I have a darling client who has become a friend. She is vivacious, cute, funny, and straight-out honest. She recently attended a high school class reunion. She stopped in to tell me about it and even brought a few photos.
After she had explained who was who and what all they had done she looked me right in the eye and said "I have one word of advice for you: Moisturize!" My left eyebrow shot up, which it has all of my life when I am reacting to something said or done that is unexpected or doubted or astonishing and I simply looked at her in that "Huh?" kind-of-way.
"I love all these girls to death. We have been so close all these years and we stick together like family. But, my word, we are in our 70's and their skin looks pathetic and dry. Lines are running all over the place so their faces and necks like road maps and all the men kept telling me how wonderful I looked. I just wanted to tell my friends to get a clue." She looked at me in all sincerity like a teacher advising a student. She punctuated her message by punching her finger three times in the air at me. "Moisturize. Moisturize. Moisturize."
I assured her... geez, I promised her... that I have since I was 14 and that I would never, ever stop. She patted my hand and told me I was indeed a "good girl". I accepted her praise with a big smile knowing I had dodged that bullet....and feeling like I should be rewarded with a good old-fashioned tummy scratching or at the very least have my ears rubbed!
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Got a Flash!!! (...and I don't mean "Hot")
Creativity. Can happen anytime. Any place. Such as a kitchen counter at 11:32 pm on a Tuesday night. (Hint Hint) And, yes, I have to admit I am feeling a teeny-weeny bit proud of myself at the moment. Plus I can't wait to share it with all of you!
Remember the window treatment tip I gave you (refer back to 4-28-09)?? Well if you loved that one you'll be thrilled about this one!! See what you think: I needed to replace the batteries in a clock. Took it out to the kitchen. Went to the drawer where I keep all the new batteries. Grabbed two AA's and put them on the counter beside the clock. Slid open the bottom panel, removed the dead cells and laid them on the counter as well. I stood looking at the four batteries lying in close proximity to each other ~ all four of which happened to be labeled exactly the same. I would bet that each of us has experienced this quandary at least once....maybe twice truth be told....or even three (confessed totally under extreme conditions of duress, of course)...wondering which was which, the old versus the new.
Lucky for me I did know. Whew. But I decided I didn't want to experience that pang of angst again. ** FLASHING LIGHT BULB IN-THE-BRAIN TIME** (You are gonna love this. You are going to embrace this. Really!! Prepare to be amazed.) This incredible idea spurred me to carry the clock and panel into the bathroom. Selected one of my favorite nail polish shades ~ OPI's You're Such a Kabuki Queen. Very hot. Very pink. Perfect for summer bare-toe days. Oops! Sorry. Back to the subject at hand. (Focus, girl. Focus.) I put a dot of the polish on the two new cells. Voila! Problem solved. I can now just pop these out in the future when they are dead and it won't matter if I drop them in the wastebasket right away before reaching for new ones or if the new and old get mixed up. Any confusion will be eliminated by placing this designation on the fresh ones after installation.
Logical. Makes perfect sense, doesn't it? Hey! Why don't you try it? Go and mark the batteries in use around you right now with nail polish, spray paint, whatever is permanent and handy. I sure do like 'easy'. Don't you?
Remember the window treatment tip I gave you (refer back to 4-28-09)?? Well if you loved that one you'll be thrilled about this one!! See what you think: I needed to replace the batteries in a clock. Took it out to the kitchen. Went to the drawer where I keep all the new batteries. Grabbed two AA's and put them on the counter beside the clock. Slid open the bottom panel, removed the dead cells and laid them on the counter as well. I stood looking at the four batteries lying in close proximity to each other ~ all four of which happened to be labeled exactly the same. I would bet that each of us has experienced this quandary at least once....maybe twice truth be told....or even three (confessed totally under extreme conditions of duress, of course)...wondering which was which, the old versus the new.
Lucky for me I did know. Whew. But I decided I didn't want to experience that pang of angst again. ** FLASHING LIGHT BULB IN-THE-BRAIN TIME** (You are gonna love this. You are going to embrace this. Really!! Prepare to be amazed.) This incredible idea spurred me to carry the clock and panel into the bathroom. Selected one of my favorite nail polish shades ~ OPI's You're Such a Kabuki Queen. Very hot. Very pink. Perfect for summer bare-toe days. Oops! Sorry. Back to the subject at hand. (Focus, girl. Focus.) I put a dot of the polish on the two new cells. Voila! Problem solved. I can now just pop these out in the future when they are dead and it won't matter if I drop them in the wastebasket right away before reaching for new ones or if the new and old get mixed up. Any confusion will be eliminated by placing this designation on the fresh ones after installation.
Logical. Makes perfect sense, doesn't it? Hey! Why don't you try it? Go and mark the batteries in use around you right now with nail polish, spray paint, whatever is permanent and handy. I sure do like 'easy'. Don't you?
