Oh you tease...

I just realized that I never described the dress itself! (That's a link so you can check it out.) The dress itself is black. It has 3/4 length sleeves (perfect since the mosquitoes chewed up my left upper arm, so I now I won't have to explain the huge red welts to anyone. The front is "surplice" style, and there are horizontal "shutter" pleats the entire length of the dress. It is lined, and as I mentioned, heavy on the hanger. It doesn't feel heavy on, but then, I've only worn it for a few minutes at a time so far. If you are going to the reunion, act surprised.

If you look at the picture, you'll see how it looks on the professional fashion model. You might not have guessed this, but at 5'5" I am not a professional fashion model. I was once told by a theater costumer that I had a "short waist," meaning there is not much distance between my bottom rib and my hip bone. About 2 inches, I think. I've been trying to have a waist ever since. Anything belted is out of the question. In this dress, I have a waist. That is worth two times the price of admission.

The other reason I didn't want you to see the link is that you'll know what I paid for it (less $10 on sale and $20 for opening a new account, don't forget). Sometimes you want to tell the world about a bargain-- other times you want people to think you spent a fortune. I don't care if you know, but I wanted to maintain the illusion that a dress so fabulous must have cost a mint to others. I did forego renting the adorable Kate Spade bag below from bag, borrow or steal, getting some serious bling out of the safety deposit box, or even getting a professional manicure or pedicure (ok, I broke down and got the pedicure). I'm keeping it real, folks. I may look fancy this weekend, but remember, I'm still the girl who personally put Bartles and James through college.

Damn, that's a cute bag.

Ok, I'm off to pack.

Here's what I was doing this month last year. And the year before. Some cool shots of my grandma (finally) showing me how to make banana cake. Thanks, Grandma.

Yes!

Saturday morning, determined to forge ahead, I called to make an appointment with a personal shopper at the Nordstrom in Corte Madera. I explained my predicament, and was told I'd get a call back over the weekend. By Monday evening, I hadn't heard from anyone.

On Tuesday, I arose in an optimistic state of mind. I walked the dogs, had a little smoothie, did a little work on the computer and prepared to shop alone. Off to Marin.

The first stop was Macy's, to return the brown dress (see previous post). I thought about cruising the dress department there, but I was on a mission to Nordstrom.

Next stop, Nordstrom's customer service counter, returned the silver dress. Easy-peasy. The customer service gal asked (as they often do) if I'd like to open a Nordstrom's account. I asked if there were any discounts on a first purchase if I did, knowing that there was a possibility I would be plunking down some serious dineiro. There was, so I signed up for a card. (Danger! Danger! In my twenties, this would indeed have been a dangerous thing to do, but I have since learned that plastic money needs to be backed up by REAL money.)

I walked about ten paces away from the desk, then thought what the heck, and went back to ask about the personal shopping services. A call was made, a personal shopper was available, and in moments, the angel appeared.

Norah has been working at the Corte Madera Nordstrom since it opened in 1985. "When I opened the store, darling, we didn't have a dress under $300." She was dressed in a navy and white dress with a pebbly texture and gold details, a thick hammered-gold choker and moderate heels. Her sandy-colored hair was cut in a classic bob, framing her large, roundish glasses.

Originally from England, Norah's british accent was all but gone, leaving behind a diction that more closely resembles a kinder version of Mrs. Howell from Gilligan's island. She may have actually sprinkled her sentences with "dear" and "darling" or I may have imagined it.

We introduced ourselves and got right to work. "What is the occasion, dear? Ah...what time? Evening? Ah, there will be lots of black, black is always elegant. Let's go to the dress department, then. What's your size?"

At first, she just cruised the racks with me, quizzing me and pulling everything close to my size. "What about this? Do you like purple? You're young, so you can show the arms, darling, not like when you get old and they go all crepey. This has a lovely neckline, you wouldn't need jewelry, and this...how about a little color? Do you mind a print? Let's just try it." And so it went until we had an armload of dresses in my size. She ushered me to a dressing room, "Let's find you a nice room, darling," and there I was. "Take your time. I'll check on you from time to time. Be sure to come out into the corridor if there's something you really love."

Just under a dozen frock contenders lined the walls of the dressing room. The fourth one from the left had many alluring qualities on the hanger, but as I've learned the hard way, you have to try it on to know. I remembered what my friend Karen said about her terrific dress: "of the meager selection they had, it was the one that fit me best" and I set myself to finding the one that simply fit me best.

