In recent years, the news has shown us that there are a lot of bad things that can happen to people on social networking sites; however, from my own experience, there are a lot of good things that can happen, too.
I have had a MySpace account for a few years now, and when I first got it, I largely used it to follow favorite musicians and bands. And, over the years, I have formed some wonderful friendships with people 3000 miles to the left of me and 3000 miles to the right of me that I’ve still yet to meet in person.
My son was very into Facebook, and a few months ago, he told me that I should get an account. At that point, I figured that I was already on one social networking site, so why bother with another? Over and over, I heard, “Mom, join Facebook!” It’s funny how some parents worry about their kids on these sites; that is, their kids may hide things from them, and they feel must monitor them. Here I had my son harassing me to join Facebook. I asked, “Well, if I join, will you be my friend?” He rolled his eyes and said, “Yes!” Wow, my son wanted to be friends with me…..in public!
So, I reluctantly joined, and I was amazed by the people I found and who found me. Hey, there’s Tom, who I first worked with at Digital in 1984! There are George and Lisa, my good friends from my HP days! There’s my best friend and my daughter’s godmother, Suze! There’s David, someone who I met through a mutual friend, and with whom I ended up being more friendly with than with our mutual friend! And, finally, there are several of my high school classmates (Amelia, Cathy, Marcia, and Anne to name a few)! Facebook felt like “This is Your Life” and then some, but in a very good way; reconnecting with all of these people has just been wonderful.
I know there are disadvantages to the “electronic age”, but the thing I love about Facebook is that I can stay in touch with all these people with a URL, even if I can’t be in their day-to-day lives. I log in once a day to see what everyone’s doing – Oh, look…it’s July and Suze is wearing a sweater in the house because Skip is Mr. Freeze with the AC. Wow, my son is making banana bread and banana chocolate nut ice cream! (Why doesn’t he ever make that great stuff here?!?!?) Katie is going to a concert tonight. And, Lisa’s new bathroom sink is wonderful!
It is almost like what one of my friends called "Internet voyeurism." But, to me, it’s just really getting a snapshot of what’s going on in the lives of all of those you care about, because you don't have time to pick up the phone or write a lengthy email each and every day.
Anyway, today, I met one of my high school friends, Anne, who I recently reconnected with via Facebook. I hadn’t seen Anne in six years. We emailed each other back and forth, and she invited me to her house for lunch. I arrived at noon in her drive way, and my first glimpse of her was her popping her head out of a window over the garage, telling me to come in via the garage door.
I opened the door of the basement, stepped in, looked up the stairs, and then she opened the door at the top of the stairs. When I saw her, there was no way I could run fast enough to get up the stairs to reach her. When I reached the top, we embraced. I knew then that seeing her and feeling her arms around me was one of the best things I had felt in the last year.
We went out on her porch, caught up, moved inside, had lunch, moved to another porch, and before I knew it, it was 4:30, and I had to leave. It’s true; you know you have a good friend when you haven’t seen that friend in ages, but within a minute, well, it feels like it’s 1979, and you’re back in her big gold 4-door American sedan that she inherited from her grandmother and you’re talking about high school classes, guys, or what movie you want to see next.
It had been six or more years since I had last seen Anne, and it had been 29 years since we graduated from high school; however, the years had not aged her at all. Indeed, many years had passed, but time had subtracted nothing from her; if anything, when I saw her today, time had added to her and made her more beautiful than ever.
Love is…
An old friend…
Who becomes new again.
P.S. During our long conversation, Anne told me that after reading “Lip Service”, she’d never refer to New Haven as, well, New Haven again. She then said, “Hey, you know what it reminds me of?” So, here’s what Anne was reminded of.
Yes, that’s Frickin’ New Haven. Okay, who wants to be the first one to sport one of these babies on your bumper?!?!?!
When I left the dentist today, I thought about what one friend in particular had said about my blog – that it helped him appreciate the little things more as he was rushing through life. I thought a lot about the little things that I now get to appreciate given I have a good deal of time on my hands. I was then reminded of a cartoon in the 70s that I liked. It was called “Love is…” http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Love_Is...
It depicted what appeared to be a naked male and female cherub who always had something good to say about love. For example:
I thought that while it’s always good to have something wonderful to say about romantic love, it's just as wonderful to be able to feel strongly about the things you love and love to do in life.
Lately, I don’t consider myself unfortunate because I don’t have a job. More often than not, I have considered myself lucky for not having a job, because I am able to appreciate so much more than I did when I had a job.
I now notice the small things a lot more, like how much I love to bury my face in Liam’s soft tummy when he’s lying on the floor in the sun on his back, how good it feels to walk across the soft wet grass in the morning and feel the dew soak in between each and every one of my long toes, or how lovely the sound of the freight train coming through town is at night.
If people who are blind develop a more acute sense of sound, then I think that I, as an unemployed person, have developed a more acute sense of life in general.
Lately, what used to feel like a six-year-old constantly complaining is now a six-year-old telling me her hopes, her fears, asking me question after question (for which I never have the answers to!), and well, sometimes it’s still a bit of complaining, too. And what used to be teen moodiness with a tad bit of ‘tude thrown in is now a young man figuring out who he is and how he fits into the world. And more often than not, I think, “God, what if I could never hear their voices again?”
Anyway, in the spirit of saying good things about love, here I go.
I was up bright and early this morning and totally excited about my trip to see the BIG lipstick. Dressed in my ratty old vintage dress, which now had a large tear in the skirt and a huge hole under the right arm, and wearing my pink Nike running sneakers with Hello Kitty socks, I packed up my Italian straw basket (which does not smell of Samsara anymore, by the way) with my camera, wallet, phone, notebook, and bag of pens.
Ah, but where was my travel companion? I checked Nathan’s room, where I identified a large lump under the red, white, and blue comforter. Obviously, Nathan was not as excited about the trip as I was and clearly lost no sleep over the adventure last night.
“Nathan, we’ve got to get going soon!” I heard a low “ugh”. “Nathan, we’re leaving in 20 minutes!” The lump sat up, revealing a very sleepy Nathan. Nathan, formerly known as the lump, said, “Whaaaaaaaaat?!?!?!?!?!!?” It was almost as if I had just shouted “Fire!” at him. I said, “We’ve got to get going. Twenty minutes, okay?” Of course, he said, “Okay”, and then pulled the red, white, and blue comforter back over his head becoming the lump, formerly known as Nathan. Nathan seems to be one of those people who can go from sleep to wide awake with no transition time; that is, if I happened to go back to his room 15 minutes later, he would get up, put his sneakers on, and then walk out the door to the car. And, about 15 minutes later, Nathan came downstairs. I didn't need to go back and roust him; ah, I knew he was excited about the trip, err, not! He said, “I’ll meet you in the car, Mom.”
At 8:15am, I joined him in the car and off we went. Well, we had to put gas into the car and then put two Dunkin Donuts ham and cheese croissants and a bottle of orange juice into Nathan before we could begin to even think about leaving to find the BIG lipstick.
The good thing about Nathan’s awake state, well, for the first hour, is that it’s not really a true awake state. It’s more like a semi-comatose state; therefore, I can play any CD I want until he is “awake”. Here’s a picture of me and Nathan in the Dunkin’ Donuts drive thru, which I think illustrates Nathan's semi-comatose state quite well.
After we got Nathan’s breakfast, he opened a Harry Potter book and proceeded to read. I thought given his current activity that I had at least 45 minutes of CD playing time; this was time in which I could not only play any CD I wanted, but the chances of Nathan saying my music was “horrible”, “dumb”, “awful” or using any other disparaging adjective was little to none.
