The Real-Life Adventures of A Former Glamour Girl

To my Valentine.

Today is the day designated for the celebration of love.  My husband hates this day, not that he hates love, but he is a true romantic.  He loathes being told by Hallmark when to express his love and how.

I understand.  It’s the kind of day where if you send something to your love, you feel like you’re a sucker who has been duped and if you don’t, well then you’re just a jerk.  There is no way to come out on Valentines’ day without getting screwed one way or another.  That is, if you are a man.

For women, V-Day is optional.  (Although for me, it’s a chance to shop.)  It is also a chance to spoil my love with a romantic evening, a special meal, and if he has been very, very good ……. Well, he gets new lingerie.

My idea of love has changed a bit since I first felt my stomach full of butterflies over Chuck Perkins when I was fifteen years old.  At that time it was all about his tan, his abs and his dimples, oh and the fact that he was an amazing kisser. He was also in possession of his own candy apple red Pontiac with a radio and leather seats. 

He was in college and I, a mere junior in high school.  I met him at the beach over summer vacation when he and his best friend Mike Nicolai flirted with my best friend Linda Eader and me, from our respective towels in the sand at Corona del mar.  That summer I had my first real kiss, received my first corsage and my first love letter.  That winter, I experienced my first broken heart.  Love, it turned out, is a double-edged sword.

Over the past fifty years I have known love in all shapes and sizes, the greatest of love being the love for my children and grand children.  I could never have imagined the depth of the love I have known for a child.  It makes no sense at all.  They are like puppies, biting, peeing, chewing and barfing, making one mess after another and costing a fortune, but when they walk into a room, or reach out their arms to me, I am all theirs.  No questions asked, still.

There has also been girlfriend-love.  (Not to be confused with girl on girl- sex, although I’m sure for some it’s wonderful.) For me, it’s my girlfriends, the sisters who walk with me through the days, who have held me up and pulled me through the knotholes and out of the pits of my life. They alone have made it possible to be a wife, mother and grandmother that passes muster in my own mind and heart.

As for the love of a man?  The standards that first attracted me to love are not the ones that have kept me loving.  It is the little moments of knowing I am seen and valued that keep me here with my husband of fifteen years.  My husband knows me.  He knows my strengths and he knows my weaknesses.  He knows my faults.  He knows the good in me.  One of the things I’ve loved about Tom is that even in the heat of an argument in the early years of our marriage, he would recite what he loved about me.  Who does that?  My husband does that.

We took the first ten years of our marriage to work out the balance of power.  He has the final word about anything that really matters and I have the final word on everything else. 

My husband gives me everything I need and he gives me pretty much everything I want.  I try to be as good to him but the truth is, I am not.  When at the end of a day or at the end of our lives together, I can say to myself that I have been as kind, as generous, as self-forgetting as he has been to me, well, I will consider myself a success.  In the meantime, I’ll just keep practicing.

This morning I surprised my husband with a little box of chocolates and a head- massager.  The head -massager threw him, but I told him it’s hard to pick a gift for the man who has everything and doesn’t want his wife to spend money.  This afternoon, a beautiful bouquet of roses and lilies were delivered for me with a love-note from him. 

Yes, we are both a couple of suckers and even though he doesn’t like Hallmark telling him when and how to say he loves me and even though I know he loves me without receiving flowers, we each had a little smile of knowing when we received our little gifts.  We know for sure that Hallmark has nothing on our love.

My life is so glamorous!  It’s just not fair, lucky for me!!

 

Greed all dressed up in a new outfit.

“The greedy one gathered all the cherries,

While the simple one

Tasted all the cherries

In one.”

Anonymous

 

Does it count as an epiphany if I read something and recognize it as truth? 

I had an Ah, Ha-moment this morning when I read this little phrase and the page that followed in my meditation book.  I realized that I have been greedy in wanting to “have” it all.  All the stuff, all of the pretty clothes and things, all the lunches with all the friends, all the travel, ALL and MORE.  I have been greedy.  Trying to have it all, to be available to all, to experience it all.  It’s not possible.  I am only one person, a human being with only 24 hours to live in each day.  My experience here in this life is to “taste” not to gather or collect or hold life in my possession.