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Fantasies and Window Shopping
How many times have you walked by a shop and stopped because a selection of merchandise caught your eye. Whether it be clothing or shoes or jewelry or artwork or home furnishings doesn't matter. You stop. You take a second look at whatever intrigued you, musing over the color, line, material, whatever. Pretending that price doesn't matter you contemplate its purchase. Sometimes you walk in and examine the item closer. A few times you might even take it home. More often you put it back down on the display deciding that today isn't the day. At times you regret leaving it behind. Others not so much.
Boutiques embody the "love~hate" thing for me. Depending on my mood or location I can find boutiques either intimidating or enticing. They tend to be small in space with clerks who hover. None of the above are condusive to 'invisible' shopping. What I mean is I like to enter a store, acknowledge the salesperson then quietly discover what treasures are to be found by myself. Undisturbed. I expect the prices to be higher as these specialized stores have more overhead than a large chain. Don't mind that. I like the little guy.
Sunday I was in the vicinity of the Pine Tree Barn just south of Wooster, OH (www.pinetreebarn.com). Ever been there? You must go. Sits on State Route 226 amid a few houses and farmland. Started out as an actual barn remodeled to offer country accessories back when that was the trend of the day. They also grew and sold Christmas trees on the surrounding acreage. After several years of morphing I find this place to be extremely exciting - the inventory is endless, the mix sophisticated, the vibe energizing. Every twist, turn and room captivates. On the lower level is a womens clothing and accessory area. Not large but great variety, color and style. My eye was drawn to an unusual top displayed on a three-drawer chest. Never had I seen anything like it. I was pulled over to it by some undeniable gravitational pull. (Go to: www.magicscarf.com) Totally unique this fabric origami is a work of art on two levels. When it is lying flat there is such a incredible sculptural quality to the intricate design that you feel compelled to hang it in a lucite frame as a captivating wall decoration. But when worn the unseen, thus unexpected, second color is exposed which draws the eye in a most dramatic fashion.
Now the surprise. The icing on the cake. $23.95. Let me repeat that: $23.95. I expected a much higher price. Truth be told I was hesitant to check the price tag. I was shocked. Better yet... thrilled! I plucked that gorgeous garment right off the display and walked with firm purpose to the dressing room. Could not believe how delightful the light-as-a-feather fabric felt against my skin. Only one word came to mind: Mine.
Moral of the story? Let your eye discover what it will. Follow that serendipitous path. Treasure may well sit at the end of the trail.
Boutiques embody the "love~hate" thing for me. Depending on my mood or location I can find boutiques either intimidating or enticing. They tend to be small in space with clerks who hover. None of the above are condusive to 'invisible' shopping. What I mean is I like to enter a store, acknowledge the salesperson then quietly discover what treasures are to be found by myself. Undisturbed. I expect the prices to be higher as these specialized stores have more overhead than a large chain. Don't mind that. I like the little guy.
Sunday I was in the vicinity of the Pine Tree Barn just south of Wooster, OH (www.pinetreebarn.com). Ever been there? You must go. Sits on State Route 226 amid a few houses and farmland. Started out as an actual barn remodeled to offer country accessories back when that was the trend of the day. They also grew and sold Christmas trees on the surrounding acreage. After several years of morphing I find this place to be extremely exciting - the inventory is endless, the mix sophisticated, the vibe energizing. Every twist, turn and room captivates. On the lower level is a womens clothing and accessory area. Not large but great variety, color and style. My eye was drawn to an unusual top displayed on a three-drawer chest. Never had I seen anything like it. I was pulled over to it by some undeniable gravitational pull. (Go to: www.magicscarf.com) Totally unique this fabric origami is a work of art on two levels. When it is lying flat there is such a incredible sculptural quality to the intricate design that you feel compelled to hang it in a lucite frame as a captivating wall decoration. But when worn the unseen, thus unexpected, second color is exposed which draws the eye in a most dramatic fashion.
Now the surprise. The icing on the cake. $23.95. Let me repeat that: $23.95. I expected a much higher price. Truth be told I was hesitant to check the price tag. I was shocked. Better yet... thrilled! I plucked that gorgeous garment right off the display and walked with firm purpose to the dressing room. Could not believe how delightful the light-as-a-feather fabric felt against my skin. Only one word came to mind: Mine.
Moral of the story? Let your eye discover what it will. Follow that serendipitous path. Treasure may well sit at the end of the trail.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
"Discontinued"...The Worst News A Woman Could Hear
We all have our favorites. Whether it be foods or beverages or clothing lines or colors. Furniture styles, movie genres, entertainers, sports teams. Sometimes we find them quickly. Sometimes our tastes require time and trials. Choices are extremely personal. Some are forever. Some are not. When we make our decisions, change can be very disturbing. Upsetting. Downright unacceptable.