But, sooner than I expected, I saw Nathan rifling through the CD case looking for “his” CDs. I thought I had thrown them all awa…I mean, put them all away safely in his room at home, but alas, he found one. This particular CD has one of my favorite Nine Inch Nails songs on it. The song is called “Only”, and here’s a bit of the lyric: “There is no you, there is only me, There is no f*cking you, There is only me.” Good stuff, huh? Anyway, thankfully, the song after this was General Public’s “Save it for Later”, which made my ears stop bleeding after listening to the Nine Inch Nails for about 3 minutes longer than I needed to.
After a two hour trip, we arrived in New Haven at about 10:45. And, is it just me or is MapQuest a big fat liar most of the time? Somehow I always seem to get bad directions or the travel time is totally off.
I had gotten directions to the Visitor Center; and when we were pretty close (or so “pants on fire” MapQuest said), we decided to park at a metered spot on the street. Personally, I’d rather navigate on foot than in a car, because at least when you’re lost on foot, no one beeps at you!
We got out of the car and loaded the parking meter with quarters until it read, “You have 2 hours to find the BIG lipstick!” and then we began to navigate our way to the Visitor Center at 149 Elm Street.
Here’s me upon arrival. Is that a "BIG lipstick" smile or what?!?!
As we walked down College Street, Nathan shook his head and said, “I can’t believe we drove all the way to frickin New Haven to see a frickin lipstick!” Oh, I could tell he was just as excited as I was about seeing the BIG lipstick!
We arrived at the Visitor Center and found a student inside manning the information desk; he was working on a paper in which I could only make out the words “infertility in Egypt”. He welcomed us, and he asked if we were interested in a tour. Actually, while all I could think about was the BIG lipstick, I thought that since we were there, a tour might be interesting.
I glanced at Nathan, who gave me his “No way!” look. It’s funny how over time, your kid can give you one look and in it you can read several paragraphs. I could hear Nathan saying, “Look, I don’t know why we should go on a tour, because I could never get into this college. And besides, we came here just to see the BIG lipstick, so let’s find the frickin BIG lipstick and be done with it!” Yes, I got all that from just from one look.
I thanked the young man, but I told him that at this point, we were really only interested in a map so we could walk around the campus. He said, “Are you sure? Because if you really want to get to know the campus, a tour is a great way to do it.” I agreed, but I told him we only stopped by in New Haven on a whim. (Okay, I was as bad as MapQuest in that moment, but I wasn’t ready to tell some 20-year-old that I had just driven two hours to see a BIG lipstick!) He then gave up on trying to sell us the tour by saying, “Well, okay.” And, I said, “I heard that you have an interesting Claes Oldenburg sculpture here. Where exactly would that be?” Still eager to help us obtain the full Yale experience, he pulled out a map, circled the Visitor Center on it, and then circled Morse College (a.k.a. home of the BIG lipstick).
He then said, “The college is only open to Summer students, and the sculpture is inside the college grounds.” I frowned. (What? I just drove two hours to see the BIG lipstick! Say it’s not so!) He saw my disappointment and said, “But, if you hang out by the gate for a bit, I’m sure you could get one of the students to let you in, because you guys don’t look suspect or anything like that.” Well, if anything, Nathan and I could feel good about looking “normal”, although "normal" was a stretch for me in that vintage dress with those pink sneakers and Hello Kitty socks.
So, I thanked him, took the map, and off Nathan and I went. Funny, but Nathan is very good at navigating with a map. I found this perplexing, because when I tell him the cream cheese is on the second shelf of the refrigerator at home, he says, “No, Mom. It’s not here. I’ve looked everywhere.” Of course, then I go to the refrigerator, move two items out of the way on the second shelf, and voila, there’s the cream cheese. Note to Self: Create a map of the refrigerator for Nathan.
We made our way down Elm Street and were about to cross York Street when we passed Saybrook College. I saw a man come out of the Saybrook College gate, and I noticed he was wearing a blue polo shirt emblazoned with “Yale University Facilities” on the left breast pocket. I figured that perhaps this gentleman might be able to help us get into Morse College if we could not find a student to let us in. Hey, it’s all about networking, even when you’re trying to see a BIG lipstick!
I said, “Excuse me, we’re heading to Morse College. We’re trying to see the Claes Oldenburg sculpture there. Is it possible to get in there to see it?” He said, “Oh, Morse college is closed for renovations, and that sculpture was temporarily moved to another town for restoration during the renovations.” I heard myself screaming, “Noooooooooooooooooooooooooo!”; however, it was funny, because my mouth was still closed. I looked at Nathan. Nathan glared at me and said, “I can’t believe we drove all the way to frickin New Haven to see a frickin lipstick that isn’t even frickin here!”, but like me just a moment before, his mouth never opened.
I was about to say, no, more like whine, to this man that we had just driven two hours to see the BIG lipstick, but at that point, I realized that even though this man knew we were interested in the BIG lipstick, he didn’t have to know that we drove two hours just to see a BIG lipstick that was now not there. I thanked him for the information, and he walked off.
I looked at Nathan, and all I could manage to say was, “Oops!” Err, yes, I guess I probably should have called Yale on Tuesday to see if the BIG lipstick was still in residence, but the thought of a wasted four hour drive was easier to swallow than calling Yale and asking, “I’m coming to visit your school tomorrow to see the BIG lipstick. So, is it still there?” Who knew that a BIG lipstick could be temporarily out of order?
Nathan looked pretty disgruntled considering that it was pretty clear from the get go that he didn’t really care if he saw the BIG lipstick. Actually, I think that all my chattering about the BIG lipstick had actually gotten him quite curious about it, though he’s a 16-year-old boy; thus, he’d never admit that.
So, here’s where he admits his disappointment, and I’m pretty sure he wanted to comment on my state of mind, too, but I subtly remind him that I’m still the boss of him.
At this point, there was only one thing to do – soothe the savage beast! Lunch time!
Over lunch, Nathan examined the map of the University, naming various buildings and schools out loud. Finally, he stopped and asked me, “What’s the Institute of Sacred Music? And, what’s sacred music?” Before I could answer, he said, “It sounds like it’s ritual chanting for sacrifices!” I was glad he tried to answer his own question before I could, because I had no idea either, and chanting for sacrifices sounded like a pretty good guess to me.
After finishing lunch at Wall Street Pizza, we decided that the best way to recover from the disappointment of not being able to see the BIG lipstick would be to drown our sorrows in Yale University apparel; thus, I handed Nathan the map, and we headed to the bookstore.
I try to bring one of my friends a t-shirt home every time I go somewhere of interest. So far, he has a t-shirt from Chuy’s in Austin, TX; a Rocky t-shirt from Philly, and a t-shirt from Nantucket. I told him this morning that I needed to get him a Yale t-shirt. He told me that not having gone there, he’d probably feel uncomfortable wearing one “unless it was obscurely geeky.” Here's your t-shirt then! AND, nothing quite says “geek” like a college motto in Latin, yeah?!
Also, nothing says geekier than being able to read a college motto in Latin, which I can. Those four l-o-n-g years of Latin were good for something. No, I’m not fluent, but I can say, “Roma in Italia est”, which will come in handy if I ever bump into a Roman gladiator, who has just stepped out of a time machine, and he’s forgotten where home is.
When we brought our purchases to the register, the woman behind the counter asked us if we were visiting and where we were from. I tackled the less embarrassing question first. Then I said, “We’re visiting the campus, but not really in the college way. Um, it’s kind of crazy.” She then said, “Oh, now you have to tell me why you're here when you put it like that!”
