Tales from #TheDressmaker

One of my mom's favorite sayings is "Nothing perks you up like a piece of fabric." This mantra has been ever-present since the time my mother would either use her seamstress skills or whisk me off on a weekend shopping trip to ensure her only daughter had a plentiful wardrobe. Often I think about my affinity for a trendy coat or a new pair jeans and wonder. Is this vanity? This need to replenish my closet with something new anytime I notice an empty hanger?

My best friend Amy also likes to shop. Throughout the years, we have sketched out several shopping trip plans. Kansas City. New York. Chicago, This year, this has translated into two days. Once in Harlan and the other in Gretna. If you'd ask either of our husbands, they'd estimate we do this every week. But they are quite mistaken. Two times this year. One of those days happened to be last Monday to honor that wonderful celebration called Columbus Day. Whether we were moved by the explorer's historical significance, or enriched by the quick dash to the city, we're unsure. But I am certain our spirits were lifted.

Here's a quick summary of the day:

• Discovered Nebraska Crossing Outlets by Gretna with its infinitude of stores. As we drove around with our mouths agape, it felt just a little like hitting the jackpot. Gap. J Crew. Loft. Fossil! We were most likely going to do some damage. My credit card was bouncing in my purse.
• Dashed through some rain (didn't melt). Hit Nike first. The stop was practically an obligation. Kind of like a Target stop for toilet paper. We'd be able to pick up a few guilt purchases for our kids AND pick out those pieces which would either inspire us to workout or allow us to hangout in sweats just a little more than we already do.
• Dashed through more rain (now pellets). Landed in Michael Kohrs. Amy needed a purse. I had no intentions of making a purchase since I had just bought a purse which I love, but that store was kinda neat. Not only did Amy find a show-stopping suede purse and I find a pair of maroon-jeans that actually fit, we got our merchandise for more than 50% off. Jackpot fer sure.
• Unbelievably, it had become decision time. Time was flying at Mach speed. We had only made it two stores. But there was this movie, you see. A MOVIE! A movie without the requirement of action or gore. A chic-flick! We decided to cash in on our good fortune and head to the big-screen. Popcorn, candy and Diet Coke would become our most satisfying lunch.

Stef and Amy

We saw The Dressmaker starring Kate Winslet who was amazing and beautiful as a, wait for it...dressmaker. She returns to her gritty hometown in Australia to uncover a great secret of her past and the town's past. (Beyond the engaging plot, witty banter, and colorful attire, there's quite a bonus in this movie: Liam freaking Hemsworth.) One particular scene captured the spirit of our shopping day when the dusty, colorless town suddenly becomes garnished by ladies in extravagant evening gowns, just going about their daily business. This all made for good comedy; but I couldn't help but observe and relate how the attitude of the women had been transformed into an appealing confidence. The power of fabric.

Perhaps there is a sliver of vanity in wanting new clothes. But I think there's more to it. None of that day would've been much fun if I had been by myself. Whenever I decide to break out my new maroon jeans, I'll be reminded of the fun day I shared with Amy. And I can't help but think a piece of fabric not only revives the spirit, but connects people. It fuels friendships. It's only fitting my mother operates a clothing boutique as her retirement gig. She's not just surrounded by fabric–something she loves, but she's surrounded by people–old and new friends.

Mom should probably revise her saying:

Nothing perks you up like a piece of fabric–or a good friend–or a good friend with a new piece of fabric.

BFF's

 About a month ago, I found myself in a bit of a slump. I couldn’t seem to find my smile, no matter how hard I tried. Empirically, I realized the ridiculousness of my forlorn state of mind. Accomplished kids. Loving husband. Healthy parents. Good job. Great home in the community I adore. Happy with my weight. Only kidding. I'm never happy with my weight. But my muffin top wasn't the root cause of my melancholy. I felt sad. Empty. But I couldn't quite articulate the reason why.

I adored Doug’s attempts to mitigate the gloom during this patch. Anyone remember the scene on Animal House when Bluto used clownery tactics to uplift Flounder after the demolition of his brother’s pristine car? Well, my hubby can crack a metaphoric beer over his head pretty well too. Yup. He’s really good at getting me to chuckle. But like Flounder, I wasn't laughing very long.

As I sorted out my feelings with my dear husband, it dawned on me. I hadn’t connected with any of my closest friends lately. Actually I hadn't seen them for...months. One had moved to St. Louis last year, and while we keep in touch almost daily via Words with Friends, it’s just not quite the same as seeing her in person. Another works a few blocks from me, so obviously getting together for lunch is quite a challenge. And my other closest friend lives about three minutes from my house, so obviously that's another unworkable situation.

Ugh. Pitiful? Methinks.

I reduced my Facebook check-ins. Not only did it waste too much time, but I found it to be a bit depressing. All these people, with all these friends, doing all these cool things that didn't involve work. And I noticed people getting up to 100 “Likes”! (If I post anything, I’m usually happy with one "Like." My mom or cousins are typical shoe-ins.)  But Facebook wasn't the answer. Social media can do many things. But it wasn't going to make me happier.

