Back in Black

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The best color in the whole world, is the one that looks good, on you!
-- Coco Chanel

I have a point today - a frivolous one but a point non-the-less. However, it’s going to take a little background for me to get there. Plus I have a cold so I’m a little muddled and medicated– but here goes.

I listen to NPR (National Public Radio) a lot – especially at work. Nerd Radio Ebay calls it and he’s right really. But there’s a lot of interesting stuff on there and what can I say? I like it…nerd that I am.

So on NPR the other day they were talking to the director of a new movie that is coming out. I didn’t quite catch the name of the movie. It’s staring Colin Firth so I’m assuming that it’s something British probably involving cravats and dueling. But the part I did hear was the interview with the director. His name is Tom Ford and is apparently new in the world of movie directing because he came to fame and fortune as a fashion designer and specifically the primary fashion designer/director for Gucci. As part of the interview they talked about the movie a bit of course, but then also about his designs, inspirations, motivations – you know, all that artsy stuff. At the end of the show the interviewer asked Tom about what he was wearing. Tom said that he was wearing what he considered kind of his uniform – black suit, white shirt, black tie. The interviewer said that it seemed kind of conservative and even boring considering the things that he’s designed for other people to wear. Mr. Ford agreed, but said that he had to go with what made him feel comfortable. He felt like when he wore a lot of color, it sort of distracted him and made him feel like the outfit was the one wearing him rather than him being the one wearing the outfit.

At last – Validation!

I wear a lot of black – grey and brown too, but mostly black. I usually tell people that it started when I began teaching elementary school art. Because I was in clay and paint and markers and crayons all day I would ruin a lot of shirts if I didn’t wear black. Plus I wore aprons all the time, so who cares what outfit is under the apron right? This is true – I did ruin a lot of shirts. And I did start wearing a lot more black in the art room. But if I’m being honest, I’ve always kind of gravitated to the dark end of the color palette - probably something to do with my bright and sunny disposition. Even in college, I can remember getting a lot of crap from my sisters about wearing black…again. Now this was the 80’s so anything that wasn’t neon pink was less than fashion forward. But I had a lot of dance and theater classes during the day, which kind of lends itself towards the beatnik black thing.

Now I gave up the art gig a couple of years ago now, but I still have an awful lot of black and neutrals in my wardrobe. Maybe I’m just lazy but I find that it’s just easier, calming, less stressful, less trouble – but I do get some comments about it and I’m just insecure enough to dwell on those a bit. I blame all of those fashion make-over shows like What Not To Wear. We’re supposed to infuse color into our wardrobes. Structure, jackets, fit, pattern and color. Everyone generally looks better at the end of the shows than they do at the beginning so the advice must be right…right?

But now I have validation. I have Mr. Tom Ford – Gucci designer on my team. And come to think of it a lot of other fashion designers too. Marc Jacobs seems to be a fan of the basic black and do you ever see Vera Wang traipsing around in leopard print? No! She's always wearing black. And Coco Channel, the inventor of the "little black dress" herself said “Simplicity is the keynote of all true elegance.”

Of course I'm hardly a fashion icon and I surely don’t own anything designed by any of those folks. And while I’m not wearing big lumpy black sweatshirts, I’m probably a ways off from elegance as well. But feeling comfortable in my own skin is hard enough sometimes without adding a pink and yellow geometric pattern to the mix. It makes me understand what Tom Ford meant about the outfit wearing him.

So I’ll work on the fit and structure thing and maybe throw in a colorful scarf or something from time to time. But I’m going to dig my heals in about wearing the black and I have Mr. Gucci to thank for it.

Take that Stacy and Clinton.

Energize!

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photo from gnurf.net

I am not a fan of cats.

Don't get me wrong. If you are a cat-lover, we can all still be friends. I have no problem with others' pet preferences, but to me cats seem to have an air of arrogance that I just cannot tolerate. They laze about doing what they want, when they want and seem to enjoy napping more than anything.

Today I was surrounded by chaos. I was ready to pull my hair out. My second batch of dough for holiday cookies was mixing, my clothes dryer had broken and my kids were into everything imaginable. I put the dough into the refrigerator, draped sheets and blankets over doors to finish drying and got down on the floor to pick up the Legos that were strewn from here to infinity.

As I sat there on the floor, my foot became warm. I looked and realized that it was caught in a sunny patch of carpet and I moved my entire self into the sun's pathway, allowing it to warm my legs, my arms, my face. Oh, heaven, did it feel wonderful.

I woke up awhile later to the sound of my telephone. I had fallen asleep? In the middle of the floor? I had let the sun overtake me and dozed as it warmed and energized me. That was when it hit me... how much like a cat I was just then, lazing about in the sun's rays right in the middle of a mess of Legos and the incessant chatter of toddlers vying for a turn on the computer.

Right then, it was like nothing else was important. That little siesta was all about me. I felt a bit... what's the word? Arrogant? And I liked it.

I suppose it just goes to show you that even with our differences we can learn to appreciate the things we share in common with those we don't like much.

As much as I hate to admit it, I loved my afternoon catnap, basking in that little spot of sunshine as the chaos continued all around me.

But I'll still never own a cat.

Sealing in the Goodness

Pin It Like ninjas of stealth we moved silently through the darkened neighborhood, carrying with us an arsenal of weaponry. I glanced at my phone to catch the time—it was nearly 1:00—there was little chance of being caught or noticed at this early (or late) of an hour.

As we neared ‘the mark,’ we slowed and examined the house; the shutters were down, and the blank windows were devoid of light. Always a good sign when one was about to do what we were going to.

