Mary Kay Andrews

Thursday, July 31, 2008

Life imitates Art...or sumthin'

For months now, I've been working on the next book, THE FIXER-UPPER, in which my protagonist, a young woman named Dempsey Killebrew, returns to her family's homeplace in a small middle Georgia town, to search for a new life--and to fix up said homeplace. And all this time, I've been scheming and shopping for what I'd come to call our virtual beach house. In June, we finally sealed the deal on our own fixer-upper. And now, life is imitating art. I'd been lusting after an old-timey backsplash porcelain kitchen sink for the beach house, so I had Dempsey's handyman buddy find her one at the town dump. Then I found one at the Scott's Antique Market here in Atlanta last month. I also found a claw-foot bathtub for our soon-to-be master bath at the beach, and Dempsey already has one of those. Dempsey had a great old pre-WWII gas stove in her kitchen, so I've been lusting after one of those too. I used to have my aunt's pre-WWII gas stove in my old house. It was a gleaming white Roper, big as a battleship, and we designed a kitchen around it. Sadly, we sold that house. So I've been pining for another old stove for the beach house. Scanning Craigslist--my favorite time-waster, I found the perfect old gas stove--it's called a Grand, it's preWWII, in great shape, and in a house only 15 minutes from mine. Yesterday I went and looked. I fell, hard. But it was not to be. This old gas stove has to have the burners lit each time you use it, and I was afraid our guests at the beach house would be terrified--or worse, blow the whole damned place to kingdom-come. BUT...the owner of the stove is getting ready to tear down this great old 1920s bungalow, and his in-laws were already harvesting the oak floors for their home. So I fell for this great pedestal sink--and he GAVE it to me. A sink! I call it a belated birthday gift. I somehow persuaded Mr. Mary Kay to remove the sink yesterday, and then, we bought a bunch of gorgeous old solid-wood panelled doors too--for five bucks apiece. And then I went back with my son-in-law Mark, and the cordless screwdriver, and Whitey Ford, the community pickup truck,....and bought the narrow crank casement windows, and some white porcelain bath sconces. And for less than a hundred bucks we got: an amazing vintage porcelain pedestal sink, 8 vintage solid-wood panel doors, 9 vintage windows, pair of sconces, pair of Craftsman iron lanterns, assorted doorknobs. The doors will replace the cheesey hollow-core doors at the beach house. I hope to make the windows into upper kitchen cupboard doors, the sconces will go in the master bath, the lanterns will be probably go on the screened porch. I'll have to settle for an ordinary stove, I'm afraid...unless somebody puts a vintage ELECTRIC stove on Craigslist.....

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Hammer time!

A good time was had by all during the family's weekend trip to the coast. Son-in-law Mark turned out to be a fiend with the sledgehammer. Katie enjoyed throwing stuff from the second floor landing onto the dumpster below, and Andy just loves destruction, period. I myself single-handedly did away with the kitchen cabinet doors--and I did it old school--with a manual screwdriver. Mr. Mary Kay hammered and sawed and between the five of us, we stripped the old kitchen down to the naked block walls, and reduced the second-floor bathroom to a pile of rubble. Although--the old bathtub still has to be carted off. The birthday portion of the program was nice too. My friends down at G.J. Ford Booksellers in St. Simon's Island had given me a gorgeous new cookbook, called Screendoors and Sweet Tea by Martha Foose. I read it at night, after I finished writing, like a novel. Really, this is my favorite new cookbook to come along in years. We fixed the Shrimpboats for the birthday dinner Friday night, to rave reviews, with fresh caught wild Georgia shrimp. My friends Diane Kaufman, of Mermaid Cottages, joined us, as did old buddy Jacky, who brought two different crab dishes, a hot crab dip and crab pie, fixed with the crab she catches and picks out from her own dock. Mmmm, Aunt Bea! Saturday, the family went fishing, but I stayed on land and just kinda piddled around, visiting my favorite junk haunts. We did more demo in the afternoon, during which time I fixed oven-baked barbecued ribs from the Screendoor cookbook. Best of all--we had TWO chocolate desserts--chocolate cheesecake donated by my friend and real estate agent Sue Bentley, and chocolate frosted brownies dropped off by Diane. We were lucky enough to stay in a gorgeous house at Tybee this time, the old Fort Screven bakery, which has been lovingly restored by the Smith family. Talk about a sweet treat! It will be sad to have to come down in the world to stay anyplace else after spending a weekend at the bakery. My family returned to Atlanta on Sunday, but I hung around to finish some beach house related chores. And to toilet shop. You haven't lived until you've toilet shopped. Who knew there were so many options? The nice folks at Sandpiper Plumbing Supply were a huge help. So now I'm back in the real world. I have a Barq's Root Beer basted ham in the oven for dinner tonight--courtesy of the Screendoor cookbook. It smells divine!