I have been very blessed. I have tasted so much!  I have known the thrill of new love, the tenderness of long -time-love; I have had friendship and felt the pain of loss. I have given birth to three daughters and been present for the births of my grand children. I have worn designer clothes, gone to fancy restaurants, all over the world and ridden in limousines. I have traveled on three continents, I have enjoyed wild, passionate sex, I have roller bladed on the strand in my bikini, skied on Mt Hood, had High Tea at fancy five star hotels and eaten more than my share of cookies, cakes, and ice cream.  I have eaten a lunch of a baked potato with nothing on it because that’s all I had to eat and I have gone without lunch and had a tiny taste of feeling hungry, (although not for too long a time.) I have worked and had a couple of careers and I have been unemployed when I wanted to work. I have had money and I’ve had no money. (Having money is better.) I’ve had good credit and I have had bad credit.  I’ve had many nice lunches with girlfriends and massages and pedicures and facials. I have been to jail and prison, (although only to visit, thank you God!) and I have served on a jury to fulfill my civic duty. I’ve tasted enough to be satisfied.

The last time I posted on my blog I was talking about how my life was too big for me.  How I couldn’t fit all of the things I wanted to do into my days. The book I read this morning talked about suffering from wanting to be in two places at once, from the pain of feeling like we might be missing out on something, of feeling left-out, and how that is a form of greed.

The book also said that when we are caught in this way of thinking, there is no amount of travel, no amount of love, not enough of anything to satisfy.  I saw that this has been true for me at times and I released a huge sigh of recognition and relief with a  “thank-you” when I saw that I could let that all go.  Tasting is enough.

I still cannot fit it all in, or do all I want to do.  I feel this especially around being with the people I love.  I would like to have them all come through my life, one by one, minute by minute and sit with me on the sofa, while we sip something warm and stare out the window.  I wish we could stretch time. 

I have continued to think I want to write something meaningful and lasting when maybe all I am meant to do is write to know myself and be able to have moments in which I feel connected to something greater than myself.   My greedy ego would like to make my writing grander! 

I hurt myself a few days ago doing dead lifts at the gym.  Apparently I failed to hold in my stomach to support my lower back.  Today I canceled lunch with a dear friend to stay home and lie on an ice pack.  I cannot accept every invitation I receive or sit with everyone I might be able to help.  I can however, share the wealth of love and friendship, experience, strength and hope with a few.  I can keep tasting and leave some of the goodies of life for others to taste and enjoy.

In a couple of weeks, I’ll be passing the baton of my Thursday night dinner meeting to one of the other girls.  It has been a gift of joy to have this in my home for the past two years.  I’m sad to let it go, but I’m happy someone new will have the experience.  Maybe it will come to me again, maybe it won’t.  No matter what, I’ve tasted the experience.  I’ve had more than one cherry, but there are still plenty to go around.  I don’t have to make myself sick by being greedy and gluttonous.  I have tasted life, and I love, love, love it!!! 

My life is so glamorous!  It's just not fair, lucky for me!!

 

oh, and i'm grateful for this extra stuff too....

Dear God,

I know it’s been a while since I last wrote, but on this Thanksgiving, I want to formally mention a few things for which I am truly grateful.

1. I am grateful that the timer on my coffee pot was NOT broken and instead I had simply programmed it to go off in the PM instead of the AM.
2.  I am grateful that sometimes I can actually open a jar or a zip-locked package of cheese without the aid of firemen or a knife.
3. I am grateful that my puppy no longer has diarrhea so that when I pick up her poop in the dining room, I don’t have to employ the use of the carpet cleaner machine.
4. I am grateful that my husband likes leftovers and burned food.
5. I am grateful that I own a Yummy-Tummy in three colors plus one in leopard.
6. I am grateful that my Iphone has an off button.
7. I am grateful that my husband never comments about my late night snacks/meals/binges in bed.
8. I am grateful for all four of my ex-husbands.  (My real husband is grateful also!)
9. I am grateful for my magnifying mirror.  Sort of.
10. I am grateful that Nature’s Miracle comes in a gallon size.
11. I am grateful that my hearing deficit provides entertainment for my children and when I pee my pants from laughing, no one runs out of the room.
12. I am grateful that all of my guests love me, (at least I think they do, ) and that if they do in fact, judge me for letting the puppy poop near them, they still come to visit but they don't stay for long.
13. I am grateful for a short memory when it comes to mistakes and a long memory when it comes to love and kindness.  Thank you God for all of it and please help me remember to write it all down more often.

 

Love,

Kathy

 

 

Surrendering to CAbi.

Out with the white pants, in with the black!   Summer is officially over.  (Except that I live in a beautiful place where summer just made an appearance for a few days this past week.  I live in California!  Santa Barbara, California to be exact, where we have enjoyed a spring-like summer of temperatures in the low seventies.  Last Wednesday was the first real day of blistering heat.  As fate would have it, I had a “thing” to go to which required that I get myself dressed in big-girl clothes.  It was a fashion event where everyone was dressed up in her “CAbi cutest” (Yes; I have drunk the CAbi- Kool- aid!) 

CAbi has been around for over ten years.  I don’t like to think of myself as “slow to come to the party,” but in fact, that line describes me exactly, especially where CAbi is concerned. 