As I set the bag of varied paraphernalia on the concrete driveway, I blew warm air into my hands, to ward off the stinging bite of cold which was starting to settle in. My comrade and I both smiled at each other and set to work.

“This is my absolute favorite thing in the world,” Jaqui said as she and I moved about noiselessly. “The crinkling of the plastic is such a beautiful sound…”

We continued until we were finished with the first layer, then beginning on the top, sealing in the goodness. I couldn’t help but laugh to myself as we continued to work, like artists, bringing a masterpiece to life.

“Okay, now the lights,” I whispered, digging them out of the Smith’s grocery sack. We fought with them for a few minutes, draping them over the sealed, silver surface. The candy was placed strategically about the vehicle along with a 12 pack of Vanilla Coke.

We plugged in the lights and stood back to admire our labors, glowing there in the driveway like a silver tree of tinsel.

It.was.brilliant.

We snickered amongst ourselves as we gathered up our materials and melted down the street, like phantoms in the darkness.

Oh, the joys of having a birthday at this time of year…

Idiot-Proofing the Southern Idiom

Pin It I figured everyone was getting a little overloaded on Christmas right about now--Christmas music on the radio, Christmas shopping, Christmas parties, Christmas...everything. So even though I have some fairly decent Christmas blogs lurking in the back of my head, I thought I'd give yall a break and do something different today.

I'm going to talk about the South.

I'm Southern, born and bred. As some of you may know, we occasionally speak a different language in the South--sometimes for effect, sometimes just because we don't know any better. It's just our raising. I have the benefit of higher education--an English degree, mind you--and still find myself lapsing into the comfort of "yall's", drawled vowels, and words that seem to last forever.

There are idioms, though, that are beyond even me. I think it has something to do with leaving the farm at a relatively young age--perhaps they just didn't stick? Maybe they're more country than Southern?

When I was around twenty, I was driving down the road with my brand-new boyfriend and future husband, Duane. We were passing an apple-orchard on the right, full of twisty, gnarled, totally adorable little apple trees. We were listening to Alan Jackson on the radio (no clue why I remember that--must have something to do with the trauma of the experience) singing "Tall, Tall Trees"--appropriately enough. I remember Duane pulling over, looking at me sideways, and saying slyly, "how you like them apples?"

I sat in silence for a second, pondering his asinine question. How did I like those apples? I liked them fried. I liked them baked. I liked them raw. I liked them fine. I liked them all. "Er. They seem a little scrawny to me."

I knew I had said something totally and completely WRONG when Duane busted out laughing (AT me, not WITH me) and pointed to the buck standing back in the shadows of the apple trees. "I'm talking about that," he hee-hawed. Apparently, the phrase "how you like them apples" is a gloating expression used to ask "what do you think about that?" It doesn't literally mean, "how do you like those apples," although I felt I might be forgiven for thinking so, since we were parked in an apple orchard.

I've learned many other fascinating Southern expressions over the course of my almost thirty-five years.

Root pig or lose your acorn (Eat before someone steals your grub).
I heard they ate supper before they said grace (They're living in sin).
If I had a dog as ugly as him, I'd shave his butt and make him walk backwards.
He's so ugly his momma had to tie a pork chop to him so the dog would play with him.
He's two bricks shy of a full load.
He's a few fries shy of a Happy Meal.
She was all over him like white on rice.
Boy, you are letting your mouth overload your butt. (can't back up speech with actions)
That woman would argue with a fence post. (or, "an empty house")
You're just cuter than a speckled pup in a little red wagon. (I've actually had someone say this to me--when I was sixteen years old, working as a cashier at Kroger, a forty-something man thought this was a great idea as a come-on line. Not so much.)

At any rate, I hope I've duly entertained you with a few of our little euphemisms. I promise not to tie pork chops to my kids or start arguments with any fence posts any time soon, although I have noticed a few fries missing from my Happy Meals lately. I think I'll go look for them now. ;)

Roadside Assistance

Pin It GUEST BLOGGER: SARAH

In the blogging world, I go by Super Sarah Ann. While not a completely adequate description, it prompts me to get moving in the morning to try to achieve some level of "Super" through the duration of the day (be it super lazy or super crazy) while still leaving me some room in the evening to feel like I accomplished something. A native Arizonan (which I hear is rare) I am a mom to two boys, one husband, two dogs, two cats, a bird and 6 chickens, so I am no stranger to funny stories and cleaning up messes. It's the writing about it that keeps me sane!


I ran to the local grocery store to grab a gallon of milk so my two boys wouldn’t have to go without cereal the next day (a major catastrophe in this home). While walking toward my car after said purchase, I noticed two well-dressed men next to their car; one was standing and barking into a cell phone, the other was crouched next to the tire and grunting very loudly.

Looking over and realizing they had a flat tire, I asked if they needed any help. The yuppie tourist on the phone rolled his eyes as he turned his back towards me, while the not-so-yuppie guy scrunched next to the tire grunted a very loud, “NO!”

Still feeling hesitant about their situation, I asked if they were sure they didn’t need help or if maybe I could call someone for them.

“LOOK, we are FINE!” the very flustered man at the tire responded, “We DO NOT need any help from you. Thanks for stopping or whatever, but we are fine.”

“Oh, ok. Sorry for bugging you, then.” I replied. “But you might want to try turning the lug nuts the other way if you intend on getting that tire off the car. You know, that whole 'righty-tighty, lefty-loosey' thing. Just a thought.”

I hope everything worked out well for them…must've been a tough morning.