Monday I was at the grocery store. In our Sunday paper circulars was a coupon for one dollar off any Cover Girl product. Fabulous. Timing couldn't be better. I wanted a back-up tube of lipstick so I added #936 to my shopping list and cut out that coupon. Make-up is not inexpensive and that dollar would be very helpful.
Made my way through the produce section, stopped and selected three birthday cards, grabbed some pop. Pushed the cart down the row of mascaras, powders and eye shadows to my focused destination. Reached out my hand to slip the silver metallic case from the display and noticed the sale tag directly over my favorite color. Woo-Hoo! I silently rejoiced. Mine is on sale. What luck!! Maybe I should grab another. Then I noticed the twelve-letter word on the price tag. Discontinued.
What?? Discontinued!!?!! What do you mean Discontinued??!! You've got to be kidding me. It CANNOT be. It took me 29 years to find this particular shade and you just can't withdraw it from your line. You can't arbitrarily take it from me. I just stared at that stupid little red and white sign. I was so disconcerted that I even leaned down to take a double take and made absolutely sure I hadn't misread it. Sure enough. My fate was sealed. Don't panic I told myself. Don't sweat. Think of your alternatives. The obvious would be to find a new favorite shade of course. But remembering all of the numerous brands and colors I had tried over those years was disheartening and the idea of going through that effort (not to mention the money) to find another one was daunting. So I did the next best thing. The second choice. Sort of a treasure hunt of sorts.
I have gone to four stores as of yesterday and now own seven tubes. I've got a plan. I am building an arsenal of #936's to last me for a while. I called my neighbors and friends asking for their coupons. They gladly handed them over. And in my search I discovered that one chain had discounted this selection by 50% and with that dollar off to boot I am making out like a bandit. I just hope my husband doesn't discover my stash. Don't think he'd understand how dear to a woman's heart her lipstick truly is. Nor my desperation. Nor why one would want to run around "wasting time and gas" to search for for it. And between you and me I'm not through yet. No sirree bob. After I'm done completely scouring the area I will staved off the pain of searching for a new fav for quite some time. Yep. Quite...some...time.
Monday I was at the grocery store. In our Sunday paper circulars was a coupon for one dollar off any Cover Girl product. Fabulous. Timing couldn't be better. I wanted a back-up tube of lipstick so I added #936 to my shopping list and cut out that coupon. Make-up is not inexpensive and that dollar would be very helpful.
Made my way through the produce section, stopped and selected three birthday cards, grabbed some pop. Pushed the cart down the row of mascaras, powders and eye shadows to my focused destination. Reached out my hand to slip the silver metallic case from the display and noticed the sale tag directly over my favorite color. Woo-Hoo! I silently rejoiced. Mine is on sale. What luck!! Maybe I should grab another. Then I noticed the twelve-letter word on the price tag. Discontinued.
What?? Discontinued!!?!! What do you mean Discontinued??!! You've got to be kidding me. It CANNOT be. It took me 29 years to find this particular shade and you just can't withdraw it from your line. You can't arbitrarily take it from me. I just stared at that stupid little red and white sign. I was so disconcerted that I even leaned down to take a double take and made absolutely sure I hadn't misread it. Sure enough. My fate was sealed. Don't panic I told myself. Don't sweat. Think of your alternatives. The obvious would be to find a new favorite shade of course. But remembering all of the numerous brands and colors I had tried over those years was disheartening and the idea of going through that effort (not to mention the money) to find another one was daunting. So I did the next best thing. The second choice. Sort of a treasure hunt of sorts.
I have gone to four stores as of yesterday and now own seven tubes. I've got a plan. I am building an arsenal of #936's to last me for a while. I called my neighbors and friends asking for their coupons. They gladly handed them over. And in my search I discovered that one chain had discounted this selection by 50% and with that dollar off to boot I am making out like a bandit. I just hope my husband doesn't discover my stash. Don't think he'd understand how dear to a woman's heart her lipstick truly is. Nor my desperation. Nor why one would want to run around "wasting time and gas" to search for for it. And between you and me I'm not through yet. No sirree bob. After I'm done completely scouring the area I will staved off the pain of searching for a new fav for quite some time. Yep. Quite...some...time.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
OH! WAIT! I Forgot My Favorite Maternity Story!!
I can't believe I left this out of my reminisces of birthing stories. I'm still smiling twenty one years later over this one. This is about my experience with those oh-so-lovely newborn photos some nameless hospital photographer produces. The ones where 95% of the poor tiny babies look like someone pinched them silly. And the other 5% are the product of some mothers who know the routine and come prepared with darling outfits and hair accessories that make the rest of us look sadly lacking.
