I'm Just Saying

An apple a day

Pam Stone's picture

I am trying very hard not to be jealous of Paul as he continues to share photos of his garden tour across the pond, showing him and the gang strolling along the beach at Brighton, having lunch in the open air in the garden of the estate of Lady Collum (Lady Collum, herself, well into her 80s and wearing the most magnificent hat), and hoisting a

Whine and roses

Pam Stone's picture

As I write this, Paul has emailed that he is soon heading home after successfully leading another tour of rose gardens throughout England. Much anticipated after a two year delay owing to Covid, he joined 18, die-hard rose enthusiasts as they ambled through Sissinghurst, in Kent, to Shropshire, and all points in between.

Love for the Queen

Pam Stone's picture

Anglophile that I am of course I watched copious amounts of coverage from Queen Elizabeth’s Jubilee. It seems impossible that I had actually been in England during her Silver Jubilee and what a big deal that seemed then— a reign from 1952 to 1977.

Kim K didn’t start this way

Pam Stone's picture

Any woman involved in a dangerous sport is a pretty tough nut, I find, and I was reminded by this upon running into a horsey friend at a local event.

“So how are things with you and your ponies?” I asked, giving the silly nickname we tend to give for horses.

What have we become?

Pam Stone's picture

The saddest commentary I have ever witnessed occurred Tuesday evening while I watched a segment on a national newscast reporting that the sales of bulletproof backpacks for children have spiked. I didn’t even know there were bulletproof backpacks. However, need being the mother of invention.

Italian for ‘sucker’

Pam Stone's picture

Ever heard of the Italian fashion house, Balenciaga?

Neither had I. In fact, if it doesn’t come from Carhartt, I’m unaware of any recent fashion trends. Long gone are the days when I was actually given clothes by a L.A. designer to wear during television appearances.

Of a certain age

Pam Stone's picture

If there’s one thing that gives any woman of “a certain age” a little boost, it’s being asked to show identification when buying beer at a mini-mart. Especially if you conveniently allow yourself to forget that it’s mandatory for any customer, and, no, frankly, you don’t appear to be under 21.


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