joe!

The King of Isabelle Avenue

My mom was a seamstress and a pattern cutter. She was able to look at a dress in the store and go home and make me one just like it only better. Until I was about 11 or 12 she made almost all my clothes. At the time I wasn’t crazy about wearing home-made clothes – I longed for Levis and t-shirts, mom was giving me ruffles and lace.

I think I was like a baby doll for my mom. She dressed me and curled my hair and generally fussed me up. By the time I started school I was mussing up those perfect outfits with shorts I wore underneath those skirts so I could hang upside down on the monkey bars. As I developed my own style I made myself less prissy by combining those crinolines with tennies or cowboy boots.

When I got my first Barbie she finally…

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Sunday Brunch


Good morning, my little Chickadees, the Bird Buffet at the Stone House will be open daily throughout the winter, but make sure to stop by for our award winning Sunday Brunch!


Dead tree trunks packed with suet for all our nuthatch…


and woodpecker friends…


On sunny days be sure to swing by and check out our all new winter menu…


Wintering goldfinches, we are stocked up with fresh top quality Niger seed…


Titmice, come prepared to feast on the finest black oil sunflower seeds…


And dine at our special platter feeder designed to help you forget about those fickle buntings who left you to spend the winter in Mexico…


No need to worry about squirrels at this buffet, Velcro is standing by to dispatch any rodents. Nothing will spoil your dining experience at the buffet…


As always, we welcome cardinals, even if they are thankless snobs who lurk until we close for the night.

Today I finished my NaNoWriMo project – at least the first 50,000 words of it. Here’s a little story about me…

The King of Isabelle Avenue

I got my middle name, my love of antiques, and my smile from my Grandma. She was Minnie Anna Carter. As a little girl she started calling me Lorri Anna Banana. Soon Mom and Pops could be heard calling “Lorri Anna Banana” when it was time for me to come inside and eat dinner. It was my second nickname and to date it is my favorite.

When I started kindergarten my mom had a toddler and an infant in tow. She had not had the time to sit me down and fill me in on the basic facts every kid should know. I didn’t know my colors, or my phone number, or how to tie my shoes. I had never played with crayons or even picked up a pencil.

On my first day of school Grandma came to the house to watch the boys while Mom walked me down the…

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Have you been Freshly Pressed and been left feeling a little down. Check out Honie’s post on Freshly Depressed.

Freshly DePressed

Hi, my name is HonieBriggs. I was Freshly Pressed for Confessions of a Constant Commenter. It’s been one week since I was famous.

Even though I am healthy enough to engage new followers, it’s only fair that I admit to experiencing a little performance anxiety when over one hundred new followers appeared after my post was featured on Freshly Pressed. It may be normal to ask if I’m blogger enough to keep them satisfied, but I’m at an age when I know what I’m made of and it didn’t occur to me that stiff competition might make it harder to focus on the task at hand. Readers do have thousands of other blogs from which to choose. So, lying down on the job is not an option.

I began to notice getting up in the morning was more difficult than usual. I tried to convince myself it was all in…

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So…this one’s not funny or silly – just sentimental. Holidays make me that way. Happy Thanksgiving!

The King of Isabelle Avenue

Thanksgiving always makes me think of my Nana. I used to spend every weekend with Grandma and Grandpa. When we lived across town she would pull up in her big blue Impala and pick me up after work on Friday.

We would head home and pass by Vegas Vic on Fremont Street on the way home. She would roll down the windows and yell in a deep voice “Howdy Pard’ner!” and Vic would answer back in kind. If we went out to dinner or to the grocery store we passed by Vic. Vic was on the way to the Upholstery Shop. Vic was the center of my universe and I got to see him nearly every time I got into Grandma’s car with her.

When we moved to the house down the street from her she still drove the Impala the thirty yards to our house to pick me up on…

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Requiem for Fall

The color here in the Ozarks is almost completely gone. Sometimes you’ll find a dogwood deep in a hollow – but the show is essentially over. Here are the last of the stragglers and my attempt to find something interesting or beautiful without a lot of color.