Thursday, July 24, 2008

Demolition Derby

I have a birthday coming up this weekend, so I told Mr. Mary Kay what I want for my birthday is a sledgehammer and a dumpster. He was OK with this, since it's lots easier to pick up the phone and order a dumpster than it is to go out and buy jewelry--and as we all know, with sledgehammers, one size fits all. So the family is headed down to the beach for the weekend, and the plan is that we will begin working on the Breeze Inn. The kitchen will probably be our first demo victim. I can't wait to haul those cheesey cabinets outta there. In other news, I'm finishing up my four-day stint down at St. Simon's Island. THE FIXER-UPPER seems to be coming along nicely, and I'm only six pages away from making my goal of reaching 400 pages. The target is 500 pages by the end of August, and this puppy will be done-or at least the first draft anyway. This seems like a lot, I know, but manuscript pages are different from finished pages, and I tend to write overly-long--and over-plot as well. I have writer friends who say they can barely squeeze out a story in 275-300 pages. Hah! I wish that were my problem. I guess I must sorta subscribe to the sculpting method of writing, whereby I spend months concocting this big granite lump of a an elephant and then have to spend more months whittling away everything that doesn't look like an elephant. Fortunately, I have a superb (and understanding) editor who indulges my lunacy, and a superb (and crafty) agent who knows how to give me the time and space I need to get my job done.

Monday, July 21, 2008

From a Cottage on St. Simon's Island

I managed to scratch out a whole ten pages last week while I was home. Only ten. And THE FIXER-UPPER is due in September. So I ran away again, this time to my friend Chrys and Keith's cottage on the Georgia coast. I can't go to our own beach house yet, because it smells bad, and I wouldn't get in that shower without a court order, not to mention that it has no furniture, and anyway, if I went there, I would be obsessed with trying to scrape up all that broken linoleum, and no writing would get done, whatsoever. But I did stop at Tybee on the way down here, to re-stock my booth at Seaside Sisters. Katie and I managed a little junking on Friday, and although the pickings were pretty slim, I did find an amazing antique glass battery case at an estate sale run by the wonderful Del and Ann and Myrtice. I've been going to their sales for probably 15 years or so. They are totally unflappable, and know tons about antiques. And they keep bugging me to put them in a book someday. And I'll probably do it too--because I am a junk whore and would do almost anything to get a better deal at an estate sale. I snagged the battery case, but missed out on some gorgeous huge seashells. I felt better about things once I got home and looked up my find on Ebay--where somebody was peddling the EXACT same battery case for $85--not to mention $12 for shipping. I filled mine with some bleached out whelk shells and put a pricetag of $60 on it, and felt very virtuous about things. And if some lucky person doesn't want to pay the sixty bucks, tough noogies. I'll put it on the coffee table in my own house, and feel quite smug about the way these things work out. So after I priced and arranged, and dropped some stuff off at the house, I drove on down here to St. Simon's. When I got to the grocery store I realized that I'd made a serious tactical error. I hadn't bothered to buy groceries at home, and now it was Sunday--and that meant NO CHEAP CHARDONNAY. I felt like a skidrow bum staring helplessly at all those wine bottles at the Winn-Dixie, knowing they could not be purchased. So I went on to the cottage and fixed my ritualistic plate of spaghetti, which I slurped down with a bottle of cold water. Again, I felt virtuous. But not inspired enough to write. I did settle down and crank out ten pages earlier today. It's blissfully quiet on this part of the island. The only interruption came when the septic tank guys arrived to destroy Keith and Chrys's septic tank. They unloaded their bobcat, and snaked this giant hose around to the back yard, and I guess they started sucking out the sewage. Sweet Mary, Joseph and all the Saints! Pee-Yew. I thought being a novelist on deadline sucked, but no, being a novelist on deadline is a blessing. The suckiest job on the planet has got to be the job of the guys who have to suck out septic tanks. Thankfully, they decided they could not get their big bobcat in thru the small fence opening, so after they stank the place up pretty bad, they got back in their big red truck and drove off. That's when I saw the sign on the side of their truck: "Number 1 at #2." If you have to have a sucky job, I guess it's good to have a sense of humor about these things. In the meantime, I have more spaghetti for dinner tonight--along with a chilled bottle of Jacob's Creek Chardonnay from the Harris-Teeter--which was on sale for $4.50. Life don't get much better. Tomorrow, if I get my page quota done by lunch, I get to go junking.