I never wanted to be a “joiner.”  I like to think of myself as a maverick, a rebel of sorts, who never goes along with the crowd and in fact, I resisted seeing the CAbi line on that closed- minded premise for years.  When I moved to Santa Barbara however, my youngest daughter lured me to her favorite CAbi rep’s home to view that year’s current fall line for myself.  Although I managed to spend close to $2000.00 on my very first visit, I did not fully grasp the fun of CAbi until last season.

In February of this year, the same daughter, Shelley, gave a party to view the 2011, CAbi, spring line.  (CAbi is an acronym for Carol Anderson by invitation, and it is sold only at private trunk shows given in the homes of loyal CAbi hostesses.)  I attended and brought with me a close friend who was looking to buy a new wardrobe in her newer, smaller size.  I thought I would just “look!”  Hah!!  She spent a respectable amount and I spent double that.  I loved CAbi!!

The clothes were wearable, cute, mix and match-worthy and reasonably priced.  I scheduled a party of my own to share with a few friends.  At that little gathering I purchased another batch of clothes, which pretty much encompassed the complete spring line. I was ready to be dressed for anything!   I then set out to play dress-up every day in my own closet.  I let my husband know I would be shopping again in August when the fall line debuted.

This time my friend gave the first CAbi party of the season. She did in fact; give two trunk shows of CAbi clothes, back to back.  I attended the second one and did my best to get everything I would need for fall.  By the time my new clothes arrived there were already a few items I wanted to add to my collection.  I scheduled a very small party of three who were unable to attend the first two parties and finished off my shopping.  Almost.

I am not quite sure which I love more, the clothes or the shopping for the clothes.  Both experiences along with the joy I feel upon the arrival at my front door of one of the boxes with the very distinctive, pink trimmed CAbi label makes me feel just a little bit giddy!   

The whole experience of shopping with a few of my dearest friends in the cozy comfort of my own living room, curled up with my shoes off on my white sofas, while sipping a beverage and nibbling on fresh fruits or decadent treats, well, it really does not get any more fabulous than that!  Then there is the thrill of the doorbell and the fun of unwrapping my new clothes.  It feels like Christmas only twice a year or more!  And the presents are all for ME!!

The best part of the whole CAbi experience is getting dressed in the morning.  I actually have choices!  Things to wear that go anywhere I go.  Clothes that I KNOW work together and look good on me.  I have never felt so confident in getting dressed.  I don’t even mind that so many of my friends have the same items in their closets.  We all wear them differently, with different accessories and different shoes.  At the CAbi event I attended last week, EVERYONE was wearing the clothes from CAbi and no one looked the same.  I personally was the only one wearing the outfit I had on.  (I was also probably the only one not wearing white.  Old habits die-hard and it WAS after all, after labor-day!)

My husband hasn’t squawked too much about my new wardrobe purchases. CAbi is now factored into our “spending plan.”   He  also sees that I am happy and he thinks I look terrific.  For the most part, shopping CAbi has kept me away from the stores.   (I said for the MOST part.) A girl still needs to buy new shoes!!

My life is so glamorous!  It’s just not fair, lucky for me!!

 

 

 

Right-size me please!! (But not too hard God!)

“Shut up Naomi!”  (This I say to myself several times each day as Naomi is chiming in with her demands of “what about me?  Look at me!  Don’t forget me!”  She makes these demands when my higher self seems to be in control.)  Naomi is my ego.  I named her for the country singer of the same name whom I have come to love in spite of her narcissistic demeanor.  I know she has a good heart. 

I AM Naomi, except for the fame and riches.  I’m a girl who likes to wear sparkles and too much make-up and high heels even though I have absolutely no business doing any of that at my age.  Naomi is full of herself.  She pats me on the back with what a great job I’m doing, asking why no one else is making a fuss.  “Shut up Naomi! “I say again in my head.  “Jeez!  Everything is not about you!”  Naomi thinks it should be.  About me, that is.

She does not talk much when I’m striving.  Not when I’m struggling, not when it is clear that I am right-sized. Never when I am resting in true humility.  She talks to me when things are going “right.” She whispers in my ear, “look!  You’re a big shot now!  People think you know something.  It’s about time!”  Shut up!”  I say again and again.  “I’m working here.”

There is an acronym for ego; it is E G O, edging God out.  That’s Naomi.  She wants to believe she has had something, no everything to do with what is good, and sweet and clear about my life.  She wants to believe it is she who puts me on the right track and leads me out of the messes I’ve made.  I don’t think so dear!

Last month I attended a spiritual retreat.  I did not want to go however I had committed to being one of the retreat leaders so I prepared my part and showed up with a smile.  It took all of about ten minutes for me to realize that this particular retreat was EXACTLY what I needed.  (Funny how that happens.)