I looked at Nathan, he rolled his eyes, and then I said, “Well, we came to see the BIG lipstick, the Claes Oldenburg sculpture.” She hesitated, laughed, and then said, “Yes. I know that.” I told her that we had missed the sculpture, drove two hours just to see it, and so on. Somehow it seemed much easier to share my tale of woe with a woman selling me a pink Yale tank top and a pair of pink Yale shorts than with a Yale Facilities guy or Yale student writing about infertility in Egypt.
She sympathized and then wished us a safe trip home; however, I’m sure the minute we walked out of the bookstore, she said to her co-worker, “That crazy lady just drove two hours just to see the BIG lipstick!” And, I am pretty sure this is what Nathan was thinking most of the day, but then again, he signed up for this trip willingly.
As we walked out of the bookstore, I told Nathan that I was sorry to have dragged him on this somewhat National Lampoon-ish adventure, and then I immediately went into trying-to-make-your-son-feel-like-he-hasn’t-wasted-the-last-five-hours-of-his-day excuse mode and said, “But, we got to spend some quality mother-son time together!” Actually, it was the first time in a long time that we got to spend a day together. He then put his arm around me and said, “Mom, it’s okay. I know I could have been chillaxin* at home, but I’m here with you, aren’t I?!”
*I can only guess that this is a cross between chilling and relaxing.
So, here’s our day in pictures sans the BIG lipstick! (As you can see, I'm not into the "This is the yadda building" and "This is the yadda yadda building" kind of pictures.)
While we didn’t get to see the BIG lipstick, at least Nathan and I could say that we attended Yale, even if it was only just for a day. And, I was quick to tell Nathan that we could always come back another time to see the BIG lipstick, but I would call first to make sure the BIG lipstick was home before we drove two hours to "frickin New Haven."
Anyway, I think that one of my friends summed up the day best for me before the day even began by saying:
One of life's greatest pleasures -- going on a random quest with your own child who "gets" you.
Update: Today’s blog is really what was supposed to be tomorrow’s blog, because what was supposed to be today’s blog will be Friday’s blog, because tomorrow’s blog won’t be at all, because the trip mentioned in this blog will be Thursday’s blog. There will be no blog tomorrow, but when you read further, without cheating (oh, sorry, I’m still in Catholic guilt mode!), you’ll understand why there won’t be a blog tomorrow.
So, do you follow me? If you do, then you do know that makes you just as mad as me by association. :-)
But seriously (oh, no, of course not!), my story about my trip to Nantucket in March is turning out to be a bit like “Moby Dick” (“And isn't it ironic... don't you think”; refer to “Ironic” by Alanis Morrisette) or a TV movie-of-the-week. Yes, I know I am building up this story like it’s a posthumous James Michener kind of thing (Nantucket); however, it was an epic, well, for me. :-)
Note: If I should somehow expire the moment I finish Nantucket, I would like Meg Ryan to play me in the movie, but the way she was before she had the bad plastic surgery.
Stories to Look Forward to in My Blog This Week: Well, other than those I have already alluded to, I hope to get an exclusive interview with the owner of the Pooch Barkery. Haven’t you been dying to know what goes on behind the scenes in a canine bakery? Okay, I haven’t either, but it sounds like fun, and you know you’re going to love it. So there!
Okay, on with today’s tomorrow blog then…
Blog soundtrack:
Remember how I said that my impulsiveness is one of my weaknesses not a strength? Well, tomorrow, I deem it the impetus for a fun road trip with my son.
Given the economy, I had no great vacation planned for us this Summer; I thought that the time would largely be occupied with day trips to the beach, to Boston, and so on. This weekend, largely due to a seed planted in my head by one of my friends, I asked my son on Sunday, “Nathan, want to go to Yale on Wednesday to look around?” Nathan, who is entering his junior year of high school, said, “Mom, I don’t think I could ever get in there.” I said, “Err, yes, perhaps, Nate, but I really just want to go there to see a BIG lipstick sculpture.” --silence followed by the “Are you crazy?” look— Nathan is under no illusion that I’m mad; he knows I’m crazy. He then said, “No, Mom, really. Why do you want to go there?” I said, “Seriously! To see the BIG lipstick!” He hesitated, rolled his eyes, and then said, “Okay.” If you’re going to be craz, I mean, mad, then it’s always good to have a partner in the mad crime and preferably one who acts much more like an adult than you do. :-) Synchronize Swatches Note:Departure, 7:30AM; Destination: Yale University (New Haven, CT).
More on the pilgrimage to see the BIG lipstick, which is orange by the way, when I really think it should be pink, on Thursday.
So, tomorrow, rooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooadtrip! (Anne, remember when we saw “Animal House” together?)
P.S. In the spirit of life imitating art, I have packed up my camera, purse, notebook, granola bars, and other whatnots, in my Italian straw basket (http://goddessofallthingslovely.blogspot.com/2009/07/thank-you-and-belated-thank-you.html), and I am wearing my tattered vintage dress (http://goddessofallthingslovely.blogspot.com/2009/07/death-of-vintage-dress.html) for what will be its last public appearance. And, since I cannot find a pair of shoes that would really go well with this frock (usually, I wear it around the house and my feet are bare), I have decided to wear it with my pink Nike running sneakers. Nothing says “eclectic” like a 40s day dress and running sneakers, yeah?
P.P.S. By the way, I received a few suggestion about what to do with that vintage 40s day dress. One was put it in a box and save it, and the other was make pillows out of it. Seriously, this dress is a wreck, and it is time for it to go out to pasture; and believe me, it’s not like I don’t have many other vintage dress to wear. How many others? Um, that’s between me and my closet. [wink]
As a “writer” (and I’m putting quotes around that because I still don’t believe I am one, well, a “real” one…oh, again with the quotes!), you come up with many ideas for stories, some of which get written and some of which don’t. I wrote about some of my story ideas that never got written about in a previous blog (http://goddessofallthingslovely.blogspot.com/2009/07/write-stuff.html).
For example, the story, “Picking up the Lipsticks of My Life” was a story I thought about writing over ten years ago. And, I just got around to writing it last Friday.*** Funny, but I remember thinking back then that when I submitted my finished masterpiece, editors would read it, and I would then have the likes of Glamour, Cosmopolitan, and Allure all breaking down my front door saying, “This is brilliant! Please let us publish this!” Well, some of you have your Fantasy Baseball; I have my Fantasy Publishing.
***I think I was able to write "Picking Up the Lipsticks of My Life" and wanted to write it, quite simply, because of all of you. Every one of you has said lovely things to me about my writing, given me encouragement, and it has meant so much to me, especially in the last few months. I know I’ve said this previously, but sentiments like this bear repeating.
So, I wanted to thank you 12 brave readers who have owned up to “following” (i.e., supporting) my blog and all of you stealth “internet voyeurs”. One of my friends asked me recently, “So, if you read someone's blog and you don't comment often, is that internet voyeurism?” To answer the question: No. That’s just reading my blog, which is most appreciated, and me subsequently reveling in the fact that I am such a good writer I have left you positively and utterly speechless!
Again, as a writer (Oh, look, no quotes! I am this close to believing I am one -- envision me with my thumb and index finger about five inches apart!), I think you a) feel strongly about a story and go ahead and write it b) you like the idea, but for some reason, never get motivated to write it, or c) sometimes the story is just too emotional to write at that particular point in time; that story gets shelved entirely or a certain amount of time must pass before you feel you can write about it.
The story I attempted to write today definitely fell into the last category, and I felt I wanted to spend more time on it, as it is an important story to me. So, today I post tomorrow’s blog, and tomorrow I post today’s blog. Got it?! Good!