Monday, July 14, 2008

Weekend Hi-Jinks

This weekend Mr. Mary Kay and the Boomerang Boy and I travelled to the lovely college town of Sewanee for a goofy get-together/golf tournament called The Chaney Classic. This tournament, the fourth annual, was organized by our friend Mike, husband of posse member Jinxie. Mike has waaay too much time on his hands, but we love him anyway. Many players in this tournament were Mike's classmates at Sewanee, but others, like our guys, are just hangers-on. The weekend goes like this: Friday afternoon, we gather for lunch, and the guys play a "practice round" while the wives do what we do best: shop. Friday night is the "pairings party"--an excuse to drink and dance to '60s beach music, and eat and catch up. Saturday morning, the guys play golf, and we wives engage in competitive retail therapy. There is an actual prize for the woman with the highest receipts for the weekend. Jinxie added a new twist to the tradition this year, by requiring last year's winning foursome to don the gaudiest, tackiest "ensembles" on earth. They were 100 percent polyester, with matching hats even. As I understand it, anything goes during the tournament, including the launching of water balloons at unsuspecting contestants, and the brandishing of super soakers (by the men in my family). While the guys were golfing, we went shopping in the lovely town of Franklin. This is a beautiful small town with loads of neat shops--including antique shops. I scored many goodies, including a wicker stork--or is it an ibis? Which will go in the beach house. Also, an art deco medicine cabinet, a coat rack for the beach house, and some other smalls. As we were heading back to Sewanee, I spotted a yard sale, which we'd actually noticed on our way into Franklin. There was a gorgeous old painted mantle leaning up against a tree, and some other things. I persuaded Jinxie (our driver) to stop, because the mantle would have great for the cottage at Sewanee. As luck would have it, the mantle was sold, but I did score a great enamel-top table for Maisy's Daisy. When we got back to our rented cottage at Sewanee, we learned that MMK's foursome had won the coveted Cheney Classic Purple Jackets, which were presented at that night's awards banquet/hootenanny. Much hilarity reigned. And now, I'm back home again. Time to get back to the word wars. And by the way--I made my page quota for last week!