I started working my around from the left. The first dress was not quite right. I can't even picture it now. The second, the same, not quite it. Norah peeked in a time or two. The third, a red and white wrap number (...a copy of a Von Furstenburg, darling) wasn't even tempting. As I used to do with my stack of books when I brought them home from the library as a kid, I very quickly abandoned my pre-decided order and jumped to the one I really wanted.

The black one. The fourth from the left. On the hanger, it was heavy. I slipped it on and had a heck of a time reaching the zipper to get it all the way up. I thought of calling for Norah, but I figured if I can't zip it, maybe I shouldn't wear it. Then I turned around.

(Is that the opening baseline of "Brick House" I hear in the background?)

I brought my black slingbacks with me from home, so I popped them on and trotted down the corridor to look for Norah. As soon as she turned from the rack she was working on, she said, "Look no further, darling. You've found it. Don't try on another dress."

I think I got goosebumps.

I did go ahead and try on the rest of the dresses, and some of them weren't bad. But she was right, none of them worked quite as well. I left the store (after less than an hour, mind you) reeling with the high of a successful hunt.

Well, I almost left. The woman at the Kiehl's counter must have spotted my delirious demeanor. She slapped some pretty smelling lotion on me and massaged my hands and I just said yes to everything. She was a pro. Crinkled some paper to get my attention, asked if I'd tried their new lotion, told me it would make my skin look pretty (lotion? not unless it is laced with diamonds or hallucinogens, which this one might be) gave me samples and caught my eye wandering to the lip gloss, cha-ching. Another pretty smelling sucker with goopy lips. I had to get the heck out of there.

When I got home, Mike didn't rave the way I'd hoped he would, but he did say, "YEAH. That's it, that gives you this (two-handed gesture meaning bounty) and this, (another two-handed gesture meaning waist-definition). Good job, sweetie."

So the saga of the elusive dress comes to an end. For now.

Now for the reunion itself....

The Dress Drama Continues

Ok, for those of you following this, neither of the dresses worked out. The first, an adorable chiffon number in chocolate brown that was very Fred and Ginger, was a skosh too tight in the ribcage. Nothing that couldn't have been dealt with, but I'm going to be dancing, for lord's sake, and I need my AIR. (What do you think about this one?)

The second was just laughable. On the surface, it had everything going for it: gunmetal stretch satin, ruching at the bust, three-quarter sleeves. Great color, comfortable, form-fitting. But then, it lost it. The seemingly forgiving ruching at the waist turned out to look like a handy pocket for...something...right at belly level. Not sure what. Ammunition, maybe, or extra Kleenexes. I couldn't get it to lay casually "ruched", so I looked like a very well-dressed kangaroo.

And you know something's wrong when you turn around to show your husband the rear view and he says, "oh, no, honey, no, you can't wear that dress." Who on earth would put a seam down the center of a woman's butt, and then add more drapes of fabric emanating out from that seam? How, and on what planet, would it be more attractive to look like a parade grandstand from the back? My rear looked like the valance in a very fancy boudoir. A noir boudoir, even. So no go. Both dresses will have to go back, and I will have to proceed with Plan D. (Plan A being the first dress, Plan B being shopping, Plan C being ordering on line and hoping for the best.)

The funny thing is, since I began the quest for THE dress, I have worn some outfits that my friends (especially my gay friends, champions of swell dressing) have thought were pretty good. They practically swooned when I pulled out my knee-length lace skirt, slingbacks, charcoal hemp fitted t-shirt and chignon for martinis the other night. I considered wearing that, but I made the mistake of trying to go understated five years ago and felt underdressed. The horror.

Plan D is what I did yesterday: calling up Nordstrom's and asking them to have someone ready to pull as many cocktail dresses in my size and general style as they can and have them ready for me when I get there on Tuesday. This used to be a common service, but with the economy, I don't know if they can still pull it off. Otherwise, I'm on my own. It may work, or I may just have to slog through the confusing arrangement of boutiques until I find or don't find something. I'm taking the lace skirt and the slingbacks in case I have to fall back on Plan E, but let's hope I don't have to go there.

Where Are Clinton and Stacy When You Need Them?

Today, people, I went shopping. Today was my designated shopping day. I donned an easy to doff dress and slip-on shoes, and went forth into buying battle, prepared to try on as many dresses as it took to find THE dress.