I had been on a fast track, running to meetings, being of service, lunching with my friends and just doing my life.  I had forgotten how restorative it can be to just slow down and notice.  The fact that the focus of this retreat included continuing to take a personal inventory and communion with my higher power in meditation was an added gift.  When I finished the retreat on Sunday I felt like a new woman.

For the next several days, maybe a week or more, I floated.  I was clear and deep in the knowledge of all things being in perfect and divine order.  I felt in touch with a “deep inner resource” that was guiding me. I was in harmony with my fellows and all of creation. That’s when Naomi got restless.  “What about me?  They should ask me!  I’m more spiritual than those other people and besides, I said it first!”  Yah, yah, yah, take a time-out, oh sparkling one! 

So today I am doing just that.  I am sparing my friends the blinding light of my presence and staying home.  No, I am not making them pay.  I am giving them and my ego Naomi, a break. I am grounding myself with the filling of bird-feeders and the slicing of peaches.   Some of us are slower than others.  Some should never reach the peak of their own perfection.  I am one of those.  God knew exactly what He/She was doing when slapping me with a lifetime of flaws and questions to unravel.  “Keep coming back,” they say around here.  It’s going to take more than one lifetime for you and your fancy friend. "But, but ...!  Oh shut up Naomi.  Sit down and give it a rest!"

My life is so glamorous!  It’s just not fair, lucky for me!!

 

Pushing IT in here.

I feel something creative stirring within me.  It could be the remnants of last night’s leg of lamb and blueberry cottage cheese-night-cap, but I’m hoping not.  I want to get dirty.  I want to make a mess and see what comes out of it.  Being able to feel this is most likely the result of beginning to get back on track.  Oh, did I mention, I’ve been a little lost and couldn’t find the track?

The last time I wrote I was telling on myself about spending.  I had faced the fact that I was out of control and just saying so out loud sent me right to Nordstrom, the catalogs, and the Internet in a frantic state of wanting to “stock up” in case I should never shop again.  Some of you related and some of you were outraged.  I was embarrassed.

Over the past couple of months I have reeled myself in, or as I like to say, “pushed it in” and guess what.  I stopped shopping and started overeating!  Yep!  I pushed it in here and it poked out there.  IT never goes away. The voice, the higher self, the "me" that wants to be heard, I tried to kill it with something outside of me. So after a full eleven months of not eating sugar (and thirty six and a half years of not drinking,) I took a little detour into Ready Whip.  Uh, huh, I had some friends over for dinner a week ago and served lovely fresh berries for desert.  There were six of us so I bought five quarts of berries and four large cans of Ready Whip, just to be on the safe side.  (Here is a tip; this is how to prepare for a binge!)

When I was dishing up the berries and cream, I decided to read the label as to the sugar content.  To my surprise and delight, there is less that one gram of sugar per serving!!  Yippee!!  That was on Saturday.  By Tuesday I had single handedly dished up, served myself and consumed all five quarts of berries and three of the four, large cans of whipped cream.  Then I read the label again, curious as I had become, about exactly what they consider to be a serving.  Shocker!  Two tablespoons!  There are eighty servings per can! Oops!  I threw away the one remaining can of unopened Ready Whip and braced myself for three long days of sugar withdrawal.  Next?  Pirate’s Booty! 

I think of Pirate’s Booty as the health food of junk food.  Innocent little air puffs made of corn and dusted with cheese.  There are one hundred sixty calories in a single serving bag.  That is hardly anything, unless you eat four bags!  Push it in here and it pokes out there.  I am running out of distractions.

My husband suggested exercise as a new distraction/ addiction.  Waaaaah!  I told him he could either have a fat wife and lots of money or a skinny, well-dressed wife and no money at all.  “Are those my only choices?”  My daughter suggested crafts.  I cannot believe it has come to this!  Crafts?

A week ago Tom made an appointment with me to show me the financial analysis he had done concerning the last ten years of our fifteen years marriage.  I put it off as long as possible and finally agreed to a meeting from 7:30 to 8:30 Monday morning.  I got up at 6:00 to prepare myself spiritually.  I lit candles at the table and came with an open mind, prepared to face the facts for the first time. 

He was very proud of the two, colored grafts he had made that illustrated our income as compared to our spending.  It was pretty, like a patriotic rainbow.  Next he showed me many, many pages of numbers in little boxes illustrating each month for ten years broken down in categories of monies spent.  The first five or six years were impressive.  There I could see the wheelbarrows full of gifts, the dry cleaning extravaganza, including bed linens and napkins and, the housekeeping and gardening that took place while I was out shopping. .