Despite my great love for my family, and the time I cherish with them—which I do abundantly—I decided I was lonely for my best friends. So after a few attempts, I was able to sanction a lunch appointment with one of my longest-running pals, Lyn. We could’ve and should’ve just taken the afternoon off, because we had too much to discuss between issues that can't be disclosed on this blog...to protect the innocent. Then on a whim, I kidnapped my friend, Amy, to see the ever-poignant Twilight finale, which I'd like to review here. (Actually no need...it's just like the other four movies, capiche?) We topped that glorious day off at that most celebrated of shopping centers…Target. A blissful day indeed.

Me and Amy...the baseball fans that we are.

It didn’t really matter what I did with my friends. I was merely happy to be connecting with them once again. Nothing soothes the soul like another girlfriend. Somehow I had convinced myself that none of us really have time for each other anymore. But there should always be time for those who matter to you. When we are young, friendships take precedence over almost everything. As we age, obligations fill that space. While those obligations (kids, hubby,etc.) make life utterly worthwhile, we can’t forget to tend to our friendships. Who else will listen to those stories about our kids and our husbands?

Lyn and me. Scowl implies she'd rather have been biking.

Labor Day!

Things I accomplished over the Labor Day weekend:

• Gleefully watched Eat Pray Love with mother and daughter and wondered if I'll ever get to eat pasta in Italy. Or do yoga in Bali. Didn't even consider the fact that I'll never be praying in India.
• Reluctantly purchased new pillows to replace the superbly-comforting five-year 90% dust-mite- filled pillows gracing our beds. 
• Lost myself in a dystopian young adult fictional novel. Sadly, I finished it. Started two other books.
• Toured countryside on motorcycle ride with group of friends on nearly perfect day without once worrying that we were going to get killed. That's a lie.  
• Painted yet another yellow coat on that damn end-table project I started at the beginning of summer. Target completion date: Thanksgiving.
• Went to Mass. Bulletin is on the counter to prove it.
• Wallowed in Borders yesterday afternoon with the family. Purchased four new books to read. Correction - two are "new," two have been read before...but were borrowed copies. Hmmm Could there be somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty books waiting to be read on my bookshelf?   So now I'm reading Eat Pray Love (which I've already read because I want to be a journalist someday like Elizabeth Gilbert and look just like Julia Roberts, the actress who played her because obviously reading the book will make this happen...)

But despite the awesome things I did accomplish this weekend, I have one major regret...I found out that my closest friend was bummed that I hadn't asked her along to Eat Pray Love. We had been sort of planning to go...but when I had brought it up a couple of times the Monday before, I wasn't sensing she wanted to go. And since she has really little kids (sort of the second family that Doug and I didn't opt to follow along with), I didn't want to bug her about it. Honestly, the feeling kind of nagged me the whole night. "Should I have called her?" I had emailed her about a few things the day before, hoping she'd bring it up.  But instead of just asking her, I waited it out, hoping that she would say something first. Since she didn't say anything, I assumed she didn't want to go.  Women are so weird in this way. Then I get the text. "Sort of bummed that you guys went without me."

Amy is like one of my best friends. Apparently, it was too difficult for me to come right out and ask her if she wanted to go. We women pretend not to have egos, but I think we just disguise them differently. What would have been the worst that Amy could have told me?  "No?" Boy, that would've been horrible.

Anyway, the story has a happy ending...as we (along with a posse including my sister-in-law and brother-in-law and another friend) got to ride with our hubbies on their Harley's this weekend. (One of we girls favorite things to do!)  And there are no hard feelings. I told Amy how sorry I was. And luckily, I'm willing to attend the movie again. All she needs to do is ask me...

On Friends

While I like my job, every once in awhile I get the Sunday night blues. You know, that sinking feeling that you didn't get enough time with your family? That tomorrow it's back to another chaotic work week? Well, I've got a sure cure.

Monday nights have officially been declared GNO. Of course, it took a good excuse, like our daughters' dance class, to make it happen. But the point is, it's officially scheduled on each of our calendars.

The first night was a simple dinner at the China Pan. And even though two of us had to bring some ancillary kids along (including a boy! My boy, in fact), it was heavenly. We ate yummy rice and talked. I got to hold a baby. We got to laugh about stuff that doesn't make our hubbies laugh. We got to cry about stuff that doesn't make our hubbies cry. (Maybe an exaggeration...) And we got to explore a few of our dreams without being smacked back into reality by a pragmatic male voice.

This week we did the Chinese thing again, then ventured to see Julie and Julia, eat super-buttery popcorn and chew on extremely fresh Milk Duds. (No kidding!) As I watched the movie (for a second time I must admit) , I whispered to Amy, "Look at that orange roaster of Julia's? Isn't it the cutest thing ever?" She smiled and admitted, "I have one of those." "You do?" I gasped. "I'll have to check it out next time I'm over."