I may not have mentioned this, but I have an upcoming high school reunion, and as you may or may not know, it is all about the dress. Or it becomes all about the dress.

At first, it is about the excitement. Who will I see? How will they look? What have they been up to? And then YIKES! the realization hits: Who will see me? How will I look? And most importantly, how can I find a dress that makes me look like I have not been doing what I have been doing for the last 25 years, i.e., slowly losing the battle with my genetic material.

A month ago, I thought I'd found the perfect dress, and I felt so smug. I was relaxed. I wouldn't have to go through that last-minute dress panic. And then I read the invitation: "Semi-formal." Hmmm. Well, semi-formal means cocktail dress or dressy separates, but just how dressy? A semi-formal affair, in Oakdale, at a place called the "Almond Pavilion" ...anything could happen. My dress, while flattering, is jersey, which is definitely a non-semi-formal material.

There is a fine balance between looking fabulous and trying too hard. There is also a fine balance, especially at my age, between semi-formal and Mother of the Bride. The choices available in the stores are either strapless or dowdy. Anything cute is too small or too revealing. Anything with upper arm coverage is the dress equivalent of a bathing suit with a skirt.

Velvet and sequins are obviously out. Velvet is out of season and sequins are trying too hard. Of course, someone who still has the body they had in high school (which was great to start with) by means natural or otherwise, will wear sequins, and everyone who rejected the sequins will curse her choice. Someone is going to wear the perfect thing, and then no matter what I choose, I'll smack myself in the head wishing I'd found it first.

Silk charmeuse is beautiful, eternally sexy, and shows every curve. Especially the ones you don't want to show. It's as comfy as a nightgown and looks like one. It is also one of those unfortunate fabrics, like linen and rayon, that reverberates when you walk. (Take note.) Powerful undergarments must be worn. Or no undergarments at all over a drum-tight body. I have neither powerful undergarments (nor the desire to wear them), nor do I have the flat stomach and stairmaster butt that I once (so briefly) had. But the dress of my dreams is made of gunmetal gray, heavy silk and feels like pajamas. It's ruched here and boosted there; part siren, part bombshell. (Sigh.) *I realized later while re-reading this that it sounds like more an air-raid than a reunion dress!

It also comes with its own theme song, confetti and a banner overhead: "CONGRATULATIONS! YOU LOOK FABULOUS!".

You can see the potential pit-falls of shopping for such a magic dress. But today, today was worse than merely full of pits to fall in. It was the pits. July is a great time for bargain shopping-- if you're looking for mis-matched bathing suits or cheap cotton separates in the reject colors from Spring. But it is the WORST time to shop for THE dress.

Today was also my first trip out into a mall since this whole economic slowdown. Let me tell you, it was bleak out there. The rubber has met the road. I could have driven a car between the racks in some of those stores, they were so sparsely stocked. The teenage salespeople were so bored out of their minds they'd actually keep talking as the few shoppers slipped in like ant scouts looking for sugar. A few, god bless them, actually made eye contact and welcomed us to the store.

With the closing of the Mervyn's chain, there were dark corners in the mall that didn't exist before. Some mall official had tried to stuff a few benches and fake potted plants in the corners, but there was no lighting yet, so it just looked sad and dark. I mentioned how quiet it seemed to a girl at one of the counters, and she said, "Oh, I think everyone's at the fair." Meaning the county fair. If the people who go to the county fair are the only mall customers left, we are really in trouble.

But back to my problem. So I tried one mall (the closest one, 45 minutes away) but they had no dresses. I went to the other mall in the same town, which I described above. In desperation, I came home, fortified myself with a tomato sandwich and went forth again, to the local outlet mall. I tried on three dresses, all casual, just to try on something. I went through every shop, even though I knew some of them wouldn't have a thing.

This is not fun shopping, this is work shopping. This is goal-oriented, thankless, pavement-pounding shopping. This is the search for the wearable holy grail. And it's taking place all over the country as women attempt to dress for the summer's remaining reunions and weddings.

All I can say is, good luck girls! And if one of you finds my dress, you know where to find me. I'll be waiting here under the banner.