This hickory was one of the last holdouts. More leaves up than down.


Today even these are on the ground.

Some maples hung on in spite of the recent wind and rains, sometimes the sky was visible right through them.





Today the maples have all joined the oaks on the forest floor.


A crunchy carpet of tans and golds a foot thick in spots is all that remains.

Driving west I saw this field full of something fluffy. The sunlight and wind made it dance.





The puffs were actually quite delicate – like dandelion seeds. Even so they hung on in the wind.

On my way back to town I stopped by to see this old friend – fully exposed amidst its now barren trees. It makes me think of that transition from Fall to Winter.

It’s just holding on to what little color it has left.

Fall is fleeting and I miss it already.

I miss you Aunty Boo Boo – you taught me some of life’s most important lessons, like cigarette lighters are good for keeping toddlers occupied. Seriously – you put the “Great” in Great Aunt!

The King of Isabelle Avenue

Since Pops was an only child and we were raised near his family the only aunts and uncles I saw regularly were Grandma and Grandpa’s siblings. My life was filled with great aunts and uncles whose kids were grown, it was more like having auxiliary grandparents. Most of Grandma’s siblings lived in either California or Las Vegas. Grandma had 7 siblings. Her mom had three sets of twins and poor Grandma was a single in the middle of the pack. When she moved to Vegas her oldest sister Muriel, and her younger brother Newt, along with her baby sister Beula eventually joined her.

By the time I came along Newt had moved to Northern California. Muriel was a bit of a recluse. Beula and Grandma were close, even so they seemed to had a ridiculous sibling rivalry. If Grandma and Grandpa bought a new Chevy, Beula and her husband Tommy…

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Ginkgo Stinko


I was born with no sense of smell. None, nada, zilch. If someone is using a solvent like acetone or something, I can taste something in the back of my throat – but that taste is the same as someone spraying Fabreeze or perfume. If I walk into a restaurant or even into a house where someone is cooking, I cannot identify what kind of food they are making, I just get a sense of moisture in the air. Italian, pot roast, Mexican, Thanksgiving dinner – all the same.

Bath and Body Works is a mystery to me, so is Yankee Candle. I make my choices by the colors of the products – will it look good in my home? Friends are always putting things under my nose and saying how good they smell. I don’t want to make them feel bad so I just sniff away getting nothing from the experience except that there was some sort of sharing going on. That’s thoughtful and I appreciate it.

If I were picking a sense to lose, it would be smell. I hear people talk about bad smells more than good ones. It seems smell can really set people off. I hear complaints about body odor, chemicals, the chicken plant down the road. I am happily oblivious.

Sometimes I get to find the beauty in something that stinks, like the ginkgo tree.


Last month I read a post by Mrs. Fringe about autumn in New York City. She talked about the fruit dropped from this stunning tree in terms of it’s vomit-like aroma.


Here in Eureka Springs the ginkgo is one of the last trees to show off it’s color. We have several located downtown right near the post office. For years I have headed there late in October to take in the glorious color of the last of the fall.


Every year I see scads of photogs milling around the fading maples on the other side of the street. I seem to be the only one who loves this tree.


I heard a friend mention the annoying fruit – there is sooooo much of it on the ground in the late fall and they are not pretty. Apparently this friend didn’t see the need to mention that the fruit stinks. My friends always forget that I cannot smell anything.


So every year I wander through that fruit without worry, with no clue that I am crushing fruit that smells to high heaven underneath my shoes.


This year I took a friend with me to shoot this wonder. As I stood in the grass shooting upwards I heard her exclaim, “That smell, there is dog crap somewhere nearby, and lots of it!” You see I had forgotten all about that informative blog by Mrs. Fringe and was once again blissfully unaware of the stink I was in.


I kind of like my fragrance free world.