I did not see the photos of my child until I was dressed sitting on my bed all packed and ready to go, merely waiting for baby and wheelchair and the release papers. I had wondered why we'd never seen the pictures during the two days I was there but they never had showed up so I just didn't worry about it. My husband had left on his third trip to the car transporting all the flowers we had received when this harried lady scurries into my room, arms filled with a clip board and a stack of photo envelopes and asks me if I am who I am. Yes, that's me. She hands me my packet and I looked down at the picture of a screaming infant shown in see-through window on the front.
Oh-my-heavens I thought. I calmly looked up at her and succinctly told her that was the ugliest baby I had ever seen in my life and that this could not possibly be my child. She didn't crack a smile or make some urbane comment about the quality of hospital photos or something about how most of the infants in these pictures look so upset with their little faces all scrunched up like bright red prunes. No, nothing of the sort. With very serious intent she starts rifling through her paperwork to confirm, with a totally confused look on her face, that she had pulled the correct one out of her pile. Aren't you so-and-so and isn't your baby so-and-so, she asked me? Yes, that's correct, I calmly replied as I handed her back the packet. She looked at me in the most perplexed fashion and said (you are going to love this ~ I will never forget this ever ever ever): "So-o-o... you don't want to buy these?"
Nope. Like I just told you that is an extremely ugly child and he certainly is not mine. She reluctantly accepted the package and left the room. I could 'hear' the wheels turning in her head as she left the room contemplating our very short conversation. Probably something like: That poor woman. She definitely has postpartum depression. A really bad case. I feel really sorry for that baby. And on the flip side I'm still sitting on the bed watching her retreating figure thinking why ever would I give you money for those incredibly awful shots.
I was picturing her poor befuddled expression when the nurse came in with our son. How could I not smile at his darling face and glow with pride at this tiny miracle all wrapped up in a soft little blanket? My husband arrived and off we went with me holding the baby, the nurse pushing the wheelchair and my proud spouse carrying my suitcase. I was happy that one: I didn't have that lady's job and two: how lucky we were to be taking home this beautiful child to start our life as a family. We could use that word because we were no longer just two people. We were three.
Now years later I'm thinking "Darn It!". Maybe I should have purchased that packet. Would have been outstanding blackmail material -- could have threatened to embarrass the son with poster-sized versions of the wizened screaming infant sporadically positioned around the room at his 16th birthday party. Shoot. Why didn't I think of that then: Packet=$18.95. Reaction from him and his friends=Priceless.
I did not see the photos of my child until I was dressed sitting on my bed all packed and ready to go, merely waiting for baby and wheelchair and the release papers. I had wondered why we'd never seen the pictures during the two days I was there but they never had showed up so I just didn't worry about it. My husband had left on his third trip to the car transporting all the flowers we had received when this harried lady scurries into my room, arms filled with a clip board and a stack of photo envelopes and asks me if I am who I am. Yes, that's me. She hands me my packet and I looked down at the picture of a screaming infant shown in see-through window on the front.
Oh-my-heavens I thought. I calmly looked up at her and succinctly told her that was the ugliest baby I had ever seen in my life and that this could not possibly be my child. She didn't crack a smile or make some urbane comment about the quality of hospital photos or something about how most of the infants in these pictures look so upset with their little faces all scrunched up like bright red prunes. No, nothing of the sort. With very serious intent she starts rifling through her paperwork to confirm, with a totally confused look on her face, that she had pulled the correct one out of her pile. Aren't you so-and-so and isn't your baby so-and-so, she asked me? Yes, that's correct, I calmly replied as I handed her back the packet. She looked at me in the most perplexed fashion and said (you are going to love this ~ I will never forget this ever ever ever): "So-o-o... you don't want to buy these?"
Nope. Like I just told you that is an extremely ugly child and he certainly is not mine. She reluctantly accepted the package and left the room. I could 'hear' the wheels turning in her head as she left the room contemplating our very short conversation. Probably something like: That poor woman. She definitely has postpartum depression. A really bad case. I feel really sorry for that baby. And on the flip side I'm still sitting on the bed watching her retreating figure thinking why ever would I give you money for those incredibly awful shots.
I was picturing her poor befuddled expression when the nurse came in with our son. How could I not smile at his darling face and glow with pride at this tiny miracle all wrapped up in a soft little blanket? My husband arrived and off we went with me holding the baby, the nurse pushing the wheelchair and my proud spouse carrying my suitcase. I was happy that one: I didn't have that lady's job and two: how lucky we were to be taking home this beautiful child to start our life as a family. We could use that word because we were no longer just two people. We were three.
Now years later I'm thinking "Darn It!". Maybe I should have purchased that packet. Would have been outstanding blackmail material -- could have threatened to embarrass the son with poster-sized versions of the wizened screaming infant sporadically positioned around the room at his 16th birthday party. Shoot. Why didn't I think of that then: Packet=$18.95. Reaction from him and his friends=Priceless.
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