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  • a happy, ordinary, middle-aged, suburban woman who paints odd pictures, gardens in a straw hat, lives with the love of her life, is owned by one cat and the ghosts of several others, and walks a little funny 'cause she has a fake leg. She started this website because there's more to life than what we lose, and we need to let each other know what's possible, even if it's only a happy, ordinary life.

November 2011

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  • E-mail me at:

    sara at saraarts dot com

    Make sure the subject line of your correspondence is clear and specific. I do not open e-mails from strangers unless I can tell in advance that I want to read them.

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  • I Took The Handmade Pledge!

Good reads, grownups only

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I really, really need you to make drinks for me. I get all worried and fussy about it and you, darling, you're all breezy and knowledgable.


Yep, "breezy and knowledgeable"; that's me. Sure.

I am from L.A. (more or less) and live with a guy who's half-Mexican. I spent many years performing in-depth (ahem) research with my friends, and then ran a quick search for recipes around the internet about eight or nine years ago just to help me define that Q ingredient that I couldn't quite put my finger on (Grand Marnier). In point of fact, it would be shocking, SHOCKING, if after all that I didn't know how to make frozen margaritas.

Besides, I have something like 13 years on you. That's a lot of pitchers.

Of course, I'm not 100% sure this recipe is accurate. I know the tequila and Grand Marnier measurements are true, but you might need a lot more fruit than I have indicated. It depends on what kind of fruit you use. Some kinds are pulpier than others. You kind of have to feel your way through this.

Incidentally, I ended up just eating one of the grapefruit, and then stayed up all night crocheting. The grapefruit was sumptuous, and I am old.


Old? Bah.

The Grand Marnier is what I wouldn't have thought of on my own. I'm not worried about accuracy see, just general yumminess. My standards, they are not high.


Sheee* year I'm comin'to YOUR house!


Of course you are welcome at my house anytime, Bonnie, but note that I ended up eating grapefruit and crocheting 'til 4 a.m. Big party animal here. Yeah.

Well, once upon a time I was. And it's funny that you wrote this post within a week of my writing the above, because my first exposure to wheelchair dance was in a bar in Venice Beach on Cinco de Mayo when I was 19 or 20 and had to sneak in the back because I was still underage and couldn't look the doorman in the eye without giggling when I handed him somebody else's driver's license. A guy who, as I remember through a haze of margaritas made with probably not the best tequila, had become a paraplegic in a motorcycle accident was there, dancing in his wheelchair. He had biked up, too, in a bike converted to accommodate his chair. He was pretty damn cool.

My second exposure to wheelchair dancing came more than 20 years later through this by way of this, which has nothing to do with Cinco de Mayo at all.

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