Here it Comes Again

Even though intellectually I've committed to paring down this year, as so many of our friends have, it feels just as hectic. Yes, I'll be buying fewer, and less expensive, presents, but I still have to locate the things and wrap them. Smaller presents take just as much time, if not more, to wrap. And price, high or low, does nothing to assuage the guilt of trying to locate presents with meaning, presents that are Special.

Once, when Mike and I were going through a particularly rough patch in our marriage a few years ago, I was zombie-walking through Cost Plus, late at night, just about this time of year, looking for that final, special, meaningful present. I came across a rack of heart-shaped Christmas tree ornaments, painted gold. I picked through them meticulously, until I found one with the right sheen, the right proportions, to carry the weight of the symbolic gesture I was attempting to make.

I stood in a long, long line, the heavy shopping basket making deep reddish indentations in the crook of my arm. As I reached the front of the line and the bleary-eyed cashier began to ring my order, I spotted a flaw in the heart's finish. Just a little nick, in the back. In those few seconds, I agonized over whether to mention it, or to forget about it and just get on with it.

But I couldn't give a flawed heart. It just had to be perfect. So much depended on it. In the time I'd waited, this heart had become laden with all of the meaning and hope that had gathered like a storm cloud over me in the preceding months. So everyone in line waited while I ran back to grab another one, quickly scanning through the hearts I'd previously rejected. I was back before she'd finished ringing the... whatever the hell else I bought that year and gave away, never to be seen or remembered again, so in the scheme of things, I suppose it wasn't a big deal to anyone else.

But it was a huge deal. For me, at that moment, everything depended on the perfection of that golden heart. So many times, this is what it comes down to for me: a present begins to symbolize the entire relationship, and I find myself standing in some store at half-past nine on a weeknight,, my eyes dried to eggshell from all the mall air, holding some aubergine cashmere shawl, or minuscule jeweled penguin, or whatever, in my hand, wondering if this thing will be a thing that the receiver recognizes as truly special. As meaningful as I, at that moment, am feeling that it is. If I walk away from that one perfect, destined to be misunderstood thing, the guilt hits me immediately. I cannot leave these things behind. Which is why I must Christmas shop very quickly, and with a list. If possible, I need to finish early, before the guilt of not finding the perfect, most meaningful present drives me to go out and seek it all over again.

I don't even want to talk about the emotional weight of handmade gifts, whether they are imagined and made imperfectly or imagined and never completed. I'd need to pay you by the hour.

(There would be a picture here of that heart, which I still hold in my hands for a few extra seconds before I put it on the tree each year, but for some reason, every time I click the "add picture" icon, the "save now" button is activated, and I don't get an opportunity to add my picture-- ever.)

This is just another in a long, long string of frustrations starting with satellite internet (hughes sucks), and ending, for the moment, with the discovery of the AT&T data card, which doesn't suck yet unless it is the cause of my not being able to add pictures. The good news is, I am back on line.

*****
If you're not sure what to make for dinner, try lentil soup: dice some mirepoix vegetables (carrot, celery, onion) and saute with thyme. Meanwhile, put a cup or so of lentils, rinsed, in a saucepan and boil in water or stock until tender (about 30 minutes). If you have some on hand and like it, dice up some ham, chicken or turkey and add to the vegetables. Likewise with chard or other greens. I used some beet greens, and added a pinch of oregano, pepper flake and nutmeg. When the lentils are tender, throw in the contents of the saute pan, and then season to taste with sea salt or Better than Bouillon. Cook together for as little as 0 minutes or as much as a day, serve with sourdough or levain bread brushed with garlic butter.

More soon, my friends.

(Anyone else see "Pumpkin Dump Cake" in the google ads at the right? What the hell is that?)

Before I Forget

I recently replaced my aging bathroom towels with these from Target. I had been looking and looking for just the right grassy green and couldn't find it in any catalog or store, not at Macy's, not even Garnet Hill or Pottery Barn. I came across these on the sale shelf at Target and bought one washcloth to take home, check the color, and run through the wash to see how it fared. The towels are surprisingly lush, fluffy and large. Besides the brights which are now on sale but may be in short supply (order them from Target.com if you can't find them locally), they also come in white and lovely sedate earth tones. I am so far very happy with the quality and feel. They feel much more expensive than they were.