I read this quote a while ago, cut it out, and it’s been on the bulletin board over my desk for a few years now, because as far as gifts go, I think this says it all; it also says a lot about the friend that I am belatedly thanking.
“The best gifts are not those that cost the most money but those that show how well you know the person you’re giving the present to. That’s the real gift – showing someone you’ve paid attention. Attention is, after all, a much rarer and more precious commodity than money in our wealthy, multitasking society.”
In June, I got together with a very good friend at the local pub. We had a lovely lunch, caught up, and at the end of the lunch, I was told there was a present for me in the car. I was presented with a small wrapped box. I began to unwrap the paper from the box, and once all the paper had been ripped away, I saw...
_insert_present_ suspense_here_
The story below, which was published in an online magazine last year, is part of this story, which currently only comprises the paragraph above. :-) Yes, this a story within a story, or a story that resulted because of a story; thus, you have to read the story below in order to understand the whole story and nothing but the whole story, so help you, Great Cat Goddess. Sound confusing? No, it really isn’t! :-)
I know some of you have already read this story, but there’s nothing like reading a story a second or a third time, especially one of mine!
Of course, upon rereading this story now, which was written in 2005, I think that perhaps my blog should be renamed TMI (Too Much Information)! In this story, I mention that I was so frazzled when employed that I unknowingly put on my underwear inside out some days; although, I think this only complements the fact that in this blog I have revealed my boring middle name (no offense to anyone named Marie reading this blog), that I have Morton’s Toe, my fondness for shoes, and that I’ve have unintentionally eaten bugs, err, among lots of other personal details. :-)
Okay, you may read the story now. You can certainly scroll down to find out what my present was, but that would be cheating. That was my attempt at "Catholic guilt", which I hope will prevent you from cheating, even if you're not Catholic. :-)
How My Scented Italian Straw Basket Made Someone’s Christmas
This story unfolded just around Christmas last year; it was oddly due to my beautiful rhinestone vintage pin, which was shaped like a bow, that I purchased at a vintage clothing show in the Spring.
After wearing the pin once, it decided to fall apart as all good vintage pieces do. A few of the rhinestones fell out, so what was I to do? Bring it to some chic jeweler and say, "Um, these aren't really amethysts, emeralds, or rubies, but could you replace them with rhinestones?" Err, I don't think so.
Like any red-blooded American woman, I ask my husband what to do? No. I don't think so.
Of course, I went to Google, and I typed in "rhinestone replacement." That's what any red-blooded American woman does these days; she searches the Internet. Like I always say, "Who needs a man when you've got the Internet?"
Up came a listing for some guy named Richard Ribarich living in Reston, Virginia, who did stone replacement on costume and antique jewelry. So, I printed out his order form and information, and I stuffed it into my favorite bag, which is one I got in Italy for, like, next to nothing. It's straw with leather handles; gosh, I love that bag. I have carried it to and from work every day since I got it, which is going on over four years now.
Anyway, in this bag, I usually carry things like my lunch, my workout clothes, my sneakers, my toiletries, and on one particular day, when I was extremely frazzled, I even mistakenly carried my daughter's "blankie" into work in it instead of my sneakers. No doubt about it, with six software releases going out that day, I knew I was going to need the blankie more than the sneakers.
On one other day, I had my perfume in my straw basket, and when I got home, I noticed that the nozzle on the perfume sprayer had somehow gotten squeezed in transit; thus, my Italian straw basket now reeked of Samsara perfume, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, just a tad bit overwhelming. A few days later, I packed up my pin, and I went looking for Richard's order form. At that point, I really didn't think about the fact that the order form had been marinating in Samsara for a week in my bag, so I mindlessly threw it in with the pin and shipped it.
A few weeks later, Richard, the rhinestone replacement guy, called me to say he received my pin and to verify the rhinestones I wanted replaced.
The rhinestone replacement guy—do you think this is what he writes on his tax form under occupation? I have to write technical writer on that line, but how cool would it be to write "rhinestone replacement guy" on that line instead?
After he went over his rhinestone replacement process with me, he said he would call when he mailed the pin. And so, a week later, he called to say the rhinestone replacement process was complete, and it only cost me $12. A few days later, when I got home one night, my husband said, "Hey, the pin guy called again and left a message for you."
"The pin guy?" I said. "Oh, no. He's the rhinestone replacement guy. There's a big difference between a pin guy and a rhinestone replacement guy, you know."
I listened to his message which went something like, "Oh, Hi, Jean. It's Richard R. I sent your pin, but I have a question for you. What was that perfume that scented the tissue paper in which you sent the pin? My wife loves it, and I love it. I'd like to get her some for Christmas. Seeing as Christmas is so close, I'd really appreciate it if you could call me back as soon as you can."
By that point, I had totally forgotten about his question in regard to the perfume, and I was standing there with jaw dropped, thinking to myself, "Wow, a guy who actually shops before December 24th."
Then I was pummeled back to reality by my husband, who said, "Perfume? What about perfume? I thought you sent him a pin." I assured him that I didn't know what Richard was talking about, and I thought, "What tissue paper, and what perfume was he talking about? I didn't scent any tissue paper. I think this guy has been sniffing way too much rhinestone glue."
For the next hour or so, I wracked my brain trying to remember the tissue paper, trying to remember why it would be scented, and then, it hit me. "Oh," I said, "The perfume spill of October in the Italian straw basket; that must be it!"
I wrote him an email that night and told him how I'm a full-time working Mom with two kids, three cats, a dog, and a husband who travels 2-3 days each week, so I can't remember what I did yesterday, let alone how I mailed a package to him a few weeks ago. (I didn't tell him I'm so frazzled that I frequently put on my underwear inside out; those are details I save only for my family and close friends.)
So, I told him that I thought that the scent in question might be Samsara, and then I went on to describe the perfume spill of October in the Italian straw basket. He replied that he had mailed my pin back in its scented tissue paper, so I could smell it for perfume scent verification purposes when I received my pin in the mail.
By the time the tissue came back, it smelled like, well, tissue paper. And I was thinking that what had really scented the tissue paper were Richard's forms that sat around in my bag for a week or so.
So, I emailed Richard back, and I said I was pretty sure the scent was Samsara, but if he wanted, I would send him a tissue with more Samsara on it to verify. He said that would be wonderful if I was willing to do it. Thus, the next day, I was searching through my perfume bin to see if I could find a small sample perfume vial in which to squirt some Samsara to send to his wife, and lo and behold, I found a small teeny tiny sample bottle of Samsara. It was as if the Perfume Goddess was shining over the whole endeavor.
I shipped it off to Richard's wife, Evelyn the next day, and then a few days later, he sent me an email telling me how that Samsara was the perfume, and his wife adored it.
So, Evelyn Ribarich of Reston, Virginia was very happily going to get Samsara perfume (and body lotion) for Christmas. (In my email, I told him that it was always a smart move to buy the scented body lotion along with the scent, because 1) it makes the scent last longer, and 2) we women love to moisturize.) And, a most thankful Richard sent me an e-mail telling me that I was entitled to free shipping on my next rhinestone replacement order (probably because he was most delighted that he would not be out shopping on the 24th).
Anyway, I thought the whole encounter was worth noting, especially in the online world we live in. You "meet" someone, well, not really, and it's just amazing how much of a difference you can make in a person's life, even if you're not technically in it, but only virtually passing through it. . . . ...a box that contained a bottle of Samsara perfume!!!!!!
So, tonight, many belated thanks for my birthday gift. I love the perfume, but I think the fact that you read my story and paid attention was by far the greater gift.