I am happy to report; things have improved over the past three or four years.  All of our/my spending is down.  The things that still needed tweaking have been tweaked.  We have a spending plan.  Part of that plan includes my not roaming Nordstrom for inspiration.  I am pretty sure they will miss me.

In the meantime I am exploring hobbies.  That’s right; Holly Hobby and I are becoming tight.  Last night Tom was working and I was bored.  I wanted to break out the Pirate’s Booty; I was already full of blueberries and cottage cheese.  Then I remembered the little red basket my daughter had so brilliantly stocked and readied for me as preparation for times such as these.  I brought it to my place on the sofa where I was engrossed in The Real Housewives and proceeded to spend the next two hours needle felting.  Don’t ask.  All I can tell you is that the pirate’s booty is still in the bag and I have a lovely doo dad. 

My life is so glamorous!  It’s just not fair, lucky for me!!

 

What happens when I announce anything!

Have you ever announced to all who know you that you are going on a diet?  For the first few days, maybe even weeks, you’re doing great!  You are planning your meals, keeping healthy, low-calorie foods at the ready, then one Sunday evening rolls around and you realize you have not been to the grocery store to prepare for the coming week.  All you’ve had to eat so far today is a pear and a piece of string cheese?  You’re hungry!   You are tired and you’re sick of the diet and damnit, you need some real food!  Sal’s pizza delivers and they can be here in half an hour. While you are waiting, you break open a box of crackers and Bam!  The diet is over and you are on a run.  You don’ t relate?  Then delete this page and go have a cookie.  God has already blessed you with normalcy.

This is sort of what has been happening to me in regards to money.  I guess I should say this is what is happening to money in regards to me.  I announced to the world that I was changing my relationship to money.  The kiss of death!

First of all, in my own defense let me say I have cut way back on the lavish gifts.  No new $350.00 packages filled with snacks from Trader Joes have gone out via UPS next day service to the kids and grandkids in Alabama.  I have also not shipped any new wardrobes or care packages of Luna bars or cheese Crunchies to the grandkids that are away at collage.  Sorry girls.

On the other hand, I personally have never in my life had such a full and complete wardrobe!  Since February I have purchased six new pairs of shoes for spring and summer, a pair of purple Ugg slippers for next winter, on sale of course, two pairs of white jeans, one with skinny legs and one with wide legs, three pair of cropped pants, one pair of cargo leggings, two pair of linen cargo pants and one pair of gray skinny jeans.  I have also purchased something like sixteen tops, one dress and seven jackets.  Then there is the new collection of “suck-it-in underwear.”  Three to be exact.  Oh, and one new nightgown, three new lipsticks and a new mascara.  Hummm! 

I sent back upon its arrival, the $450.00 worth of magic skin potion that needed to be applied with some sort of magic thingy twice daily three times a week.  Who was I kidding?  I’m lucky if I floss my teeth three times a week! A full refund is on the way!

For the house I have purchased fifteen new pillow-covers for three sofas, a lazy- Susan for the dining table and two new candles. We now own three new flower pots, one of which is to be transformed to a fountain, some lovely lemon guest soaps, two years worth of tinted moisturizer, some sparkly lighted twigs for the holidays, (next December,) and a new yellow purse. I have also purchased two new shirts for Tom.  (I’m sensing an imbalance here.)

Again, in my own defense, I have purged my closet and drawers of five garbage bags full of purses, (which I gave to Shelley to sell on eBay,) as well as dresses, jeans, tops and various, numerous other articles of clothing and shoes to be given away to friends and charity. I feel pretty great about all of this.  So what about that twelve step program for over spenders?  I still think I belong but how and where and exactly what am I “willing to go to any lengths” about anyway?  This is another moment of reckoning for me.

The first few weeks of my attendance at those money meetings found me stunned and silent.I could not believe it had "come to this!"  I mostly just sat there listening and trying to figure out what was going on.  The third week I began “keeping my numbers,” which is about writing down every penny I spend and plugging it into a category such as food, clothing, entertainment, household, etc.  I grew bored with that in mighty short order!  In the same way I have hundreds of times when embarking upon a “diet.”  In addition it proved to be not only inconvenient but a royal pain in the butt!  It made me feel poor!

I stopped writing things down after about two weeks, preferring instead to use my husband’s records from credit card bills to identify what is being spent on what.  Still, there is the cash issue. The funny thing about me is that I have a pretty good mind for arithmetic.  I can almost always come within five dollars of the total at the grocery store without writing down or counting.  I’m very good with space as anyone who has visited my living room can confirm.  I know how much I have purchased in the last two months.  It is more, not less, than usual.  Is this bad?

