Hey Beautiful!

“If you can’t see anything beautiful about yourself, get a better mirror.”

----Kendall Jenner

OK, I never imagined this space would have a quote from a tween model, but Kardashian antics aside, she has a point. Sure, it’s easy for someone who makes a gajillion dollars a minute getting her picture taken to say, “Oh everyone is gorgeous” but still if beauty is in the eye of the beholder, why are we so critical of ourselves when we look in the mirror, or at pictures of ourselves?

Recently, a friend of mine, who is an artist, asked me (and several other friends) to be in some pictures wearing her art. Yes, that’s right, wearable art. Typically, for me, wearable art is that smudge of color on every white shirt I own, usually from dropping a pen or spilling coffee. Michelle Jones Brown, a local artist and founder of Shipyard Art, has created a line of clothing with images from her work. She wanted to showcase all kinds of women, for a post about her leggings. The ones she chose for me to wear are called Blue Ivy, and they are amazing. Literally, waves of color, blues, greens, and yellows are all over the fabric. The other women had bright colors too, because, if you’re wearing a work of art, it should stand out, right?

Being in front of a camera is never comfortable for me. For one thing, I am no Kendall Jenner. In many ways, that is a good thing, but still, no matter how hard I try, I can’t smile without looking stoned or in pain. I have a big Irish potato face; it’s genetic somehow that I’m so pale, I almost glow in the dark. While I love my red hair and green eyes, Michelle can’t really shoot me from the nose up if she wants to show off the leggings. I was hoping maybe she had one of those magic cameras that could make me look something other than my real shape and size. Isn’t there an app for that on the iPhone? Well, whatever, photoshoot day arrived, and there we all were, in her backyard, looking fabulous.

In addition to being an artist, Michelle knows how to make someone comfortable. It’s called “wine and snacks,” and it was a great help. I hadn’t met any of the other models, but when five women of varying ages and sizes are all about to go in front of a camera, you bond pretty fast. Sure, some women can be catty or petty, but not these ladies. That’s the thing about really great women. They don’t tear each other down; they help each other up. Each of them was also an artist or engaged in other creative work, much of it focused on wellness and community — no divas in this bunch.

The pictures have since been selected and made into a promotional video for the clothes. As always, while I loved how everyone else looked, I still winced at my photos. Technically, they were superb, but we are all our own worst critics.  Guess what? There is no magic camera and no app that’s going to make me look like the cover of Vogue. It’s just not going to happen, and that’s OK with me. Sure, it would be nice if my smile didn’t sometimes look like I was chewing on gravel, but hey, what you see is what you get, at least in photos of me, so there you go. Big loud Irish chick, face to match. Does that make me “beautiful?” Not even; it makes me real.

There are constant reminders all around us of the arbitrary and always changing standards of beauty. Is it being six feet tall, 110 pounds, and strutting down a runway in the latest designer fashions? Perhaps, for some. However, it takes a real artist to not only make beautiful work but turn that work into wearable beauty. It doesn’t matter how old you are or what size you are; what matters is that you put something out into the world that is gorgeous and vibrant and makes people happy. It can be a painting, a sculpture, a book, a child, or anything else. Perhaps Kendall is right; there is always something beautiful to see, we just have to look harder or through another lens. Thanks, Michelle, and the rest of you legging ladies for a fun shoot on a bright sunny day. Oh, and if you want some local beauty? Check out Shipyardart.com and treat yo’self!!

Carry Your Childhood With You

“If you carry your childhood with you, you never become old.”

---Tom Stoppard

People say that “old” is a relative term. I’m not sure about that. Just this morning, I was rooting through my fridge to get some leftovers to bring for lunch. A couple of days ago, there was a nice chicken leg in a covered dish, with some garlic broccoli rabe, and it would make an excellent lunch, right? Not so much. When I took the cover off, all that remained was a fossilized piece of congealed meat with something that looked like it might have once been a vegetable. Or a lab experiment. Clearly, I need to start putting labels on the leftovers, because there was no doubt that this food was old. Super old, like give-you-food-poisoning old. It’s a good thing that people don’t age the way leftovers do, cold and alone, slowly becoming unrecognizable. Wait...omg...that actually happens sometimes. OK, I'll work on that next

 I’m 55 as of last week. Somehow between running around in my yard as a kid, skipping through high school summers on my beach, going to college, getting a job, and having kids of my own, more than half a century has passed. Does that mean I’m old? Who knows? I remember a woman I worked for in my first “grown-up” job. I was an investigator for the Department of Labor, working on cases of racketeering, embezzlement, fraud. At one point, I was the youngest person in my job in the country. Joan, who became a dear friend and mentor, celebrated her “speed limit” birthday one year at an office lunch party. I remember thinking how amazing she was. Her career was legendary among the rest of us new agents; there wasn’t anything she either didn’t know or couldn’t find out. Now I’m the same age Joan was then, but why do I still feel like a kid? Maybe it’s immaturity, and I just need to grow up?

Nah. It’s not that. Joan used to say all the time that it’s not the number of years you’ve been around; it’s what you do with them. One thing that hasn’t happened for me is giving up certain pieces of my childhood. Who would do that? On my bed sits a very worn-out stuffed dog. His name is Quincy because I got him at a toy store in Quincy Market when I was ten. I don’t go to sleep without him. Quincy was standing by when I had my kids, when I had my hip replaced, and when I had cancer. He’s been through it all with me. Talk about looking your age? That poor pup is showing his age. An overzealous pug got at him once, and I had to stitch him back up. The pug was banished to her crate, and Quincy recovered. He no longer has eyes, and his fur isn’t white anymore, it’s a faded dingy dishwater color, but he’s still here.