The only drawback was that there were no matching bathmats. I like a washable towel-material bathmat, rather than one of those grungy, rubber-backed stringy things that always ends up permanently stained or stinky, so I guess the hunt is still on. Since hardly any of the furniture in the house we now live in belongs to us, when I buy things I'm furnishing the beach house in my mind. Instead of saying, "Will this match the sofa?" I think, "Will this match the off-white canvas Pottery Barn sofa with the striped rug under it?" or "Will this go with my orange and white paisley fluffy bed from Anthropologie?" Or my "retro-modern aqua naugahide (htfdy spell that?) settee?" Ok, not that extreme, but like that. And that is my way of explaining why I have grassy-lime towels even though my tile is beige and my bathroom floor is (ugh!) navajo red stone. You'll see.

What to Pack for A Week in the Tropics

Ok, before I forget, I searched all over the net for a "recommended packing list for a one week trip to a tropical place" before we left. (As you may know. Did you notice that all of the google ads were coming up with solutions for "panic disorders"!) I found one in the back of a book in the Trailblazer series that reassured me that I could get by with a minimum of stuff to pack, but still didn't give me exactly what I was looking for. You know, that secret list that would give me everything I needed to do what I wanted to do and look good doing it. So for what it's worth, here's what worked for me:

My packing list:
flip flops (black- worn to airport, too)
tevas (for rugged terrain- black)
running shoes (not necessary if you don't run, or substitute a waterproof running shoe for both teva and running and save more space. If you plan to horseback ride or lava hike, be sure to take at least one covered shoe.)
hat- soft, packable (neutral tan color)
at least 2 swimsuits (mix and match is best- dark colors)
(I took 1 one piece suit for surfing- light blue print)
rashguard
board shorts
cotton shorts, knee length (dark brown)
2-3 cotton tissue t-shirts, short-sleeved (sea-blue, white, green)
1 loose fitting cotton t-shirt with surf logo (light blue)
1 light tissue cotton or performance t-shirt, long-sleeved (white)
cotton capri/pants (white)
knee-length comfy yoga shorts (black)
thigh-length comfy yoga shorts (black)
long-sleeved Indian-type cotton blouse (light blue)
long-sleeved sheer pretty print blouse/cover-up (green, brown, blue, tan)
sleeveless cotton yoga/athletic top (brown)
3 cotton camisoles (white, black, sea-blue)
(underwear, at least one pair for each day of the trip before wash day mid-way)
1 dark bra, 1 beige, 1 running bra
packable rain jacket (grass-green, super-light, packs to 2x4x5")
light wrap/sweater for the evening and the airplane (mine is bright blue)
1-2 pairs running socks
1 pair short black sockettes

My top five items:
-thin-strap black flip-flops with arch support (here's one source, mine are Reefs)
A little bit of arch support is crucial for day-to-day comfort. If the shoes are too spongy or thick, I also find that the rebound affects my knee injury. In Hawai'i, flip flops are appropriate for all but the most dressed-up affairs. I find thinner straps more versatile.
-knee-length, non-shiny yoga-type shorts (black)
-light-colored, long-sleeved Indian cotton blouse (light blue)
-reef-safe and UVA/UVB sunscreen
-at least two swimsuits (two-piece, mix and match)

What I wish I had:
Halter-style, good coverage beach/casual dress (maybe this one, maybe not, I wanted something soft and drapey)
Environmentally friendly mosquito repellant
Short skirt, wrinkle-proof (Prana makes this cool brown one.) It isn't really necessary with all of the other bottoms I brought, but I find I lean more towards pants and shorts, and sometimes I like to look a little more girly.
reef booties- easy to walk to rocky snorkel spots and comfy on the feet-- super dorky, though

What I brought that I didn't use:
2 pairs cotton shorts (light stone)
1 band-collar long-sleeved cotton shirt (white)
tan leather flip flops- these just weren't as comfortable as the black ones
printed cotton dress- wasn't very flattering on
nightgown

I wore a comfortable black cotton top with a light sweater (also black- travel can be dirty) and jeans for the drive to and from the airport, and I always bring a wrap of some kind because the plane gets cold. I take a structured purse/tote with a zippered middle pocket for the plane, and carry a small zippered wallet instead of a purse throughout the trip. When I don't wear shoes with socks to the airport, I bring little black sockies to slip on through security. These little sockies have also come in handy as indoor slippers and even reef booties to save my feet from fin rub blisters.

In general, the clothes I took were neutrals, with accents of light and dark blue and some green. My light long-sleeved tops were hip to fingertip length for rear coverage. Camisoles and undies or short yoga shorts double as jammies. Short yoga shorts went over suit bottoms to and from the beach.