It is suggested by those in the know about these money-things, that it is good to have a “spending plan.”  This is different from a budget.  The reason? It keeps one from becoming anorexic and then going on a binge, by having the word “spending” in the plans title.  The truth is that I have yet to look at the little pamphlet that will tell me how to devise a spending plan.  I’m afraid it might also include limits.  What I have promised myself and my husband is that I will keep track of my spending for a solid month and then we will sit down together to come up with something reasonable for us.  Now I have to start that month over.

This plan will include monies for food, clothing, household stuff, entertainment, travel, and gifts.  I don’t even want to think about it!  What I want, is to be able to  buy what I want when I want it and believe that the money will be there with some left over for later. My version of a spending plan may not be reasonable. I think it is called magical thinking.  My husband does not believe in magic.

I talked to my sponsor a day or two ago and she told me quite clearly that I do not need to buy anything.  Anything!!  I suggested that if I focus on my creative endeavors such as writing, painting, cooking etc., that I would not want to buy things.  She agreed.   I signed up for the Santa Barbara’s writer’s conference, which is slated for June.  The registration fee was $650.00.   I think I may need a new category for my spending plan.  Higher education?  I wonder if I will need books.  

My life is so glamorous!  It is just not fair, lucky for me!!

 

 

 

Best friend, secret weapon or the beginning of the end?

I have recently been introduced to new underwear.  No, I have NOT retired my thong, though maybe I should.    Instead I have added a new article of undergarment to my already extensive collection.  The new one is called a “Yummy Tummy,” and no, it does not involve food storage.  Well not exactly

I have always been open about my life and myself.  Some would argue too much so, (as my husband often does.)  Still, I like to be up front.  Problem is that some of the recent “developments” are up front, on the side and in the back.  As in muffin tops, boob droop and back fat!  That’s right!  Even though I weigh only a few pounds more than when I graduated from high school, my body has rearranged itself in such a way as to require some squeezing and pushing in to avoid making unwanted lumps and bulges.  That is now accomplished by my new Yummy-Tummy!

Finding this little miracle was sort of an accident.  (You know the Zen saying, “When the student is ready, the teacher will appear?”  The same apparently holds true for fat.)  This is how I came to own my new garments in not one, but three colors!

I was shopping in the dress department at Nordstrom and quite accidently came across some garments with tags reading “For when you want IT to be special.”  Hell, I always want IT to be special!  These little numbers were sort of a cross between a bulletproof vest and some kind of kind of garb for a porn star.   It was like a sleeveless cami with a cut out for the girls, if you know what I mean.  I grabbed a couple of mediums and dragged my granddaughter Holland into a dressing room with me while I tried them on.

Let me just say that there was laughing, a lot of sucking it in and incontinence involved before we emerged, red faced and worn out to look for a larger size.  There were however, no lumps, bumps or bulges to be found in the vicinity of this God-awful contraption while I had it pasted to my body. 

They did not seem to have a larger size available in the dress department, so I asked the nice sales associate to please hold these for me while we trekked down to the lingerie department.  I had just located the dreaded thing when an adorable, toothpick-sized girl with humongous breasts saved me.  “Oh, you don’t want that!” she said, grabbing it from my hands.  “You don’t need that much control.  What are you wanting to hide?”  Muffin tops, I replied, knowing she would understand.  “Oh!  You need a yummy tummy!  They come in three colors and in extra long!”  Great, I said, lead me to them please.

She pushed Holland and I into a dressing room and came back with three or four yummy tummy things.  “You’re really little.” She said, “so I think a small would be right for you.”  (I wasn’t a small at birth!  I said under my breath to Holland.)  I took off my clothes and held the thing up to the middle of my torso.  There was a hands width of bare skin exposed on either side of the yummy tummy.  Still, what did I know?  I pulled it over my head and right away I knew I was in trouble. 

When it got to my shoulders, Holland stood up and started pulling, while I tried not to pee my pants or pass gas, but to no avail.  I watched my blubber being swallowed up like the filling of a soft-served cone by the magic-hold of this mysterious garment.  Then there was a knock on the dressing room door.  “How’s it going?  Does it work?”  Ah, I’m not sure.  Am I supposed to be able to inhale?  I think I need the next size up.

This time the cute thing came into the dressing room to assist.  She explained that one should never pull it on over one’s head because we want “everything” to be pointing up!  This required stepping in and getting it over my hips.  Okay, time out!

I have had three children and my hips are the real deal.  There are bones in there that used to hurt people.  These lethal weapons are now covered with a soft padding disguised as flesh.  Getting this five-inch wide contraption over my legs, rear end and hips required hoisting by all three of us.  What would I do if I had to get dressed alone?   Believe me, getting it on was the least of my worries!  I took a look at the new, svelte, bulge-less me in the mirror.  This could work! 

