Checking In and Checking Out

There is just one thing I want at this middle age, this middle place, this middle November day. I wake up with a mild migraine, one of many recently, and head to the gym to try to stretch my tired old muscles into submission so that they might release their tight grip on the back of my head. The week’s frustrations persist as I sit in my car in the parking lot trying to pick up a Wifi signal to “check-in” to one of my many social media accounts when it hits me: the only one I really need to check-in with today is God. Oh yeah. Seems I’ve lost track of Him this week, trying to make everyone else happy.

I hit the gym, then the shower and then drive west. The stores and gas stations disappear from the landscape, giving way to empty corn and soybean fields. The distance between the houses grows. The cloudy gray skies hang pregnant over the gold colored plains threatening a mix of rain, snow, drizzle or some mix of these. It brings comfort and melancholy at the same time, this cold Ohio gray that settles in for the long haul. My mind replays the week’s events for the umpteenth time as if to magically change them, but the only change is the resurrection of that migraine.

Forty-five minutes later I’m pulling into the driveway of their little log cabin where they wait at the door. I step out of the car, pause and breathe. Inside, after hugs and hellos, they lead me to the cozy living room where the front curtains are pulled back. “We have a duck,” they say, handing me the binoculars so that I may spot the pregnant duck on the far side of their pond. My eyes shift aimlessly (accustomed to staring at a computer screen), unable to see what is right in front of me. What I notice is the wind bending the pines and moving soundlessly through the tall dry grass that surrounds the pond. What I notice is the silence around me—and no one needing to fill it. No radios. No TVs. No music. No computers. We just watch.

We get in the car and head to a little hole-in-the-wall diner for lunch. The circa 1965 wood paneledinterior is covered with kitschy signs and old photos including a pin-up-girl-like shot of five bathing

suit clad young ladies from the 1940s. The sepia-tone teenage version of the owner smiles from the center of the image. She plays the piano, they tell me as I notice the upright and the chalkboard above it that reads, “Ask for the piano player … gets me outa the kitchen.”  A middle aged waitress comes over, cracking jokes about herself as she fumbles for a pen in her pocket. She smiles wide, exposing a grin sans a bottom front tooth and I think to myself: She is happy, beautiful. We eat our homemade veggie soup, sweet potatoes fries and Sloppy Joes and catch up. I share what’s heavy on my heart and Dad fidgets in his seat, uncomfortable with the burden I carry, uneasy that he can’t fix it.

We bundle up, head back to the car and go to the unsung Amish country—the one that is happy that way, quiet and unnoticed. On the drive there, I ask them:

what are your memories of your grandparents? Because I don’t know. Even at this late-middle-age point of my life, I realize that I don’t know and it’s suddenly so important that I know.  We park in front of the dry goods store and he talks us back 70 years to that dairy farm. From the back seat I watch Dad’s eyes in the rearview mirror as he recalls the soft loving arms of his grandmother, his hard-working yet stern grandfather and emotionally distant father. He remembers vowing at a young age to be a Father that laughs and has fun with his kids. “Maybe I didn’t do as well as I could have,” he starts and his eyes grow narrower in the rearview, filling up.  You were—and ARE—the best Dad ever, I say, the first thing all week I speak with complete unwavering certainty.

At the dry goods store, we buy six kinds of Christmas cookie sprinkles, candies, snacks and—from

my Dad—a painting of an Amish buggy for me. To remember this day, we all know, but no one says it aloud. Then we drive to the Amish farm for apples, wood and friendship. The wind is blowing harder and colder now.

A mother and her teenage daughter work in the garden. The gusts blow the strings of their bonnets and aprons. A dog huddles against the barn searching for warmth deep in a worn out blanket. The mother, probably my age, leads us into the workshop where woodworking tools hang neatly along the rafters and the floor is covered with sawdust. The scent makes me homesick for my childhood. My Dad asks her how she is feeling. Is she better now? Yes, she says, except for her shoulder which sometimes brings discomfort. He is in jail now, she notes when asked directly, the drunk driver that hit her and her two youngest in their buggy last year. Her son, then 10 years old, had nightmares after the accident. They are well now, she says. No resentment. No anger. And I admire her strength after mentally slipping on her shoes.
 

We walk back out to the car.  It was nice to meet you, I say. She says the same then asks, do you live around here? No. Not anymore. I live near the city now, but … I feel more at home out here. She smiles and nods, understanding me—this sister from another culture.

We drive back to Dad’s farm, me with my Amish apples, sprinkles and painting—but without my migraine. And this was all I wanted … to find God and myself again … at this middle age, at this middle place, on this middle November Birthday.

