A Quote by Valee

I've always wanted to pull my classic car up directly to my kitchen, get out, and leave the groceries right there. — © Valee
I've always wanted to pull my classic car up directly to my kitchen, get out, and leave the groceries right there.
When I'm doing kitchen planning as well as bathroom design, I try to walk through the day with the homeowner. If we're talking about a kitchen, it will be: So, we are walking in with the groceries. When we are taking them out of the car, where will they go? What is the distance to fridge, to pantry?
I wanted to create things that you can always pull out of your closet and rely on. I wanted to create a timeless, classic collection of clothing that you can keep expanding on.
It's always been jewelry, clothes, appearance. Those are things that compete with the car. But the car is the ultimate. Get that car right and it doesn't matter what you got on or what you wear once you step out of that car.
No one recognizes me. And I hope that I can always go out without being recognized. Maybe that limits you in some way but I like to be able to pull my hair back in a ponytail and get groceries without anyone noticing.
My kids always perceived the bathroom as a place where you wait it out until all the groceries are unloaded from the car.
When I started, we had just the camera and the person, mostly. And if you wanted to do a dolly shot, particularly working in Chicago where I began, you'd get in the back trunk of a car, and you'd have a friend drive the car, or you'd get in some kid's little wagon that he plays with and have someone pull that for dolly shots.
Why do guests always end up in the kitchen at parties? Is it a social phenomenon? Some strange gravitational pull? I don't know, but one thing is for sure: If your friends are going to congregate in your kitchen, you'd better make it as nice as possible.
It's funny: I've always wanted to grow my hair out ,and I always seem to get a movie right before it's sort of the right length or right after, and it's never timed right.
I pretty much grew up with my grandma. She would pull a stool over to the kitchen, and I would climb up at the kitchen counter, and I'd help her make biscuits.
I went to see my mother the other day, and she told me this story that I'd completely forgotten about how, when we were driving together, she would pull the car over, and by the time she had gotten out of the car, and gone around the car to let me out of the car, I would have already gotten out of the car and pretended to have died.
A car isn't a classic just because it's old. To be a classic, a car has to tell us something of its time.
My art career actually began under the kitchen table. My mother wanted to get me out of her hair while she cooked, so she laid out some paper and pencils on the floor under the kitchen table.
I came up with the idea of a daredevil who's going to go upside down, in a metal car, at 90 mph, and it's never been done before. I get into this metal car, I'm strapped in. You pull back, and it's a roller coaster at Magic Mountain, with kids and nuns and everything else! I pass out while everybody else is having a wonderful time.
I just wanted to get the hell out of my town. I wanted to leave with reckless abandon. I didn't care where I ended up, as long as I saw as much as humanly possible.
I came home, the car was in the dining room. "How did you get the car in here?" "Easy, I took a left at the kitchen."
I know what it's like to finish the laundry and to look in the basket five minutes later and it's full again. I know what it's like to pull all the groceries in, and see the teenagers run through, and all of a sudden, all of the groceries you just bought a few hours ago are gone.
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