Whilst parading around in my vintage dresses last night (a.k.a., big girl dress up), I noticed how much I loved the sound that the heels of my black suede 60s stilettos made as I walked across the hardwood floor.
Tap, tap, tap!
It wasn't an annoying "tap, tap, tap" like the one a woodpecker might make or the louder and even quicker "tap, tap, tap" my daughter makes on the bathroom door when I'm in the bathroom while she shouts, "Mommy, I need to go to the bathroom!!!!!" It was a soothing "tap, tap, tap" in which I swear I could also hear a sexy dance; yes, it was "tap, tap, tap, cha, cha, cha, tap, tap, tap, cha, cha, cha!"
There are certainly a lot of annoying, scary, and disgusting sounds in the world. To name a few for me, well, there would be my next-door-neighbor, whose house is less than 50 yards away, using the noisiest power tool on the face of the Earth at 7:30 on a Sunday morning; Liam coughing up what I know will be a record-size hairball; my alarm clock; a fire truck or ambulance (scary when you're not expecting it); any Abba song (k, pants on fire in regard to that one..."Waterloo - couldn't escape if I wanted to...Waterloo - knowing my fate is to be with you"....wooo-hoooo...err, love Abba!); fingernails on a chalkboard (I cringe just thinking about that one!); someone eating carrots next to you the whole train ride home from NYC (not that I'd know anything about that one!) and the sound of air, err, um, escaping out of either end of someone's body. Yes, I think that covers some of the basic annoying, disgusting, and scary sounds for me.
So, here are some of my favorite sounds. Purring! (Give it a few seconds; I've got to get the motor running!)
Flip-flops!
Giggling!
Vivaldi!
Coffee!
Bubblebath!
The ocean, especially Cisco Beach in March!
Corgi Talk!
Rain, but even better when accompanied by thunder and lightening!
Post-it Note to NKD <3: Here’s to the Little Black Dress and looking GREAT in it, Baby!
I have a large collection of vintage items. I have dresses, blouses, evening gowns, watches, purses, shoes, jewelry, and hats. I have quite a collection. I won’t remind you of the difference between “collection” and “addiction”, because I’m hoping by now, you’ve all mastered that concept, or, well, MY definition of it. :-)
Some people might already think that technically a “vintage” dress might be dead; that is, it could be a) out of style b) ripped c) stained or d) all of the above. If you are a true vintage fashionista (sometimes referred to as a VF, but yes, really only by me), you understand that when you buy vintage, well, you buy knowing full well there are very often imperfections because of its age, like a tiny rip, a missing button, a small stain, some fade, and so on. Just as with people, the aging process combined with wear and tear gives the vintage dress aches and pains, and things that do not work or look like they used to.
I bought this dress, the dearly departed, off of eBay about four years ago. It was your typical 40s “day dress” with a lovely floral-butterfly pattern depicted in aqua and pink. It had several plastic buttons up the front each with a rhinestone in its center. Well, I think every other button had a rhinestone in its center. Again, remember, imperfections in clothes and in people are not only acceptable but sometimes intriguing!
“I find imperfection the most interesting thing about a person.”
I pulled the dress out of the attic a few weeks ago. As I said, when I first got it, it had a few imperfections. In addition to the loss of rhinestones in the buttons, the fabric was worn in a few places, making those places almost see through, so my seamstress suggested putting interfacing over those spots.
The dress was not tight fitting at all; it was a bit loose and sheer, so I needed to wear a slip under it. I think wearing a slip has all but become a thing of the past with today’s dresses, because most now come with a lining. (I forgot to mention that I also, big surprise, have several vintage slips.) Many of my vintage dresses are sheer and require slips, and to tell you the truth, I like the dress/slip concept. There's something about the layers. Perhaps, to me, it’s just more than fashion; it depicts in a somewhat simple way, all the layers that form to make us into the one we are.
Anyway, when I pulled this dress out of the attic this year, I noticed that it had not fared well in storage. The sleeve had a huge rip in it, and I noticed several new holes in the soft aqua and pink fabric. Not to be one to give up easily, well, when it comes to my collection, I packed up my dress and brought it to Mary, my seamstress, at the local dry cleaners.
When I enter, she usually laughs. Well, I go there a lot, because I learned that when you buy vintage, buying larger and having it tailored is much better than trying to buy just right for your size. I held up my dress, and she sighed. I pointed to the big hole in the sleeve and showed her a few more rips in the skirt. Mary said, “Jean, I will but….” I sensed that she felt she could easily charge me another $20 to repair the dress, but she felt it her responsibility to perform a vintage dress intervention. That is, it was time to give up on this old and tattered dress.
If going to my old place of work was comforting because everyone knows my name, this dress was comforting because it knew my body…how comfortable it made me feel when I threw it on on those days I was totally stressed and could do without the confines of a pair of jeans and a t-shirt or during those other days when I felt fat and wanted to hide all 5’10” of me temporarily in the flowing folds of its soft worn fabric.
So, here is the dress and the huge rip in the sleeve.
I knew, even before Mary pointed it out to me, that this dress had reached its expiration date; it was just hard letting go of something I found so much comfort in. After Mary used her tough sewing love with me, I said, “You’re right; enough is enough.” And, I left with my dress, BUT that didn’t prevent me from wearing yet another day and another.
I realized last week when I wore it to the beach, it was time to throw this dress in the trash after I looked at myself in the mirror of the Crane Beach ladies bath house. It was tattered, torn, and it looked like it might disintegrate at any moment, fall off my body, and God forbid, leave me standing there in a non-vintage slip!
I think one quarter of the problem with letting go of this dress is that it reminded me of a dress my grandmother, Helen (“Bush”, Polish for grandmother), used to wear. Here she is wearing the dress that I think she wore pretty much every time I saw her. I don’t think she had a lot of dresses.
She was even buried in this dress. I do remember after coming in from a run, and my grandfather telling my Mom, “She looks so much like Helen.”
When cleaning out my grandparent’s place when my grandfather had to go to a nursing home, I found her glasses. She always wore these, and I kept them. About ten years ago, I brought them to an optometrist to fit them for my prescription, and he said, “Did you know that these are 12K gold?” All I know is that like that dress, she always wore these glasses, and here I am wearing them.
Top Ten Reasons for Wearing Vintage:
1. Each piece you wear tells people a little bit about the "true" you. 2. Its better made then the crap at the mall. 3. Your best "friend" can't ever go buy the same outfit. 4. The fabrics don't do weird things the first time you wash them. 5. Great vintage never goes out of style. 6. Its way more fun to find - finding good pieces gives addicts like me a rush like no other! 7. The cut is more refined & made for the individual body rather than the mass market. 8. Real silk, real cotton, real wool...need I say more? 9. Ossie Clark (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ossie_Clark) 10. In our celebrity driven society, this is one trend they get right! It’s the best way to stand out in a crowd and look glamorous beyond belief! There is a reason why our fave glam girls wear vintage to their events!No one else has it! ...and that girls, is the absolute #1 reason to get good vintage into your closet...it's one of a kind, the only one in the world, work of art, chosen by you and that dress will only belong to you!
Here is one of my vintage dresses giving way to the “true” me.
I tried to bring my sister over to the vintage side a few years ago. But she finally said, “I just don’t think I can do vintage.”