The girl stepped out of the dressing room and Holland and I looked at each other and the new yummier -me in the mirror.  “Can you help me get it off?”  I begged.  “Okay grandma, don’t make any wise cracks.  That doesn’t help!”  We pulled and pulled and finally unleashed the beast.  Lets go I said.  I need a nap!

Last night I tried on a pair of linen cargo pants I had just purchased on line.  They fit perfectly through the legs and bottom but there was spillage over the waistband that was not camouflaged by my new, red top.  I walked in to show my husband and get his opinion.  What do you think? I asked making a full turn.  “Well,” he said treading softly on dangerous ground,  “those muffin tops are never a good look.” “Wait right there.” I said I’d be backing a minute.

I dug around in the Nordstrom bag that sat still waiting in my closet and pulled out the nude yummy tummy.  I stripped down to my underwear, stepped in to the thing and pulled it up.  Next I put on the new pants and the cute red top.  There were no lumps or bumps to be found.

What do you think now?  I said, proudly doing a twirl.  “Well, it looks great!  What happened?”  I pulled up my top and showed Tom my secret. “ Is it comfortable?” he asked wincing a little.  Nothing is comfortable in fashion I retorted.  That’s not the point!  How does it look?  He was afraid to go there.  “It looks fine.”  He said with a shrug.  “Chicken!” I responded.

A few minutes ago I called and ordered the pants in a larger size.  I’ll try them on when they get here and then send the loser back.  In the meantime I’m wearing my black winter cords with a black and white striped, spring top.  I’ll leave it up to masses to imagine what’s underneath.  I guess some things should just remain a secret.

My life is so glamorous!  It’s just not fair, lucky for me!!

 

 

Just a step away from pickling.

This past weekend I quietly passed into a new phase of my life.  (No, I am not yet qualified for medi-care!)  Still, this was a bit of a passage of sorts and one I would never have predicted.   I have now joined the ranks of artists and boomers with time on their hands, who in desperation and wanting more to do, have fallen in love with crafting.  I know!  It sounds so “Holly Hobby!”   I am right up there with the people who make jam and pickles, knit their own mittens and make quilts.

This is not to insinuate that these hobbies are bad in any way.  They most surely are not.  In fact some of the most talented and successful artists are quilters and jewelry makes and I’m sure Mrs. Smuckers began her long and brilliant career, as a jam- making-homemaker of some kind.  It is just that my blog is called The Real Life Adventures of a Former Glamour Girl, and somehow “crafting” does not sound glamorous or sexy, at least not to me.  The contradiction was seen in the teacher of the workshop, Alexis Garrett of FERNANDFLOWER.com, who was sexy and young, breathtakingly beautiful and ripely with child.

Still, there I was, bright and early on Saturday morning, sitting down at a table with lovely, fellow “crafters,” some of whom were as new to crafting as I, learning to sew on paper to make wonderful art in the form of greeting cards.  Yes you read it correctly, I said SEW.

Now you may not know this about me, but I was once a member of the Future Homemakers of America.  In fact, I once held the office of Treasurer of the Future Homemakers of America for the state of California.  (I know the whole treasurer thing is odd considering my recent inauguration into DA.  That will be another story for another day.)  The point is that I know how to sew.  I have sewn clothes for my children and myself and I have even made a complicated, plaid shirt for one of my former husbands.   I have actually taught classes entitled “How to Decorate and Sew with Sheets and Towels.”  I am a girl with a textured past. 

I had no expectations about how I would do as a creator of unique greeting card art.  I did however expect to have fun!  This expectation was based on a previous workshop I attended recently on beeswax candle making which was also hosted by Cathy and Stacy of summerlandmercantile.com.  I had so much fun dipping wicks into hot beeswax, hanging them to dry on an old fashioned clothes drying rack then leaving the class with ten lovely candles that I had made by myself.  I was pretty sure I would at least have some laughs with the card-sewing.  There was also food to be served so it was a win for me no matter what.

The process included using rubber stamps to create our own designs and then sewing on bits of fabric, ribbons, old photographs and vintage postage stamps to make unique cards that were actually beautiful!  Oh, and we got to use glitter-glue!  This was the crowning achievement for a girl who loves sparkle!  I even used some painted waxed paper and bits of inner facing to create a filmy, illusionary effect on some of my creations. I found when by sitting down at one machine in a room filled with sewing machines, that sewing was like riding a bicycle.  It all came back to me in an instant.

The most surprising and gratifying part of the experience was how it took me out of my head and brought me into my body in a way that was truly meditative and peaceful. There was little chatting among the artists, only an occasional ooh or aah over another's work.  I left the workshop clutching my eleven hand made cards and envelopes feeling accomplished, renewed and strangely, happy.  The process brought out a part of me I had heretofore never met.  Call me Holly Hobby, but the truth is, I loved it!