 

Girls Day

In anticipation of my niece’s upcoming 8th birthday, we enjoyed our annual Girl’s Day out today. Traditionally, plans commence a few weeks in advance when she makes two lists: (1) her favorite restaurants and (2) her favorite activities. She gets to select one from each list, then we set a date and wait for the big day.

This year our day started with lunch at her favorite place … House of Japan. We marveled at the giant Koi swimming under the glass bridge in the entry way. We oohed and ahhhed as our chef/entertainer lit the grill on fire coaxing high flames, then tossed an egg in the air and cracked it in half with his spatula. Then we savored our rice, steak and Japanese “French fries” (bean sprouts). Finally, the staff brought out a quartered pineapple with “head” cut to resemble an exotic bird—aflame with a lit sparkler, while they sang “Hoppy Birtday.”

Then it was off to “Sweet and Sassy”—the salon created exclusively for little girls, and likely the brainchild of some zillionairess who surely has villas in Paris, Rome, Greece and Bora Bora--thanks to her recognition that little girls like to play beauty parlor and have their nails painted. (Now, WHY didn’t I think of that?!!)

The place is awash in bubble gum pink, has all the glitzy, glittery and sparkly things that little girls love … and it’s in a mall. Your little one arrives for her appointment, picks a hair style (“Princess,” “Diva” or “Rock Star”), then the pampering begins. Her nails are painted, her hair twisted into little sprouties (or an elegant bun –if she’s a princess), and then make-up is applied. Final coatings include sparkly hairspray, sparkly face gel and sparkly eye shadow. It’s a fun time for little girls—and packages range from $16 for style and make-up to $450 for the grand Pink Pajama Party. The best part is the look on their faces when they gaze upon their dolled-up little mugs (and hair) in the mirror, post production.

I love spending time with my niece. I learn so much from her. You could say she’s a mentor to me. Her confidence reminds me to loosen up a little. She just says what she thinks. She is informative and honest …

“So—Em, what is Sweet & Sassy like?” I ask on the way there.
“Well, it’s really pink—which is kind of annoying after the first couple of times you’ve been there. They could’ve used a little lime green.”

She is opinionated (like when she saw the Michael Jackson shirt in one of the stores at the mall.)
“Michael Jackson. Eww.”
“You don’t like him?”
“No. He sounds like a little girl.”

She is used to getting what she wants, and has good reasoning skills.
“I am SO-O­-O having that Pink Pajama Party for my birthday.”
“But, Em—it’s $450. I don’t think your Dad will go for that.”
“Well, my Dad usually gets me what I want.” (She pauses, acknowledging that her CPA Dad might experience a little sticker shock with this one.) “Besides, the birthday girl goes free.”

I’m not sure at what point in my life I lost the ability to just say what I think without worrying if it’s politically correct … or if someone will/won’t approve … or if someone might disagree. But, I’m working on getting back there. I figure if I spend enough time with the Divine Miss Em, I can remember what it was like to be me when I liked myself … all while getting what I want and developing good reasoning skills. Clearly, it starts with determination.

FYI ... I am SO-O-O getting that diamond tennis bracelet for my birthday.

The Hat

One especially cold January a few years ago, the wind chill factor had been in the negative double digits for days. I watched the local news report on a downtown homeless shelter that was so full, they were turning people away. I sat on the comfy sofa in my warm living room, covered in a blanket and sipping a cup of hot tea. Then guilt pulled up a chair.

The next day, I called the shelter to ask what they needed. Someone picked up the phone in the shelter's kitchen. "I could use some spices, canned meat and dry goods," the cook said. I went shopping, picking up some of the items he'd requested. I looked at the measly half-cart full of goods. My money wasn't going to go very far. Then I went to Walmart and bought up all the men's hats that were left (5). We loaded up the car and headed downtown.

We pulled up in front of the shelter. Men streamed inside, some standing in the entrance trying to soak up a little heat. My husband, Tom, ran inside to get some assistance to unload. My young son and I sat inside the car, a little uneasy, as the men surrounded the car looking at us curiously. One man came up to the passenger window. "Do you need help?" he asked me. I could tell he was so cold. His nose was running. His bare hands were shoved in the pockets of his thin jacket. You're asking me?, I thought, feeling guilty again. "We just have some donations--hats, food and stuff," I told the man at my passenger door.

Tom was back now, with a helper. They quickly unloaded the boxes from the back of the car. The man at the window leaned in toward me and whispered,"Could I please have a hat?" But it was too late. Tom and the other man had emptied the car and disappeared into the shelter, lost in the massive crowd. "You can go ask them for one," I said, knowing the hats were gone by then. "Ok. Thank you," he nodded and went inside.

I think about that man often. Why didn't I buy more hats and go back? I think about him every year at this time when wandering the discount store and seeing the display of knit hats for a dollar a piece. Did he ever get a hat?

