Sniff, sniff. Talk amongst yerselves. I'm a little overwhelmed this morning. You may remember that my 70s-obsessed self was reeling from the e-mail response I received from Carol Brady Florence Henderson a few weeks ago. Well, imagine how I felt when I opened the mail and found this little goody in a manilla envelope:
In all fairness, there's an address on her website where you can send an SASE and request an autographed photo. I figured I'd get one with her signature, one of many out of a huge stack she signs while she's watching CourtTV. (Wait, that's my t.v. obsession. You get the idea, though: hours parked in front of the t.v. churning out signed photos like an assembly line.) What I didn't expect was for it to have my name on it as well. She signed to me...personally...my name...with hers. Even my uppity daughter seemed impressed, although she kept insisting we could pawn it and it was worth a billion dollars. She did ask if I was going to frame it and put it next to my autographed photo of David Cassidy. Was there ever any doubt?
I recently read Life is Not a Stage, Florence Henderson's memoir of her years in show business. Regular readers of this blog know I have a slight 70s obsession. I'm wild about all things Partridge and Brady and owl-ish and Mystery Machine flowery. Well, I read in Carol Brady's Florence Henderson's book that she reads all the e-mails sent through her website and responds. I didn't quite believe that, but I went ahead and sent a message anyway, telling her about my obsession with love of the show and how my daughter and I watch the show regularly together and what a fan I am. And this came in yesterday's email:
Oh...my...GOD! Carol Brady wrote to me! I showed my daughter and bounced in my seat and forwarded it to my mother and sister and then read it a couple more times. Ranks right up there with touching David Cassidy's hand. Later Foghorn came in to ask if I wanted to watch The Brady Bunch.
"You mean watch my best friend? Of course I wanna watch!"
"Mom!" she squealed. "She's not your best friend."
"She wrote to me! Right here!"
"She wrote you three lines."
"Nope, nope. We're besties. BFF's. Me and Carol Brady," I chirped.
Foghorn rolled her eyes and then said in her most condescending tone, "Mom, you really need to grow up."
Whatever... Even she can't piss in my Wheaties today! I'm in some groovy, bell-bottomed 70s heaven and feel like I'm floating six inches above my green shag carpet.
** NOTE: Over the years I've been asked what I said to Florence Henderson to make her "laugh out loud." In my email to her I wrote that I had been impressed by her work over the years but especially when she went on Dancing with the Stars (in her late 70s, no less). I then said, "I mean this in the most loving and respectful way but you've got balls!" Apparently she liked that. R.I.P., Mrs. Brady.
I've mentioned before that I have this 1970s obsession. I refuse to listen to those who say my admiration for David Cassidy resembles Fatal Attraction or that I'm somehow weird for wanting to name my children (or dogs) Greg, Marcia, Peter, Jan, Bobby, and Cindy. And so what if every time I go to King's Island I pretend I'm sitting in the seat Keith Partridge occupied on the carousel?
For someone as obsessed interested in 70s decor as I am, the last few months have been very lucky. I stumbled on this hideously beautiful owl string-art picture at an antique store and my sister gave it to me for Christmas. (Although she thinks the picture is disgusting, she still laments that she didn't see it first as it would have made a stunning surprise present.)
Well, last week I celebrated my birthday and my sister managed to round up a few more 70s goodies to add to my family room (which is not a monstrosity, I don't care what she says). Makes me wanna pull out some bell-bottom trousers and listen to Bobby Sherman...
My sister (known to the Inmates as Uncle Chester) found this lovely
bit of vintage needlework at an antique store and my mother
whipped it up into a pillow. Nothing says class like tangerine and marigold...
Despite her aversion to the colors, my sister crocheted this owl
and managed not to vomit. (She gives the details, including a link
to the free pattern here.)
Tupperware! She rounded up a new-in-the-bag
set of spice jars in green, orange, yellow, and brown, as
well as two Tupperware hostess books from 1970, the year I was born.
Look at the gorgeous bath set that lucky
hostess could have gotten! And I'm wild
about that little Tupperware container key chain.
I had one when I was 12 and came home from school
to discover there was nothing but the lid hanging from
the chain. I've mourned it for 30 years...
Oh, how I wish I could go back to my Grandma's Tupperware
party in the early 70s and get my hands on THOSE.
Another antique store find -- a book on 70s decor and architecture.
Most of the rooms are either in my classic brown/yellow/orange/green
color scheme or look like the side of the Partridge Family bus. Heaven...
Foghorn is wild about building fairy houses out of sticks
and moss and stones in the woods. She was SO excited
when she found out I was getting a 70s-themed one. The house came from
Hobby Lobby, with the accessories painted by Chester.
My own bird bath with an owl on top... Yes, there is a fowl-ish theme here.
A table and benches in my colors and a yard decoration
with a disco ball on top.
Despite my preteen son's behavior of late, which involves a lot of daydreaming about when he moves out and asking me, "Doesn't it bother you to be the worst mother in the world?", his gift proves I must be doing something right. His father took him shopping and he bought me yarn. Yes, the boy knows my other obsessions as well, but what is truly impressive is the one skein of multi-colored acrylic he picked out:
The Vulcan later told me that The Professor spotted that skein in the store and said, "Hey, that's Mom's 70s colors" and plucked it right up. Makes my heart swell...
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