I try to bridge temperatures by bringing light-colored, long-sleeved items and a few dark-colored, short-sleeved items, so that if it's a little chilly, the sun will warm me up, and if it's a little warm, I'll reflect the sun's rays and stay covered and cool. The temperature when we were in Hawai'i was very moderate, 70s to mid-80s, so I used the long-sleeved pieces more than I might have in hotter weather. The t-shirts I took were inexpensive tissue-tees, in colors that I think are flattering on me.

The only jewelry I took was my every day wear: silver hoops and a weighty silver choker with a white mother of pearl pendant.

On many days, I wore my swimsuit top throughout the day, so make sure yours is supportive and flattering, and take at least two so you'll always have a dry one. Big prints are more obvious than solids or narrow stripes if they show through a shirt or cover-up. I like a halter style that ties. If you're driving around the islands, you may change elevation and temperature, so I always threw the rain jacket, an extra layer, and the tevas or tennies in the car just in case.

Don't forget: sunglasses, sunscreen, music (airplane headphones if you have them from another trip), a good book for downtime. Waterproof bandaids and antibiotic ointment. Hand-sani.

Remember, when you are curious, compassionate and joyful, you look your best. (Thanks, Susan Sarandon for that quote.) Have a great trip, wherever you go!

Note 3/26/11: This trip was to the Big Island of Hawai'i, where the climate is much more diverse. For trips to other islands, research the climate tendencies of the side of the island you'll be visiting. For example, the Lahaina-side of Maui is much warmer, and you'll end up wearing more light colors, strappy dresses and thin cover-ups. You probably won't need your raincoat.

An Ethical Dilemma

Tonight on my way home from work, I stopped by a major discount retailer to pick up a couple of plain t-shirts and some sundry items. I had said items in hand and was making a final loop back toward the cash registers when I saw some crumpled paper in the middle of the aisle ahead. As I came closer, I saw that it was money, and I saw the number 20. When I got to it, I picked it up and found that it was TWO twenties. I looked around, and the only person in sight was a very large woman on a motorized cart wearing a pink crochet cap, coming towards me.

"Did you just find some money?"
"Yep."
"It looked like money. I saw it from down there but I wasn't sure. You're going to turn it in, aren't you? I'll go with you over here to the counter." (?)
"Yeah, I guess so, but I think I'll ask some people around here to see if anyone dropped it. There's a lady down there with an open purse and two babies, maybe it was her."
"That's a good idea. Don't tell them how much it is though, or they'll say it's theirs."

So I go from one end of the aisle to the other, asking each person if they might have dropped some cash, and everyone says no, I look up the cash register aisle, to see if there are any little children weeping at the register with a new toy and no way to pay for it, or any women frantically dumping their purses out on the counter. Nothing.

So I put the cash in my back pocket. If it had been a credit card, a check or checkbook, or a wallet, by all means I would have turned it in. I would have felt even better calling the person or the credit card company myself, to avoid possible employee dishonesty.
But cash? Cash has no one's name on it. I asked everyone I could find.
I figure it's a lucky find, and I should use it to do something nice for someone else, or donate to a charity. Finders keepers.

Was I wrong to keep it? Was I cynical to think that if I turned it in to a store employee (the store with the red circle inside the other red circle) that it would go immediately from my pocket to the employee's pocket? Or, as I feared, Mrs. Knittycap would buzz right over there the minute I dropped it off, and feign tears as "her" money was returned to her. Her meddling presence affected my behavior, though I can't say how I would have done things differently if she hadn't been badgering me.

I had this thought as I walked to my car: that maybe the woman on the cart was really God, and that was a test to get into heaven and I failed. I don't know if he or she will be watching when/if I do the right thing with the money in the end, so that can be the makeup quiz, or if it's just pass/fail. Save me a seat by the fire.

At this time I would like to apologize for my negative portrayal of one of the cheerleaders in high school whose name has been deleted from my blog as, in the end, she did invite me to go along with her to the New Year's Eve party, even though it turned out to suck. She was just trying to be nice and make a friend. I say that not because I hope the incarnation of the supreme being wearing the pink crochet hat and rhinestone studded Disney logo glasses will forgive me, but because I recently re-read that post and I felt bad for not giving her credit for that. I'll bet she's come a long way from where she was then, as I have.

