Wednesday, October 19, 2016

I Has Several Tents.


I love wearing these sort of clothes where there is all this extra material.  There are arm holes and maybe leg holes, some place for the neck, tons of drapey material … and you just wing it.

I especially like that you end up with a new permeation of it every time you get dressed.  It can go from a dress to pants to a scarf even, if you are really pressed for time.  It is really cool how that all comes together.  I would, however, like to caution you that some things can really not translate as well as you think they can.  Vintage can be a knife's blade in fashion.  A model can strut down a faded dress with a torn sweater down the runway and it is really cool.  Even wearing a table cloth for a fashion magazine, if there are enough cabbage roses and gauze, can look incredible.  Try wearing a tea towel your great grandma crocheted as a top to school and even you admit it was not that fashionable by the time you hit the 6 month of your detention served sitting with the minister as he reads you the Bible, and talks to you about being a precious rose and how you only blossom and share your sweet perfume and your two special buds with your husband on your wedding night.

Thursday, October 13, 2016

We All Have Baggage.


I like watching people get their luggage at the airport.   It was not a past time by choice but one foisted on me because no matter where we go, my luggage is guaranteed to be one of the last ones unpacked from the plane.

Everyone shoves and pushes and runs to get off the plane.  You risk your life, standing before the seat belt sign is switched off, fighting off the older and disabled to be able to take the aisle position so you can stand with your heavy bags for the hour before they get docked and open the door and the 582 people ahead of you get off the plane.  Then you run and push and get to the walkways that move before other passengers do.  You actually WALK on the moving walk-way because you want to get out.  You push in front of other people in every line-up and make it to the luggage ramp.

And then you wait.  And while you wait, everyone you shoved and pushed joins you.  Even the handicapped people get there.  And then the luggage starts to drop … and like I said, mine is always last.  Yay me. 

I always think the time around the luggage ramps is special.  You get to eyeball all your fellow passengers.  The man who insisted on stretching his legs out pushing your feet from where you wanted to place them on the floor beneath your own seat up and under the seat in front of you, which is special because in order for them to do they have to be pancaked and crammed under a steel bar.  Now that dude has to stand beside me and deal with my death stare.   Ask my children how that went for them.  They actually used to have couple more brothers and sisters.  Few people survive the death stare.

Saturday, October 1, 2016

It's All About the Butter Cream.


Some women worry that they might not look as good as everyone else. 

They spend hours buying the right dress and primping and preening before the mirror. They have been waxed and shellacked, kneaded and sculpted, cut and dried, fluffed and puffed, lipsticked and powdered ....

I saw a woman once all made up like that and she went to the restaurant and was seated next to the fireplace.  She melted. 

Really when you think about it ... how you look is really about the paint job. We women are like those tacky lawn gnomes all white and plain - handed out to be painted in senior ceramics 101, we are undecorated Christmas trees, we are cakes without icing.

I gave  my girls the whole motherly "you are a flower" talk.   Patting you on the hand is not a teenage non-verbal confirmation that you have been heard.  So I gave her the whole practical "how to" list complete with warnings the drew on every movie, newspaper heading and campfire horror story I had ever read.  I finished with explaining to her that she was not a blank canvas, but a garden gnome and she was in a really tough pottery class and if she did not paint that damn gnome better than anyone else and get an "A," and win a scholarship to Rocket Science school, she would never have even worry about whether she was the fittest gazelle and could fight off the entire lion pack.  No-one would be coming for her.  I think I got everything.  She looked at me in horror.