I love my sister, Julie, BUT it's just funny sometimes how being "conservative" versus being "a tad bit different*" can really change the way the world sees/perceives you. Okay, that statement sounds kind of obvious and I'm not saying this well. *There's probably a good word for this, but I can't think of it now. It could be "eclectic" but maybe not. :-)
Anyway, Julie and I went to a wedding about two years ago. She mentioned that the Adrienne Vittadini dress she had on (a tan plaid sundress) was bought on sale for $250. It was nice and looked lovely on her; believe me, Julie is beautiful and would look good wearing only a Hefty trash bag. What was funny was that at the wedding (and Julie and I largely were together most of the time), everyone kept coming up to me and saying, 'Wow, that's a great dress" and "I love that dress. Where did you get it?" I got the dress on eBay for $137! It was from the 40s and was made in Hawaii.
Here it is.
When I dress, I don't try to make an outrageous statement. I just try to dress me (i.e., express me and what I like).
And, in my sister’s defense, there is a somewhat of a disadvantage to having a large vintage collection. Where can you wear it all?
Cooking?
Running?
Vacuuming?
As I told a few friends, I view my vintage collection as wearable art. Painters use paints; I use my clothes. It’s a way of self-expression. I hate Coach bags now, and I would never sport Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses, as I’ve found in vintage, I don’t need a designer name to define me – the 50s beaded dress, the 60s stiletto heels, and the 70s Mexican blouse say it all so clearly.
As I write this, I am wearing, um, that dress. But, it is time to cast it off and let it go, no matter how much I love it. Its softness, its familiar fit, its colors, even if it’s just a dress, it’s hard to let go of all that familiarity. So hard. You want to hang on. You don’t want the moment to end. But, you know, eventually, you have to let it go.
Good-bye beautiful aqua and pink colors. Good-bye flowers and butterflies. Good-bye plastic rhinestone buttons. Good-bye 40s day dress. Good-bye soft flowing thing that enveloped my body when I felt like no one else would. And good night, Bush.
Several years ago, as I was hurriedly moving about my bathroom, I hit a basket on a shelf and its contents scattered to the bathroom floor. Unfortunately, it contained all my lipsticks.
How many is "all" you ask? Well, it was quite a few. Here’s a re-enactment of this event, though there were many more, um, like about 20 more.
After I cursed Clarins, Clinique, Shiseido, Christian Dior, Lancome, Elizabeth Arden, Mac, Origins, and Smashbox, I bent over and began to pick them all up. I then thought to myself, “Wow, I have a lot of lipstick.”
Again, I’d like to reiterate a point I’ve made before with friends. Just because you have a lot of anything (for example, shoes, cookie cutters, cats, vintage clothes, gel pens, or Post-it note pads, which I’d know absolutely nothing about by the way!) does not mean you have an addiction; no, you just have a collection.
I began to think about how I ever acquired so much lipstick. But, in retrospect, I really don’t know why I even had to think about it. Perhaps I was, err, in denial about my collection. Of course, the Sephora voice in my head said, “Hey, Lipstick Chick! Remember that whenever you get a tad bit blue, you go and buy a lipstick?!” Still in denial, I said, “No. I’m just collecting various shades from various cosmetic makers in order to make my collection well rounded, of course.” The Sephora voice then said, in a rather bitchy way I might add, “Hello? Lancome “Jezebel” – work deadline. Mac “Oddessy” – fight with boyfriend. Clinique “A Different Grape” – PMS. Christian Dior “Plum Plot” – last episode of Sex in the City. Okay, we’ll make an exception for that last one.”
In my defense, I read somewhere that once Melissa Etheridge was so distraught over a break up, she had a few beers, and then proceeded to buy a 70s muscle car on eBay. Lesson learned: Don’t drink and eBay. Well, at least, I was spending $18 and not $38,000!
All Things Lipstick Tangent:
Who forgot to tell me that Mac makes Hello Kitty lipstick?!?!!?
Again, in the vein of my blog being educational, I must throw in some art. Pay attention now and take notes if you need to!
“Lipstick as a weapon! In 1969, the Pop Art sculptor Claes Oldenburg created this giant “lipstick” and mounted it on a tank-like base. The sculpture was installed on the Yale University campus (and a refurbished version still stands there).”
I don’t know about you, but I think I need to make a pilgrimage to Yale to get a picture of myself next to this baby. And, I would imagine that this is probably a $380,000 lipstick!
Lipstick pepper spray! I guess this would be the lipstick to buy after you break up with someone where a restraining order was involved.
On the website where I found this, the Keychain Knife is featured above the Lipstick Pepper Spray and the Ninja Throwing Spikes is shown below it. Note to Self: Come back to this website to shop for Christmas!
And this is the EarthGirlHippieChick part of me chiming in. This is the lipstick vine.
Ah, if only lipsticks grew on vines, so I would haven’t pay $18 a pop for one; I could grow them out in a box on my porch!
And, does it get any better, well, for me at least, than lipstick and shoes?
Never be without your lipstick again! I guess the pepper spray lipstick version of these shoes could be handy fending off unwanted suitors at a bar.
Here’s my favorite lipstick tube; it’s Christian Dior.
I love the angles, the blue, and there’s nothing quite like saying, “Christian Dior”, especially when you say it like I do in my very best Polish super model accent*.
And finally, what was my first lipstick? It should be obvious, err, yeah, especially to all you male readers, since I was a teen in the late 70s, but I’ll tell you rather than making you guess. A Bonnie Bell Lip Smacker!
Mine wasn’t a Dr. Pepper. I don’t think Bonnie Bell had branched out into soda flavors yet then. And, this begs the question, when will they ever make the Veuve Clicquot Lip Smacker, the Gin & Tonic Lip Smacker, or the Cosmopolitan Lip Smacker?
Anyway, mine was purple and grape-flavored. The thing about the Lip Smackers was that they were rather large, really too large. It was almost like carrying around a Chapstick on steroids. And, I’m sure Christian Dior frowned upon the design as well!
I remember them being sweet tasting as well. I have a favorite lip gloss now that is quite tasty. When you think about it, it’s really a rather self-defeating make-up concept to have a sweet lipstick/lipgloss. You want to spruce up your lips, you apply it, and then you have it all licked off your lips within 30 minutes.
As I was writing this, I thought that I never put a lot of thought into how I applied my lipstick, well, because I was too busy increasing my collection to worry about it. I do know that this is the wrong way to apply lipstick.
But, look, if you are challenged in that area, you can always use the lipstick stencil!
And, who knew that applying lipstick was a 10-step procedure falling under Life Sciences?
I just slap the stuff off and go. And, “mature” lips? What exactly is the age cut off is between young lips and mature lips?! With my luck, it’s probably 47.
Anyway, my Mom never wore much make up. So, I have no idea where I got my love of the stuff from. I only knew that when I saw her wearing lipstick that someone had died, someone was getting married, or it was November 9th (my parent’s anniversary), and it was the one time a year my Dad was taking her out to dinner somewhere nice, well, a lipstick-worthy restaurant like The Wayside Inn and not an lipstick-unworthy restaurant like the Sudbury House of Pizza.
Anyway, no matter how disheveled I am (one of those I-have-to-run-out-of-house-quick-slap-on-the-Hello-Kitty-hat-and ratty-jeans kind of days), I always feel somewhat less of a wreck when I put lipstick on. I guess that’s why when I’m a bit down, my car goes on autopilot to the Pheasant Lane Mall, and the Sephora voice in my head says, “Do not pass the mall; do not leave without an $18 lipstick!”
I think that my Mom would say, if she were reading this, that buying something is not the way to pick yourself up, and I would agree, um, somewhat. I recently found this quote by the actress, Emily Deschanel.
“The advice Mom gave us was to put on lipstick and that would solve the problems of the world.”