In a few weeks, I'll be celebrating an almost-monumental-birthday. Well, what I'll actually be celebrating is the fact that I am infinitely blessed. I have an amazing family, friends, a nice home, a car that runs, a fat poodle, two cats and a quirky bunny. I have a good job, my health, a warm winter coat and, yes, a few hats. I'm thinking of throwing myself a birthday party. But the only presents I want are new men's knit hats. Just those cheap knit ones you can get at Walmart or Target. I'm on a hat crusade this year. Won't you join me?

Happy Birthday Baby Blog!

The Past Perfect Style Blog turned 1 year old recently. Sadly, I was too busy to acknowledge it on its actual birthday. 114 posts in 365 days. With a little more "me" time, I could have written a couple times a day for each of the 365 days of the past year.

There were also at least that many times when I thought, "What's the point of this? No one is reading this." My little weekly site-meter report tells me that, on average, 9-11 people view my blog a week. (Not including me :-)) Now .... to be honest, I never listed this blog publicly in a directory. So, if you were to (care to) search my name, you wouldn't find my little corner of the cyber-world. I'm just not sure I want the world to know about my iced tea and York peppermint pattie fixation, yet. I'm okay with just you 9-11 VIPs in my life checking in here, once in a while. Still, it's just kind of funny to think of a marketing/pr "pro" with just 9 followers. (And, I'm not counting anyone who may be checking this baby TWICE a week!)

But like I said, it's my little corner of the world. I can chat with no one in particular about the things that I like ... reflect on the activities that bring me joy or are worth committing to memory (I need everything in writing these days!) ... and I can share my puzzlement, gratitude and amazement with all that The Boss has done for me. And He has done so much.

I'll be hitting an almost-monumental birthday this year, myself. And I'm thinking of following suit with the unbirthday celebration of the PPS blog. Quiet. Comfortable. Just a few close friends/VIPS. I'm thinking sometime in November. (Date TBA.) I'm planning my own mini-bash. My little corner of the world ... in the real world. And I really want you to join me. There will be iced tea and York peppermint patties for all ... courtesy of the PPS girl.

Divine Day

One of my best friends just turned 7.

I would be remiss to let February slip by without giving props to one of the BEST days of my year, so far. Instead of a traditional birthay gift for My Girl, the Divine Miss M, we came up with the idea to have a "Girls Day" a few weeks back. (Better known as a "Glirls Day" in her preschool-speak, just a few years ago.)

According to her Daddy (who dropped her off around 11 a.m.), My Girl hit the floor around 7 a.m. to start "getting ready" for our big adventure. Upon arrival at my house, she couldn't get rid of her old man fast enough. Then, she handed me the "Thank You" card she'd worked on all morning... extending her pre-celebratory gratitude in many vibrant shades of Crayola. We headed to House of Japan for a fun lunch watching the chef flip his spatulas, eggs and oil bottles while cooking our meal. We opted for the special birthday pineapple presentation--at which point My Girl climbed into my lap, swinging one arm over my shoulder.

As we were driving to our next stop, we chatted about favorite cities. (Mine is Charleston, SC ... not too far from where she will head to vacation in a few months ... "Potato Head Island, SC." ) We also talked about her lifelong wish for a dog, regarding which she has promised her parents that she will not hesitate, at any time of the day or night, to go clean up after it; feed it regularly without being reminded and walk it nonstop. She confided to me that she has plans to name it Charleston. (I'm not sure, but I think I was being canvassed to act as her advocate.)

Then, we went shopping for a hip white shirt, bought it and hurried home to tie-dye it. Our first-time attempts turned out FABULOSA! (She even wore it to church the next day.) Finally, we baked a sheetcake and decorated it (in colorful Mike & Ike's) with the words "HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL".... Miss M's FAV flick of all time. (Well, at least of the last couple of months.) All in all, it was a perfect day. Our next adventure will include the activities we were unable to cram into this day: pottery making and beading ... and anything else my Divine Girl wants to do.

Spidey Birthday

Imagine you are about to turn 4 years old. You are the little brother ... and about to be a big brother, too. You are the middle child. Huge parties are arranged for your big sister. Somehow your big day always seems to get lost in the shuffle of your parents' lives ... only you don't really understand why yet. You just know that you want a bunch of people to come laugh, clap and sing "Happy Birthday" to you. Maybe you'll get a present. Maybe you'll even get a cake. Maybe you'll get to blow out a candle and make a wish. You just want to feel loved.

Poor little guy. For the third year in a row, it almost didn't happen (again). It took some extraordinary efforts (especially on Papa's part). Almost superhuman, you could say. Then it came together. What's the best thing (and most memorable) that a little boy could ask for? His very own Spidey Team!

