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What Pippa Wants ~PippaGoetz

Entertaining Essentials . Fine Art . WPW blog

| SUMMER SECRETS, SOME ARE NOT |

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I know, I know… it’s been a while since I’ve spilled a few beans about myself, almost a whole YEAR actually. If you are new here, you might be taking up precious minutes seconds of your day wondering “who really IS this girl Pippa? What makes that bad ass mamajama tick?” If we have been peeps for a while then you probably already know what kind of ride you are in for… there are a lot of petals on this delicate flower, so let’s pluck a few shall we?
1) If it comes on a Triscuit I’ll eat it…Sure, I love the finer things in life, champagne, caviar, a perfectly constructed and memorable meal that stays in your heart forever, but I can’t live without Triscuits (or Krud Kutter or Ziplock Bags… different post). They make my world go ‘round (or square in this case). Growing up my Aunt Debby would eat cottage cheese with Triscuits almost every day… Seriously, it’s so good that every time I have it now I text her to let her know. Everything and anything else on a Triscuit? Yep… I’ll go there, can’t go wrong in my book.
2) I hate snakes. To my friends who have ever posted a picture of a snake you probably know this (please don’t do it again) but no joke, I abhor them. I’m cringing just even typing about “them”. Soon after we moved to Witzend I spied one in the yard thankfully from the safe comfort of a window, slithering off with not a care in the world. Pffft! No way man. The hubs was at work so I sent him 45 text messages that each read “SNAKE IN THE YARD! Come HOME!” … and then I didn’t go to that section of the yard for weeks. I swear, every friggin’ leaf that rustled scared the bejesus out of me, my nerves were shot for months. If you ever see ME post a pic of one of “those” things know this…either my account has been hacked or I have been kidnapped by a band of rabid vampires and I am using the picture to secretly let everyone know that I need to be rescued, it’ll be our safety word, OK? Just come get me. Please?
3) One of my biggest pet peeves are the friggin’ jackwads who drive in the left lane… all.of.the.time. People… it’s for PASSING! And ONLY for PASSSSSSSING! I also happen to have a lead foot. So much so that my dad used to call me “Shirley Muldowney” growing up (Legend). Yep, every trip has a finish line and if you find yourself lollygaggin’ in that left lane you can be sure as shit yer probably gonna see the grill of my big old bad ass black Suburban in your mirror. Stay RIGHT and nobody gets hurt… MmmKK?
4) I don’t die my hair. I mean, I did. I mean, I used to…duh. But then I got lazy (or we could politely say that life got in the way) and the grey started to come in…and then I started totally diggin’ it. Why? It’s good grey. It’s the kind of grey that says ‘I’ve earned my stripes’. I’ve made it to my mid 40’s and have a lifetime of antics under my belt (plus, um…mom of boys, hellllooooo!?) I’ve earned every friggin strand and, dag nabbit I’m going to rock it. And truthfully, I have had some dear friends not live long enough to be given the chance to embrace a few stray greys. I know for a fact that they would have if they could have. So that’s that, I’m still here, that part of the salon trip ship has sailed and I dig my grey.
5) My primary goal as a mother (other than to keep the Witzend Wee Ones alive) is to teach the boys that they can do any and everything that they want to do if they dream big enough and work hard enough. Cheesy but true. Probably why I bawl my eyes out every time someone gets the golden buzzer on AGT. My parents instilled this in me early, and I ran with it, shoooooot, sometimes I ran circles around it (and sometimes I didn’t). But it is my job now to make sure that if my boys can dream it they can do it. It may just be goals of making motorized lego contraptions and super awesome secret forts for now, but as they get older I hope that they remember that there is always a way to make their dreams come true. They better just make sure though that if one of them wants to to be a frigging juggler and run away with the circus that that circus is the BEST DAMN CIRCUS on the planet. Or if they want to dig ditches, fine.. the word needs ditch diggers too but they better dig the deepest ditches known to mankind.
~
There you have it, Now go forth and be your own best juggler or ditch digger, just make sure you aren’t juggling something crazy dangerous like knives, or balls of fire or vicious toy poodles, and that you call before you dig.
XO,
Pippa

 

 

 

| SCENES OF SUMMER |

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There is something cathartic about being elbow to elbow with your nearest and dearest and tucking into a big old sticky finger mess of Barbeque. The rest of the world seems to drift away, like a lens blur where, you know deep in your heart that Monday is always going to come but (thankfully) that concept is masked by the smoky sweet haze of grill smoke. That, some of the previous week’s seemingly insurmountable problems are temporarily replaced by twilight chuckles and the clank of passing plates. Where hands are held and memories made, where the fight for the last piece of corn or the sloppy dribble of Mop sauce is more important than what happens on your Twitter feed. Where the sticky sweet remnants of the 4 giant pieces of watermelon that your kids housed while you were busy laughing at stories you have heard a thousand times makes the weekly laundry grind almost palatable.

Slow moving fireflies in the sultry summer air, the echoing sounds of laughter coming from the adults lazily digesting at the table and the fattening feeling of being happily satiated with tender food and wonderful moments. It is quintessential summer. It is nights like these that I remember best from growing up. Those which made childhood so sweet, and that we now have the honor of being tasked with creating for our boys.

