Tag Archives: fashion

The Glameris Life

viviHow exactly did we end up HERE, you ask?

Well.

Last night, Vivi crowed, “Mommy!  I laid out my own clothes for tomorrow!”  I went into her room to ooh and ahh over her being so responsible…but all she had laid out was a diaphanous sequined sundress and a pair of pink high heels.

“Oh, sweetie.  I’m so proud of you for taking care of this.  I love the way this dress looks on you.  It’s for school, though, not dress up, so you’ll need to wear something under it, like some leggings or shorts.

She thought that was a grand idea.  She dug around in the “bottoms” drawer and came up with a pair of old brown yoga pants.

Okey dokey.

“How about a little jacket for the morning because it might be chilly?”  She frowned at the blue butterfly hoodie that I pulled from the closet.

“Can I just wear a shirt under it?”

Sure you can.

“I know you love these pink high heels, but they’re only for dress up, not for school.  You won’t be able to run or play or climb on things if you try to wear those.”

She brightened.  “I can wear my OTHER pink shoes!”

Of course you can.

So when she emerged in this riotously wonderful ensemble this morning, the only thing I could say was, “You look FANTASTIC!”  She smiled and spun a little so that the sundress flared out.

Her sister, lounging on the couch in a cloud of teenage disdain, asked, “Is it Tacky Day?”

Vivi looked at her in confusion and answered, “No, it’s Tuesday.”

________________________

Do you let your kids out of the house in their own creations?  I do, but I worry.  I worry that someone will make fun of her.  Someone will break her heart.  Someone will think she’s weird.  But I shut my mouth because I want her to pay more attention to the bold voice within her than she pays to the timid voices around her.  Especially the frightened one in my head that says, “Fit in. Lay low. Don’t attract the attention of the carnivores.”

And wouldn’t you know, Vivi’s schoolwork folder contained an essay that made me think we might be on the right track:

ALL ABOUT ME

     By Vivi

I am a book worm.

I am nice to others.  My mom

sas I am glameris.  I have lots

of talints.  I love to play

Dragon City on my sisters ipad.

If you say Im alwasy an arihead,

your rong.  I stay as calm as in

egal.  Im sometimes loud but

I can be qiet too.

 

This is the drawing she did to go along with her essay.  She drew herself as a lion, surrounded by a mane of “adjtives” that describe her:

vivi lion

 

She’s glameris and frindly and amaginitiv and talinted.  Most days, my only hope is to keep her spirit intact.  She’s ALREADY OK.

She’s not wasting time worrying about carnivores because she’s the straight up Queen of the Jungle.

(And if I said that to her, she would correct me to point out that lions do not live in jungles; they live on the grassy savannas of Africa.)

The Sun Was Bright That Day

It’s easy to look back at grainy black and white photographs of times gone by and let the difference imposed by the medium convince me that those times were different.  As if my grandparents wore only gray and lived in gray houses with gray shrubs outside and gray cake for birthdays.  As if yellow and orange were invented in 1963.  

It’s easy to keep those times at a further distance because everything I see in those images shouts “NOT LIKE YOU!”  

Then I see images like this one: 

fair ladies

This was taken around 1940, using a brand new invention called Kodachrome (color film).  As my friend, Cindy, said:  “I look at them and my mind just can’t believe they are in color. My brain is telling me that photos from that time period are supposed to be black and white. It’s a weird feeling when looking at them.”  

Pink satin!  Gold braid!  A piece of cardboard to keep the green grass from staining the white satin of your skirt.  A thin gold bracelet.  A sparkly ring.  Sun on a calf and the peak of a thigh.  Shadows and squinting into that bright bright sun.  

They had never seen a television or heard of World War Two.  Franklin Delano Roosevelt was their president, again.

Imagine the same picture in black and white.  Oh wait!  I have software that can make that happen:

fair ladies bw

Now they look like 1940.  I notice the hairstyles and the sheen of the satin, but the pink has disappeared into the myth of “they were not like us.”  

This is what my grandmothers would have looked like in their younger days.  Sitting on the grass, in the sun, at the fair.  

Just like us.  

My Mourning Jacket

My Mourning Jacket

My Mourning Jacket

While I was digging around in my closet to find the Cancer Pants, this silk jacket tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I might be so kind as to share its story, too.  It’s a story that goes all the way back to Berlin in World War II.  Then it rushes forward to one of the saddest moments of my life.