I now suspect that Mrs. Deschanel is my real mother! :-)
Some, like my Mom, might consider an $18 lipstick a pricey pick-me-up. But, I’m willing to lay out the cash for those 5 or 6 times a year when I really need to. Even if when I look in the mirror, I still see the same woman who is stressed over a deadline, had a fight with her boyfriend, is lost without new episodes of Sex in the City, and is in total PMS mode; it’s a little new, unexpected, and most welcome splash of color in my world. It doesn’t solve all the problems but is what I like to think of as an $18 band-aid to temporarily make the hurt go away.
Blog soundtrack (Gawd, I love this song; I SO loved the 80s, and I’m proud of that fact!)
:
Yes, I am a card-carrying member of the 80s, okay? :-)
So, most everyone is familiar with the 80s sitcom “Cheers”; hence, the title for this blog. Okay, maybe we’re all too familiar with it and its theme song. And while being in a place where everybody knows your name may be “trite”, in reality, it can be very comforting.
As most of you know, I lost my job in February. When gainfully employed, I had rallied a bunch of people to run most every day at work. So, each day, I’d send out the “running email”, which only said in the subject header “Running?”.
The day I got laid off, my fellow runners encouraged me to run. I didn’t want to, but a few of them said, “You should run to show them.” I didn’t know what I was showing them, but in a way, I knew what they meant. I didn’t blame the company at all for outsourcing my job. I loved the company and all its people. I knew they had to do what they did to survive the economy.
When I left, I told them I’d come back to run with them. When I said that, I thought most of them thought, “Oh, sure you will.” BUT since then, I have gone back many times to run.
The first few times I went back to run, I’d be out on the running route and see fellow employees walking or running, and when they saw me, the first thing they would do was smile. Some of these people I had never known by name, but it seemed upon first glance, they thought “Hey, she got laid off!” and then upon second glance they thought, “Wow, the company had to let her go, but here she is, coming back to the company that let her go!”
I heard a story about one woman who got laid off and could not contact the people she worked with after she got laid off. I don’t know if that’s still true, but at least for the short while after she got laid off, it was. Her mileage may vary, but I could NOT imagine not seeing any of my co-workers again. Never.
So, today was one of those days I went back to run.
Usually when I enter the lobby, Barbara, the receptionist is there, or Joe, the security guard. If it’s Barbara, she greets me with a joyous “Hey, kiddo!” I LOVE being a kiddo at 47! And, when I saw Joe yesterday, the instant I walked in, he raised his hand, waiting for me to give him my car keys to hold on to. It’s good to be where everyone knows you, even if you’re not technically known there anymore.
One person said to me recently, “Jeez, it’s like you’re the red stapler guy from Office Space. You keep showing up there, and they’re not paying you!’ While that might be somewhat true, I love showing up there, because it was not a job I lost. I really felt like I lost a lovely bunch of people.
I do love it though when I see people at work who are still employed, and they ask me if I have a job. Their voice lowers to a whisper, as if they’re about to ask me “Jean, briefs or boxers?” :-) Today, I saw one of the engineering managers, who I always adored, right before my run. He said, “Come here!” and motioned me toward him. I had to think about it, and I said, “Me?” I looked behind me to make sure he didn’t mean someone else. But, no, he meant me.
At first, I felt like saying, “Hey, I don’t write the release notes anymore; it’s so not my fault!” :-) I went over to him, and he told me about a job opportunity, and then he said he had a friend at the company where the job opportunity was. It’s good to have friends like him…truly, it is.
Anyway, today I ran with the crowd, and then I showered in the locker room. I then sneaked, though I had a “Visitor” badge, off to the area where the tech writers sit. I asked if I could “rent” a cube. In my defense, I did bring payment, a batch of cookies. They were well received, I think. Um, well, except when my former boss came over to “my cube” with one of my cookies in his hand and while shaking it called me “evil”. :-)
I find it hard to write at home sometimes, well, most times. There are too many distractions. “Oh, I should put in a load of laundry.” “OMG, it’s a CSI marathon!” “Um, let me go kiss Liam and rub his tummy once more.” Do you people see what I’m up against here? :-)
So, today, I sat in a cube at “work” for about three hours. While there, I wrote to my favorite engineer, and then he responded “This is cool talking to you from your cube downstairs.” Believe me, it was so cool being there surrounded by all of my friends. I suppose I could have taken my laptop and gone to the library, but being in that cube surrounded by those people who make all the difference in the world to me, well, it was that much and more.
While there, I wrote a letter to the editors of a large local newspaper. I pitched a column called “It Takes Every Kind of People” based on the Robert Palmer song.
K, change in blog soundtrack, play this now! :-)
I pointed them to my Brandy blog, my award, and all those other writing credentials. Brenda reviewed it, suggested changes, and then I hit “Send”. Thank you, Brenda. <3 Who knows what may happen or not. The absolutely best thing about today was about being in a place where everybody knows my name. Trite but so true.
I find stories in every hour of my day and on every day of my life. Yes, I find it in something run-of-the-mill like picking up repaired furniture; this is even a story to me. I wrote this a few months ago about my trip to pick up some furniture at Brandy’s. Brandy has an antique furniture repair store in the next town over. . . . I had to go pick up my repaired antique table and shelf today. I take my things to this man who works 6am-2pm. I can't imagine dropping off anything at 6am, but it's always nice to know that I can. Anyway, the furniture repairman in question is named Brandy. His workshop is in an old building that now houses an antique store/café/and a vintage/used clothing shop.
When you open the door to his shop, it's like opening the door to another world, more like a literal curiosity shop, I'd say. I guess that's why I always look forward to going there. And perhaps, when I could have attempted to make a small repair myself to something, I think, "Oh, great! I'll have to take this to Brandy!"
Anyway, it is a rather dimly lit workshop, probably twice the size of my garage, and is entirely filled with repaired and broken furniture with barely any room to walk around. Its walls are covered with all sort things (old signs - "Nickels here" with an arrow pointing downward, cuckoo clocks, paintings, posters, an oar, a metal wheel, well, you get the drift). It's a lot of everything I think that most others would have thrown out, but Brandy has seen something captivating and compelling in each bit and piece, as I did, when I took it all in.
The most interesting things he has up on the wall near the doorway are several old type boxes. They are these wooden boxes that used to hold, well, typeface. So, each box has about 50 small compartments, and he has four of these boxes with each and every compartment filled with some sort of treasure. I swear it's like looking at one of my daughter's "I Spy" books.
There are buttons ("Make It in Massachusetts", oh, an oldie but a goodie!), pieces of jewelry, small paper pictures, wooden spools, coins, figurines, marbles, and even broken bits of things, but the broken bit is not so broken that the object looks abstract; each bit is a recognizable piece of "thing" that just came off the end of "some."
Anyway, I told Brandy my name and then said that I was there to pick up my table and shelf. He scratched his head and had a think.
"Hmmm. there's the shelf." He had pointed to a tarp which hung over a bench. Um, I didn't see the shelf. He bent over and picked up the tarp. Voila! There was my shelf! (By the way, Brandy has x-ray vision! It just amazed me that with the wall-to-wall furniture in his small little space that he knew exactly where my shelf was.) I picked up the shelf and said I was going to run it out to my car. When I came back, my table was sitting there. I was disappointed that I didn't get to see where my table appeared from. I half expected that while I was gone, he had put a tarp over a large table, tapped it with his oar, pulled the tarp off, and there was my table where it had not been before.
He looked a bit confused and said, "I can't find your slip." I then remembered that my shelf had some white piece of paper taped to it, and I said, "Oh, it's on the shelf. I'll run back out to the car and get it."