My family came together again with this amazing web of support that we are so blessed with ... all for a little guy that is only sort-of related to them. They came together to make sure that he knows that he IS part of our family and will always be. It's this wonderful gift that God has blessed them/us with. I couldn't help but think of that classic line from the Spiderman movie..."With great power, comes great responsibility." They've taken him and his sister on as part of our responsibility. Our family. Oh how blessed are we!

JuJu Bee's B-day

It's my baby sis's birthday tomorrow ... although we celebrated on Sunday at the farm. She's been in the area on a freelance assignment, but heads home tomorrow to her "boys" in NY. Juju's style is all her own--a little retro and lots of hip. It's no wonder she's a favorite freelance stylist for many production companies. (She told me Sunday that she used the necklace I made for her last summer on one of the "models" in the commercial they just shot. Woo hoo! Next stop, Academy Award gift baskets!)

I made her a "Day of the Dead" (Dia de Los Muertos) necklace for her birthday. I'd come across this fun little musician-skeleton-guy bead some time ago, and used him for the centerpiece. Then, I incorporated some glass beads, African beads and some tiny wooden beads from India. I think it turned out pretty cute. K and I also snagged a fun vintage scarf for Juju last week at an antique mall in Marietta, OH. It said 1964 NEW YORK WORLD'S FAIR and featured some of the "futuristic" attractions that were part of the event. (She loved it!) Just thought I'd share.

Earring Nirvana

Inspired by the sale of some more of my earrings (and their placement in three retails shops ... hurray!), I created a new batch for Sooz's hip and fun new shop--B.Cause (stop back here this weekend to see lots of pics and read all about it).

I'm working on a new set for another one of the shops, too. All I need is a little FREE TIME! On the road for work today ... but I'm hoping to disappear into a little private creative oasis this weekend.

I also have a fun birthday project in mind for baby sis JuJu (Schnookie). And you'll be the first to see it! Later.

I've Got a Crush on You

Friday evening brought a house full of little peeps. We celebrated Lelu's 6th birthday (round #2). We also entertained her little bro (A. Boston), plus my two nephews and niece (The Divine Miss M) ... while their folks were on a date.

Since I'd spent no more than about 60 waking minutes (combined) at home over the past two weeks, it was kind of a "short cut" party ... which I always feel a little guilty about. BUT, we had fun (and that's what really matters). I picked up some "take and bake" pizzas and juice boxes; I made a big tossed salad and a fresh fruit salad. I found a miniature carrot cake and six "Orange Crush" cupcakes--and set them on my cakestand. (Note the cute little antique wood drawers--white with blue trim--that I picked up at a great flea market last week for $6 each!)

We gave Lelu a beadmaking box (like mine--which she loves) filled with beads of all sizes, colors and shapes. Then the girls created jewelry; K entertained his cousins; and A. Boston and "Papa" went for a walk. Finally, we all watched "Enchanted" and "Shrek 3" in the living room, eating popcorn while sitting on blankets, picnic-style. Everybody cuddled; a few crashed (around 9:30 p.m.) but we all had fun.

Birthday Soup

We celebrated a family birthday of our dear "Soups" this weekend. She's an absolutely amazing person (another "Woman that Wows"... and subject of a future post) and precious member of our family. We have similar tastes and interests, so I know that anything I like ... she will, too.

I found this cute box/purse/storage container featuring a garden theme. (Soups is a Master Gardener). I enclosed some
seeds, a box of cards with floral print and some earrings
I made for her with some great new glass beads I came
across last week. And, of course, some cuttings from my pretty hydrangea bush (which even the waitress in the restaurant commented on). Don't you just love to give gifts and make people smile? Me, too!

Queen of Steam

Remember that movie, It Could Happen to You, with Nicholas Cage ... about the guy that wins the NY Lottery and has a blast giving it away in unique and fun ways? No I didn’t win the lottery today. But I kind of understood that feeling today. One of my friends celebrated a 60-something birthday. Now, I’m not going to tell you her exact age—that would be rude. (But there’s a great old song about a US Route that shares this number.)

Anyway, my friend—whom I’ll call Queen of Steam (QoS) because she has more energy than a stadium full of toddlers—gave me a little bag full of beads about a week ago that had belonged to her mother. Her mom passed away a few months ago. QoS was raised by a lady who was into Yoga, organics and all-things-green long before anybody else even thought about it—so she lived a long life, blessed with three cool kids. So, I used her beads (along with some other new and vintage baubles I had) to make her two necklace/earring sets (see one, at right). When I gave them to her, her eyes welled up and she hugged me. You see, she’d really been missing her mom—this being her first birthday (and Mother’s Day) without her. She thanked me about 50 more times before the end of the day and emailed me that my gifts would now be passed along to her granddaughters. It reminded me that no matter how much we age, the love we have for Mom never fades—it only grows stronger.

It feels so good to give from the heart.