I’m not much for Church with a capital C, but I do enjoy old churches, especially quiet ones.  In the center of bustling Berlin, smack in the middle of its busiest shopping street–Kurfürstendamm–stands the ruin of a church.  It’s the Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church, built in 1892 and destroyed by Allied bombs in 1943.  The shattered tower of the original church still stands as a memorial to the war and its losses.  Next to the old tower, a new modernistic column rises from the traffic.  From the outside, I found this new tower repugnant–like a silo.  Berliners aren’t all fond of the design–it’s often called “The Lipstick and the Powder Box.”

Berlin-Kaiser-Wilhelm-Gedaechtniskirche-1-a19772025

But inside…oh inside there is peace and joy and beauty, all built pane by pane from the pain left to Germany after the war.  The walls are made of honeycomb concrete to keep out the noise from the street.  Suspended inside the honeycomb are over 21,000 panes of glass, mostly blue, but shot through with red, green and gold.  Like those beads that I talked about after the Boston Marathon bombings.

Richard and I visited there on a sunny spring afternoon.  Stepping inside was like walking inside a kaleidoscope.  I sat on one of the simple pews and let the peace enter my heart.  In that same week, we had been to Prague, where my heart was broken in the Jewish Quarter, then on to Dresden, where I faced the reality of what American firebombs had done to that beautiful city, then on to Berlin with Checkpoint Charlie, the Brandenburg Gate, and the Reich-stag.  The lime blossoms along Unter den Linden.  The pilfered archaeological treasures at the Pergamon Museum.  Everything that week was related to war and my heart had grown heavy with trying to take it all in.  This broken church gave me sanctuary.

Glass designed by Gabriel Loire

Glass designed by Gabriel Loire

It might be my imagination, but I think I recall that some of the glass from the bombed Kaiser Wilhelm Church was collected from the ruins and incorporated in the new windows.  Even it it’s not true, it should be.  

A few months after that trip to Germany, I found the “stained glass” silk jacket.  It reminded me of the blue windows in Berlin.  

Richard died on March 16, 2005, at about 6:30 in the evening.   I slept on the couch that night because I couldn’t sleep in our bed.  My cousin, Annette, came across the street, gathered up the sheets and washed them for me that night.  She knew what to do.  

After his parents woke early, I retreated to our room and closed the door.  I crawled up in the rented hospital bed, curled into a tight ball, and cried myself back to sleep.  There over the place where his heart had stopped beating.  I slept so soundly and woke rested after only two hours.  His father knocked on the door to tell me it was time to go to the funeral home and see to arrangements.  I asked if he could go without me but I had to be there–because we had married, I was his next of kin.  His own father couldn’t sign the papers.  I had to.  

I put on my stained glass jacket.  Ever since then, I think of that day, those papers, when I see that beautiful jacket.  How my hand shook and hesitated over the cremation request. The moment when I had to commit the body I had loved so well to oblivion.  How his father steadied me with the idea that this fire, this final fire, would be the thing to clear his body of the cancer he had fought so bravely.  Like a child, I wiped my tears on the sleeve of that silk jacket, and they blended with the blue, the red, the green, the gold.   

Jenny’s Fighting Hitler and Looking Great Doing It!

Jenny on the Job

Image Courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Ladies, your busy schedule–what with working in a munitions factory AND keeping the home fires burning–is no excuse for not being fresh as a daisy.  Please remember to shower before slipping into your brogans, coveralls and…what is that red thing, veal cutlets?  

(I really have no room to talk.  I woke up late yesterday and my beauty routine consisted of a double dose of Secret and a baby wipe to the face.)  

Jenny on the Job

Image Courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Nothing is more important to wartime productivity than eight hours of restful sleep, girls!  So slip into your peignoir and wrap your hair around some pork rinds (if you have the ration points).  

Jenny on the Job

Image Courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Styles designed for VICTORY!  Make THAT work, Heidi Klum.  

Jenny on the Job

Image Courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Girl!  Where did you get those shoes?  I tried kitten heels but they kept getting wedged in the scaffolding.  

We’re halfway through the work week and here’s Jenny’s advice thus far:

  1. Eat a man size meal.
  2. Don’t act like monkeys in the bathroom, nasty.  
  3. Wash that thang.
  4. Get to bed.  Nothing good happens after midnight.
  5. Denim coveralls and snood are optional but white gloves are mandatory.  
  6. Leave the platform stilettos at home, Miss Kardashian.  

I can get behind that plan!