When I came back, he was flipping through his receipt book, still looking a bit puzzled. I said, "Here it is!" and handed him the receipt. (Only $80; he does excellent work, too!) He took a look at it, looked a bit less puzzled, and then said, "Oh, I know why I'm confused." I asked, "Why? He said, "I've got you confused with someone else." I said, "Well, I certainly hope she's got a more exciting life than me!" He laughed and said, "She is Jane, and she brought in a table and a shelf. And, you are Jean, and you brought in a table and a shelf." Doo-doo-doo-doo, Doo-doo-doo-doo! [Err, queue them from "The Twilight Zone".] I said, "Oh, I could see how that could be confusing." I took out my checkbook and paid him. Then, I turned to the type boxes and said, "I just love these. Wow, so much stuff…they're great." He laughed, and then he said, "Well, I guess they're full of it, like me." I laughed, thanked him, and picked up my table and left. I think I'm going to have to break something just so I can go back and take pictures of it all!
So, today, that’s what I did! Yes, I took off my Hello Kitty baseball cap, and put on my Clark Kent fedora. Actually, that’s a lie. I did wear my Hello Kitty baseball cap. See!
But, I do have a vintage Stetson fedora and fake press pass* in case I should ever get a gig with the “Daily Planet”.
*I was ordained “Press” by answering some ad in the back of Rolling Stone.
All silliness aside, well, until I decide to be silly again, I thought, “Wow, there’s a great story here.” Brandy is talented, creative, and has a wonderful sense of humor. Someone should write a story about him. And, it will be me!
However, I was unsure how to go about barging into his store without a piece of furniture for him to repair. Yes, me, who has her picture next to the word “outgoing” in the dictionary was petrified about going into Brandy’s workshop and saying, “Hey, can I talk to you and take some pictures of you?”
I examined every old piece of furniture I owned at 1:15pm today. Brandy closes at 2pm. There was not a wobbly Victorian chair to be found. This was probably due to the fact that Brandy had, in the last year, repaired everything I owned , and everything was still quite sturdy, of course. I thought, “Should I break something?”
And then I finally said to myself, “Oh, to hell with it. I’ll just go in there, tell him how wonderful I find his shop, and then ask him if I can talk to him and take some pictures.” Hopefully, he wouldn’t think me too crazy, err, I mean, mad.
When I got there, I noticed that the whole complex (“The Trading Post”) was shut down. BUT, there was a sign that said, “Brandy is open.” I walked up to the door to his shop. Really, it’s like opening the door to the Secret Garden.
Here’s his sign.
I opened the door and entered. He was standing at an antique table, moving a paintbrush back and forth over the top of it. He glanced at me, and I stammered (WARNING: Major nervous babbling ensued), “Hello. Um, er, ah, you have repaired furniture for me before. I brought a table and a shelf in a few months ago, and then you confused me with someone else who brought in a table and a shelf. Well, anyway, you do wonderful work.”
Brandy kept painting the table and looking at me.
“So, anyway, you see, when I came here last, I loved looking at your shop…all the things on the wall, and I think that I’d love to write a story about you. Well, I kind of already did, but I’d love to talk to you and take some pictures of you and your shop if that’s okay.”
He looked at me and said, “Well, don’t take a picture of me while I’m painting this table!”
I laughed, and then he said that it was perfectly okay with him if I took photos and talked to him. At that moment, I became a journalist. Thank you, Brandy for being so kind and open to all possibilities that walk into your little shop from out of nowhere.
Meet Charles Brandon Mayhew.
His father had the same name, so he was called “Brandy”. Here he is again.
Brandy worked for an antique dealer in Marlborough for the longest time, and then he decided it was time to bust out on his own (better pay and such). So, 25 years ago, he saw this space at “The Trading Post”, took it, and the first day he showed up for work, there were 20+ pieces of busted antique furniture waiting for him. And, he’s been there ever since.
Here are the typeface boxes that I love.
I spy the “Snoopy Watch”!
And is this not out of an “I Spy” book, I ask you! What does key 25 unlock?
In addition, to “things”, the walls are covered with tools.
More tools.
And even more tools.
Even the drill press is adorned with uniqueness, all things that Brandy has made.
There is a great sense of humor within the walls of Brandy’s workshop, too. So, guess what happens when you pull this? See, it’s a finger!
He’s got it hooked up, so a bell rings over the door. He’s got lots of bells. As Brandy says, “I love bells”.
Then, there was the hand holding a plane. Note that there is a thumb and five fingers.
Brandy told me the story about a gifted Japanese craftsman he met with only three fingers; he loved Brandy’s hand. This probably explains why one of my shop teachers in high school was missing a digit.
I love this sign.
Get nickels here. Um, I think that’s a mouse trap under the sign!
A painting…
Here are some things Brandy made himself.
And, here’s his terrorist clock.
He’s got what looks to be little sticks of dynamite inside…um, made out of dowel rods. You can see it in the video. Of course, I had to ask when he showed me them if they were real, um, half kiddingly. I first thought when I saw them, “Holy shit! I’ve found a terrorist cell in a small workshop in whoknowswhereMassachusetts!”
Every INCH of his workshop is covered with something. Here’s a window.
Yes, that’s an andiron in the window. I only knew that, because I have two black owl andirons in my garage, which are from my parent’s house.
Here’s another window in the dark…
And now the same window in the light…
A head.
Got locks?
As we talked, I heard “cuckoo” several times. I thought it was the voices in my head, but no, Brandy has several clocks in his shop.
Brandy told me that he just put this bird cage up. He had the door open last Saturday, and a bird flew in.
Apparently, the bird flew on top of the cage and began to chatter endlessly at the birds in the cage. It was probably trying to convince them to fly the coop, but unfortunately, the bird didn’t know any better.
The town paper did a story on “The Trading Post” (the antiques store, the clothing consignment store, and the café) a while ago, in which Brandy is housed, but they entirely left out Brandy.
I said, “What? This is by far the most interesting part of the whole building!” Actually, it totally floors me that the greatest and most beautiful thing on that $2 million piece of property is Brandy’s workshop, and they totally ignored it. I am going to contact the local paper to see if they would like a story about Brandy. I know I would like to see a story about Brandy, and that's why I was there today.
I could have gone to the Museum of Fine Arts, the Isabella Stewart Gardener, or the Institute of Contemporary Art today, but I tell you, Brandy’s workshop was far more compelling than anything I’ve seen in any museum as of late.
It made me believe that art exists everywhere in our lives, not just in museums. And that artists are not necessarily people with paintbrushes, potting wheels, or cameras. True artists are people like Charles Brandon Mayhew. I could sit in his workshop for hours and look at every bit and piece he has there. It was funny, because when I said how much I loved every bit and piece in his shop, he said, “And each has its own story.” I totally understood what he meant.
This was the last picture I took when I left Brandy’s.
Hmmm. Open. Being open. Being open to different things. What intrigued me most about Brandy was that his workshop is tons of random stuff put together, yet somehow it all comes alive into this one thing, this brilliant universe – Brandy's brilliant universe.
I was thinking, as I was driving to Brandy’s today, God, I hope he doesn't think me completely mad (but in a good way!). While this five months of unemployment has been difficult, it has been a lot of fun in many ways. It's also made me think differently and consider avenues that I never would have considered before.
Six months ago, I probably never would have had the courage to walk into someone’s business and say, “Hey, I think you’re totally cool and wicked interesting. Can I write a story about you and take pictures of you?” And, today I did that and was able to do that, because Brandy’s Brilliant Universe, just like Brandy, is always open and to different things.
I am a devoted mother of two wonderful children, a writer (technical by day and creative by night), an avid baker and crock pot goddess (♥ Sucra), a runner and a cyclist, a rescuer of pets, a vintage fashionista, and a dispenser of social glue.