My life is so glamorous!  It's just not fair, lucky for me!!

 

 

Preview of THE morning-after.

Over the past several years I have come to think of “heaven” as the morning after a really good party.  You know the scenario; we sit around in our pj’s, curled up with our morning lattes’, on fluffy white sofas with our nearest and dearest of the honored guests and family.  We sit for hours, rehashing the events, the glamour, the setting, the miss-haps and the gossip of the previous nights’- goings on.  It is my very favorite part of a party!!

That is how I felt this past week when I had lunch with my friend Paige and her husband Jack, and how I feel whenever I talk to Leeder, Tayo, Bobbi,  Marcia,  Rich or Ed or any of the friends with whom I have a long and colorful history.  Thursday may have been the first time Paige and I have seen each other since we graduated from high school nearly forty-seven years ago.  We had a lot of filling-in to do.

Paige and I met in the fifth grade when we both became Ticktockers.    As I’ve mentioned before, Ticktockers is the daughter’s branch of the mother-daughter philanthropic organization, National Charity League.  It is also where Paige and I were taught to be ladies, or at least that was the goal.

I remember the first day of ticktockers because I was perhaps the youngest girl in attendance, (even though I was by far the tallest, with Paige a close second,) at age eleven.  Ours was a group of fifth and sixth grade girls, who came together once a month from that time until we graduated from high school, for the purpose of doing service in our community and to learn social graces.  (I guess they knew it would take more than one meeting.)   Paige and I became fast friends that first day even though we lived in neighboring cities. 

At the age of sixteen, my family moved.  I was suddenly thrust into a new high school, where Paige was one of the two people I knew.  She instantly became my go-to-girl for lunch or confidance-sharing or talk about boys .  It was the early sixties, before Rove V Wade and during the time when Kennedy was assassinated.  My bond with Paige was deep and honest.  She was the voluptuous blonde to my flat-chested brunette. We shared the experience of our Mothers being friends and the fact that our training for life was similar, if not identical; how we looked, how we behaved, how we shopped, how we set a beautiful table. These qualities took precedence over careers.  It was a different time, especially for women.  Neither of our mothers worked outside the home.

Paige and I were among the few of our friends who married and had children right out of high school.  We kept track of each other for a while, hearing snippets of each other's lives off and on throughout the years, but never actually seeing each other.  When I received a comment on one of my blog-posts last summer, I squealed with delight and recognition.  She said she had Googled “Ticktockers” and my face had popped up.  (I love the Internet!)  We got in touch by phone and just hearing her voice was like going home. 

So last week when I received an email from Paige saying that she and Jack were driving down the coast and would like to have lunch I was thrilled!  I would have moved heaven and earth to see them.

I stood at the hostess podium at the Four Seasons Biltmore in Santa Barbara and jumped when I heard a familiar voice say my name.  “Kathy?”  Paige!  Jack!  Oh my God you both look the same!  Well, we all looked a little softened by the years.  Jack’s hair and beard were gray but he still looked the athlete he was in high school.  Paige was the same as I remembered her to be.  She was  beautiful, stylish, poised, funny and real.  It felt so good to be together again.

We sat outside for a half hour or more before we took a look at the menu.  We talked about the “party” our lives had been so far.   Paige and Jack, still married, had raised three great kids and traveled the world.  I had done the same only I’d done it alone and with a serial of husbands.  Neither of us drinks anymore. We both have grandchildren we adore.

We laughed at how we still love to shop, agreeing that it was in our “training.”  We spoke of our mothers who are now both gone and how we believed they would be happy we were together.  Before we parted, Jack took our picture.  Our arms were draped around each other like sisters, fighting back tears.

I would like to think of the end of my life as being just that way.  Where we all have a big reunion and talk about how much fun we had, what we wore, what THEY wore and how it all worked out perfectly.  I imagine saying something like; “We made it!  I want to do it again!”  Or “Can you believe what a blast that was?”   Or “I think I really got it that time!”  Or, “I am SO never going on that ride next time!”  It is somewhat like the morning after a great wedding.  The events of our lives that were years in the planing that are over in a blur and only the pictures remain.

How is it that nearly fifty years have passed?  Most of it was fun.  We did do a great job!  Would we do it again the exact same way?  Who knows?  I know I will see Paige again one day.  Maybe Tom and I will visit them in northern California or maybe it will be at some other reunion.  Maybe it will be the morning-after rehash in the after-life.  I think I still have a little work to do in this class, maybe a lot.  Still, I can’t wait to see the yearbook!  I know it will all go by too fast anyway.

My life is so glamorous!  It’s just now fair, lucky for me!!