Maybe it’s silly to be so attached to a piece of cloth, but I don’t care, and it’s not just me. Asking around among my friends, it turns out that many of them have a “woobie.” Seriously, almost everyone has something stashed away from childhood. A favorite blanket, a stuffed animal, a doll, or that last Matchbox car they can’t throw away. Considering how crazy our world is getting, is it so wrong to hold on to something meaningful from a time when our biggest worry was getting the good swing at recess?

There are days when it’s so tempting to tuck Quincy under my arm and bring him everywhere. I can’t be the only one who could use a little furry friend during a stressful meeting or a challenging day, right? When I see toddlers in the supermarket, wearing footy pajamas and carrying a teddy bear, I am downright envious. I want to high five them and say, “You are living your best life, you go!” Jammies and Quincy might not go over well at a staff meeting or an interview, though, and people probably would stare at me and think, “She’s off her head for sure, she’s carrying around a stuffed dog.” Also, I have a terrible habit of losing things, so if Quincy ever got misplaced or, God forbid, left behind, I’d be devastated.

We should never have to put away anything that brings back good memories and provides comfort. Yes, I’m 55, and I have a stuffed animal I can’t sleep without, so what? You can have my Quincy dog when you pry it from my cold, dead hand. Until then, he’s with me.

Horrors Of Halloween!

"Backward, turn backward; O Time, in your flight; make me a child again; just for to-night!" - Elizabeth Akers Allen

Trick or treat! Again? Can't I just skip the sugar overload, and the crappy costumes and go right into November without all the Halloween horror?

I don't mean to be such a downer, I remember liking Halloween - when I was eight. What's not to like then? You get to be out after dark, roaming the streets with your friends, getting candy and dressing up. When you’re eight, that’s a win.

Now? I’m the grown up, so I have to pull off a lot more than just deciding between being a princess or a zombie. And if Im a good pug mom, I have to dress up the dog too. This year I had to think of a costume for an office party. #JustBeYourself 

First, it's the costumes. Store-bought or Pinterest perfect homemade? I've had to make a lot of choices as a mom but this one gets me every year. Without fail, each October I say, "I can make something better than those cheap ones they sell." It's some kind of fall psychosis that takes over once the first pumpkins come out and the leaves begin to turn. I actually begin to believe I can sew and craft.

It starts in September, when I leaf through magazines that promise, "Easy costumes you can make!" Not for nothing, if they were easy to make, there wouldn't be six pages of instructions in the magazine and a supply list requiring a trip to the supermarket, the hardware store and the recycling station. You just have to know these magazines had the entire art department, six interns and a general contractor making these fun and fabulous costumes. Martha Stewart was probably beating them with organic raffia.

 I have a whole book that has "No-Sew" crafts in it, many of which are costume ideas. Lies, all of it. No matter how good you are with paint, glue and tin foil, there is no way an air conditioner box, some dryer hose and forty-two Dixie cups are ever going to make your kid look like a robot. Trust me on this. Your kid will look like some post-apocalyptic junkyard dog.

And going to the store to get a costume isn't always the answer. I took my children to the Halloween store one year and it was eye opening. For girls, I could choose from "Sponge Babe" like the cartoon, only a girl or "Naughty Wizard" from the Harry Potter theme. Do we really need to put a nine-year old in anything that has "babe" or "naughty" in the name? That scares me more than any ghost could.

 

I could have gone with a patriotic theme and gotten her the military costume, "Major Flirt" which was olive green with a shiny black studded belt. No lie, there was a matching studded dog collar sold separately. That year I wound up purchasing a long black dress with flowing sleeves and she will be a "Vampire Girl."

For boys there are more options, but almost all of them included a weapon or fake blood. I'm fine with my son wanting to be scary, that is the point after all, but was it necessary that he carry a knife dripping with fake blood? We compromised and he went as the Scream guy, minus the knife, but with the mask that drips blood.

 

Once that battle is won, it's on to the candy. Should I try to be the "fun" house on the block and give out full size candy bars?  Or should I go healthy and give out bags of pretzels and sugar free gum? One year I tried to find a middle ground and I gave out granola bars but the cool ones that had marshmallows and chocolate drizzled on them. One trick or treater actually said to me "Did you run out of candy?" This year I'm going with little bags of gummy ghosts and pumpkins. Take it or leave it, SpongeBabe.

Finally, there is the house to decorate. Whatever happened to a few jack-o-lanterns and maybe a witch on the door? Houses now are strewn with spider webs, moving skeletons with light up eyes, fake body parts coming up out of the lawn and even sound effects. I'm sticking with the one idea I ever saw in a magazine that was easy AND fun. I plop white grocery bags over the round tops of my fence posts, snap an elastic over it and give them eyes with a Sharpie pen. Ghost posts!

Maybe I would enjoy Halloween more if I looked at it the way the kids do, the way I used to. One great night, racing around your neighborhood, with the wind blowing and a pillow case full of chocolate. Spooky fun, a carved pumpkin, and a scarecrow costume of my father's old clothes stuffed with leaves. Pardon the bad pun, but I think it's time I got back in the "spirit" of Halloween.

I think I'll start with a bag of fun size Mounds bars and once I'm through with those, I'll move on to the Skittles. Once the sugar crash from that hits, I'll be a right witch for sure!