Now, what guy would or could connect at the roaster level? Maybe a few. I don't even cook, but I love the idea of cooking. I could certainly fantasize about creating Julia beef burg-in-yawn (SP???). Get what I'm saying? It's the sharing of idealistic visions that connects us girl-friends. Right? Right!

Next Monday night? Pedicures...I hope the giggles and dreaming will obviate the pain of my callus removal...we better dream big.

On Love and Vampires, Villains and Friends

So, after the urging of my daughter and my own curiosity over the vampire infatuation, I plunged into Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight series. As predicted, I’m completely engrossed in the tale of Edward and Bella as I await the delivery of Eclipse and Breaking Dawn.

Doug asked me what Twilight is all about.

“It’s about a vampire who falls in love with someone whom he greatly desires to kill.”

“That pretty much sums it up for all men.”

Hmm. That’s why I like to obtain perspectives of others. Apparently, I haven’t looked at the vampire metaphor from all angles.

Then, as we were watching The Dark Knight for the 53rd time since Christmas, I asked Doug if he would turn evil and avenge my death, like Harvey Dent. Without hesitation, my sweet hubby said, “Of course.”

I wonder though.

Fantasy is good. It reminds me how magical reality is. Seriously. I told my husband the other day (after reading New Moon) how lucky I am to be married to the same person I fell in love with nearly 18 years ago. He, of course, was suspicious because it’s not something I say everyday. But I should.

In other news…Cole seems to be recovered from the flu (hallelujah)...Grease was awesome. How fun it was to experience one of my childhood infatuations with Alex...Flash is still alive, despite his escape due to my own negligence. He showed up in the bathroom, staring at me as I dried my hair... I’m relishing in a headache as a result from a bottle of wine shared with one of my best friends last night. But it is one of those few headaches without regret – we laughed a lot as we sat on the couch and whispered about lots of stuff we never have time to discuss. It reminded me of those nights, long ago, when our youthful spirits stayed up late and giggled ourselves to sleep. Another thing I should do more.

Here's a picture of Lyn and me, as Velma and Ginger of course.

Remember Yesterday!

For the past couple of months now, I've been a bit obsessed with my seemingly accelerating passage of time toward "40". In a few weeks, I'll be 39. According to my six-year old son, I'm still two years away from 40, since I'm only 38. I like his math.

It's not the first time I've fussed over my age. "30" seemed like a big cross-over. Oh, to be "30" again. My skin was still fairly tight. The cottage cheese blemishes on my belly were barely visible -- of course only one child had been born by then. Those were the days when it was still fun to try on swimsuits. Now I resort to catalog purchases, only from Eddie Bauer who has this amazing technology of fitting not-completely-dumpy swimsuits anyone over the age of 35.

Mom told me a few months ago that "age is just a frame of mind". Easy for her to say -- she looks amazing at the age of 61. "Your mom is so cool." "She looks so young." "I love your Mom's hair!" "Grandma seems younger than you." And the kicker, "Are you Sandy's sister?" Oh sure, age is a frame of mind when you look fifteen years younger than your real age.

Needless to say, I've been practicing "The Secret" (Rhonda Byrnes) by telling myself that I do look young. It's tough when your children say things like, "What's that big line on your face?" "Well, Cole, it's my laugh lines!" "It doesn't look funny." Or when you can't shove that muffin top in those dang low-rider pants anymore. But I continue my quest. "I still look young. I still look young. I still look young. 38 IS young. Right?"

The other day I had lunch with a friend who is also getting close to the age of 40. She is very pretty and youthful. A few topics came up in our conversation that are defining to Generation X -- South Africa (anti-apartheid, Nelson Mandela, etc.), E.T. (yes, the movie), The Gap (yes, the store), etc. And guess what? After our lunch, I felt revived and, well, young! Maybe it was because my friend just plain looks young. Maybe it was because she's full of enthusiasm. Or, maybe it was because we connected! While we have different backgrounds, we lived through the same defining, historic events.

I have other good friends who are also classified as "Gen-X", and of course my husband and I are the same age. Too often we're busy chasing the Boomers' career pace or plugging into Gen Y's communication devices. And of course we're all running our kids to various activities to ensure they'll grow up to be well-rounded. All of those factors simply do not make me feel youthful -- it exhausts me.

So, perhaps the secret to feeling young is taking time to connect with those whom we share similar, generational viewpoints. Of course, my mother has a bazillion Boomers to connect with. We Gen X'ers must learn to seek each other out and "share" in order to keep a youthful frame of mind.

So, let me end another babbling blog with this thought. I took a picture of my ornamental lilac tree a couple of weeks ago. It only blooms for about a week, so during that week, I make sure to relish in the aroma and beauty while it lasts. Then, overnight, the blooms shrivel and dry up. It becomes merely an ornamental tree with dark green leaves.

And it is still lovely.