And for all that to happen you need some stinkin’ good sauce. Sauce made with love. Sauce that is SO good you want to share it. Sauce that makes your taste buds shout a resounding HELL YES! from deep within and leaves you wanting more.

So here ya go… 3 from my arsenal. A little sumpt’in for everyone. Because summer memories need to be made, and we should all be spending less time searching and more time relishing the humble and happy feeling of being surrounded by those we love.

Bourbon Beer Baste  |  Carolina Mustard Sauce  |  Southern Vinegar Mop

XO,

Pippa

 

Sources:

Tobacco Leaf Cocktail Napkins, Monogrammed Pink Napkins, Pewter Pig Carving Board (similar), Pink Lanterns, Pink Melamine Dinner Plates (similar), Tin Tobacco Leaf Plates, Blue edged Deco Salad Plate, Corn Dishes, Galvanized Buckets (I got mine from The Christmas Tree Shops but here are similar if you need an online option), Ball Jars, Dressing Jar

 

 

 

 

 

 

| TROPICAL THUNDER |

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Sultry… that’s the sexy way to say HOT AF. And you know that I don’t mean hot as in “man of the year” hot, or hot like “50 shades of Greige” hot… I’m talking the kind of hot where you can feel beads of sweat slowly sneaking their way down your temple and dripping into your cleavage only to puddle in the most inopportune place as to say… “Why yes, my boobs DO end HERE” (much lower than they used to). Or, shirt soaking hot that whispers “Certainly! I would be HAPPY to share the fact that I still have that stupid tattoo on my back that I got in college” … for the record, it seemed like an AWESOME idea at the time, and YES, I will publicly go on record to confirm that my Mother WAS correct, I WOULD come to regret it one day.

I digress. It’s not summer in PA unless at some point you bring up our region’s official token 3 words… Hazy. Hot. Humid. And yep, it’s coming my friends. And if we have to bare the Amazonian environs then we can most certainly take things up a notch. So here we are… the breezy tropics in the landlocked burbs. I also guess that you may be here because I tricked you teased a little bit of a table runner story. True, it is tucked away under this swath of flowers and can barely be seen… but it’s there so I’ll try and keep it short (which is “Pippa-ese” for grab a drink and settle in kiddo).
WAAAAAAY back in the year 2k, post Millennium apocalyptic threats newly passed, I was the Chef on a 156’ sailboat called… oh crap, I signed an NDA so I actually can’t tell you but anywho, we sailed from New Zealand to Seattle… the LONG way… a South Pacific island hopping “scenic route”, if you will. My kinda trip, and if the owner weren’t such a pig headed pain in my ass it would have been WAY more fun. Again, I digress. I happened to have fly from Vanuatu to BWI to be on hand for mind eraser shots, Old Bay covered EVERYTHING and to cry my eyes out and clap until my hands throbbed when my brother graduated from USNA (GO NAVY!). Let me be the first to tell you that I won the Superintendent’s “award” for traveling the furthest for the festivities. ‘Cause yeah, it took me almost 4 days.
Why!? I mean, modern travel should have had me there in about 16 hours you say. And YES, that was the plan. However, I had a layover in Fiji. ‘OMG!’ you say. ‘Tough Life!’ you say! Well, kick me ’til I turn stupid, we found out in mid-air that Fiji was under a coup d’etat and that upon landing we were to be whisked away to safety AND that with any luck we would get off the island. Yep, let it sink in… you get to FIJI… the land of tropical milk and honey and instead of umbrella drinks you get LOCKDOWN for God knows how long… OH, and your mother will crap her britches if A) anything happens to you and B) you miss the golden child’s hat toss.
The gist is this. 36+ extra hours in a bug infested hotel room overlooking only an unkempt hedge, a half working air conditioner and not allowed by Martial order to do anything other than shelter in place- far from ideal. So yeah, Fiji was GORGEOUS… crystal waters, sharks, lush landscapes and everything you see on every island hopping oasis travel show and National Geographic picture… but I saw it from inside a shit-hole bus passing through military checkpoints and in my tropical dreams. So, you better believe that when we were released and taken back to the airport I bought every single thing I could. Baubles, bags, the runner(!) and anything else I could cram in my carry-on.  I didn’t care that is was airport tourist crap because after being on one of the world’s dreamiest islands by myself, practically in the dark, sweating, without a phone or tv (or computer btw) I lived to tell the tale.
Yes, I absolutely want to go back, but for now I just use my little runner and regale anyone who will listen that I personally have seen that the Fijian military wear sarongs AND bandito belts. (Seriously, they do!) So let’s get Tropical my friends. Hazy Hot and Humid will soon be here and there is no reason for us not to channel a little Island life if just for one night.
Bula! (Fijian ‘Cheers’) my dears!
XO
Pippa
Sources:
Rattan Placemats, Monstera Leaf Placemats, Chargers– hand painted by moi, Mahogany Plates (vintage but here are similar), Bamboo Flatware, Wine Glasses (similar),  Palm Candlesticks, Silk Palm Leaves, Pineapple Napkin Rings (I got mine from IG vintage seller @Pennvetdoc but here are some fab ones)