Wednesday, July 9, 2008

Kitchen Sink Dreams

I'm back at my friend Shay's place in Ellijay, finishing up a three-day writing binge. It's been a very productive week. Fifty pages--plus a plotting break-through on THE FIXER UPPER, plus some more excellent junking. I get to go junking if I finish my daily page quotas. Among the treasures I've found on this trip are an enamel-topped side table--perfect for a beach house nightstand, because Mr. Mary Kay is bad about knocking over his water glass while fumbling around in the middle of the night. I've also found some things for MAISY'S DAISY, my antique booth at Seaside Sisters on Tybee Island. Also--I found a bomb crate. Yes. And for less than $100. Let me explain. My friend Janie's boyfriend Joe is the genius behind the Tybee Bomb Squad. It's kind of complicated, but suffice it to say that sometime in the 1940s, our very own armed forces dropped a bomb into the waters off Tybee Island. So Joe--who makes adorable adirondack chairs and also bartends at Doc's Bar at Tybee, deputized his very own Tybee Bomb Squad. Their official duties are shrouded in mystery, but I'm guessing there is a good deal of beer drinking involved. Joe has a Tybee Bomb Squad booth at Seaside Sisters. He also has a small bomb on display there, as well as spiffy ballcaps and T-shirts. You should buy some. They are a guaranteed conversation starter. I've been assured Joe's bomb has been disarmed. And now, courtesy of the Blue Ridge Antique Mall, he will have his very own bomb fuse crate. It's painted a festive blue color and lined with tin, and the outside is stencilled with words to the effect that this is a Bomb Fuse Crate. I don't think it's a fake--after all, who makes up this kind of stuff? What I have not found on this trip--or any other junking expedition this summer, is the perfect authentic vintage kitchen sink for The Breeze Inn. I have this fantasy sink in my head. I probably saw it in some old black and white movie. Or maybe Donna Reed did the dishes in it, helped by the always adorable Shelley Fabares, who played her daughter. This sink is porcelain over cast iron. It has a high, curved backsplash and double basins. Double basins are important at our house. I've seen this sink on Ebay--but it's always being offered by somebody in Wyoming or New Hampshire, and they refuse to ship--local pick-up only. The sink haunts me. It calls to me. It will make my beach house kitchen a culinary shrine. MUST HAVE SINK. Tomorrow, I'm packing up my laptop and heading home. Why? Because tomorrow is the first day of the Scott's Antique Market. Somewhere, a dealer at Scott's holds the key to my beach house kitchen nirvana. Stay tuned...

Saturday, July 5, 2008

Small-town Fourth of July

We were home for the fourth. It felt nice. For the past two years we've been in my hometown of St. Petersburg, for funerals for my dad, two years ago, and my sister, last year. Last year we watched the fireworks from the beach, with my brothers and sister Patti and their families. It was bittersweet. This year we just wanted to be home. And we were. We started the day with our neighborhood parade, which we watched from my friend Susie's front-yard. Susie set out plates of bagels and jams and fresh fruits. Dave, her husband, set up the bar with bloody marys and breakfast beer--what a way to start the day. Then we all sat out in folding chairs to watch the passing parade, joined by dozens of neighbors. Our town's celebration is deliberately small-scale and corny. The kid's swim team rode by on their bikes. A community supper club--they call themselves "the dinner conspiracy" marched by in chef's hats, banging pot lids with wooden spoons. Dads pushed babies in strollers decked out in bunting. One group decorated a boat as a float decorated as a boat. Frail-looking World War II vets rode by in cars sponsored the the American Legion and VFW. There was an Uncle Sam on a unicycle, and a Kazoo Band which serenaded us with SHE'S A GRAND OLD FLAG, and my friend Mike and Jinxy's vintage red convertible--Big Red, carried the city commissioners, driven by Mike, who got elected to the city commission earlier this year. We greeted Mike with all the dignity the office demands--by pelting him with water balloons and a Super Soaker fired from what our friend Jack called "the grassy knoll." Then we went home and started preparing for the evening's events. My sister-in-law Jeanne and I fried a mess of chicken. We started doing this years ago, when my mother was still living, under her watchful supervision. Jeanne's version of fried chicken is--truthfully--even better than Mom's. She marinades the chicken overnight in buttermilk spiked with Texas Pete hot sauce. Then we drain it and bread in a mixture of flour, seasonings, bread crumbs and Japanese Panko crumbs. We fry it for 14 minutes in hot peanut oil--Jeanne swears it gives a lighter taste, drain on paper towels, then leave in the oven, set at 250--until time for the covered dish supper. I also made a big bowl of my grandmother's potato salad, devilled eggs, and a pan of Trailer Trash. Trailer Trash? This is a recipe cribbed from The Sweet Potato Queen's cookbook. No bake, all fake. Delish!. You take a box of 12 ice cream sammiches. Don't forget to unwrap. Place in bottom of a 9x12 foil pan. Drizzle over chocolate ice cream topping and caramel ice cream topping. Slather on a bunch of Cool Whip. Drizzle over more of the toppings. Garnish with a bag of Heath Bar chocolate-toffee bits. Cover with foil and stick in the freezer til supper. Mmm. Aunt Bea! We always have a covered dish supper at our house, and then go down to the lake to watch the fireworks. We spread out quilts on a neighbor's lawn to watch. It was good to be home again.