A Happy Bra Ending

By the way, I went bra shopping at Maidenform, which sells my favorite bras, and I bought the right size in the style that I usually buy, and everything is...um,... looking up, and going smoothly. So the other bra was not a case of mis-fitting, just a style the dimensions of which were not quite right for me.

Veggie Notes and Shopping

If I haven't mentioned it lately, we are still receiving our weekly Riverdog Organic Veggie Box and still feel like it is a great value. We've been introduced to a world of new things to try, and it saves us wandering around the grocery store with the same old broccoli or green beans. We know it's always in season, comes from somewhere close, and supports farming we believe in. Tastes better a lot of the time, too, because it's fresh-picked, and the sugars in the carrots and other vegetables have not yet converted to starches. Our new Whole Foods has recently opened in Napa, and they also have Riverdog Veggies, among, of course, a world of others.

I wanted to be sure to note that although I don't specifically say it in my recipes, when I say turnips, I mean organic turnips. When I say canned kidney beans, I mean organic canned kidney beans. When I say ground beef, I mean the best organic or grass fed natural you can get, from as close as you can get it. If you don't have access to anything else, try your best to change your meat and dairy to organic.

There is tons of information out there, and too much stuff to try to remember at the grocery store sometimes. Once you zero in on your brands, though, it's not too hard to remember. In canned food, dairy and eggs, I look for organic first, and if there are two brands, I pick the one that has the closest source or distribution center. Organic canned kidney beans, for example, can come from Ohio, or they can come from Sacramento. I pick Sacramento. Sometimes there is no substitute for what I want or need. I still (sorry!) buy the non-organic Greek style yogurt that comes all the way from Greece, because all of the American mediterranean style yogurts I have tried are too sour. But I'm honing in on a better choice, and I think the Trader Joe's organic mediterranean style is going to work.

I realize that I'm speaking from a position of relative freedom of choice in terms of availability, variety and ability to purchase these items. The more we support organic farming, the easier it will become for these items to be distributed and more farmers hopefully will get on the band wagon, bringing prices down so that more people can have access to food that is good for them and for the planet. Don't you think?

The Thrill of Victory, the Agony of Undergarments

A friend and I went shopping in the mall-mecca of the Broadway Plaza in Walnut Creek last week. Both of us are in the midst of death-by-boredom fashion crises. Tyla because she has two kids, a new body and no time, me because I am over 40 (just barely), work at home, and no longer shop for entertainment. Envision a world of fleece, jeans and clogs, and you will know our pain. So Tyla's husband Vincent thoughtfully arranged a shopping date as a sort of Christmas present for Ty, and I was glad to be the escort.

Since it was raining, we couldn't spend too much time strolling the faux-downtown mall district, rather we focused on a few stores, mainly Nordstrom.

It's hard to get a handle on some of the new shapes out there, like short, boxy jackets that end at the waist and make you look sort of like a paper doll. I've seen them worn in cute ways, but with my linebacker shoulders and short waist, they seem to emphasize the fact that I look more like a cereal box than a supermodel. And jeans! I don't know where people get the super-dark-wash, slightly faded in the front, make your butt look great and eliminate muffin-top jeans, but I think it's a secret store with a peep-hole and a password, because I can't find it.

While cruising for camisoles in the lingerie department, we inquired as to whether they had a bra-fitting specialist on duty, and since they did, we had ourselves measured. I didn't really intend to shop for bras, but while I was waiting for Tyla outside the lingerie fitting room, I figured what the heck. She sounded like she was having fun. I felt like the bra I had on was comfortable and looked smooth under shirts, so I thought I had done a pretty good job. Wrong. There are signs in the dressing rooms that say "8 out of 10 women are wearing the wrong bra." We were two of those eight.

Here's how bra-fitting works: If you are unsure of your bra size, they will measure you. The young lady doing the fitting checked out the bra I was wearing and it appeared to be the right size around (I'm not sure what this is called-- the band size?) She asked what size I was currently wearing, which I told her but I am not going to tell you. Then she brought in a "fitting bra" which is a soft-cup, semi-sheer bra (Wacoal was the brand) that is in the size she thinks you need. It was not so flattering. Lots of seams. Industrial strength, with sheer fabric and flowers so you don't forget you're a girl, I guess. If you fill the cup, then that's the size you are. I was shocked to find out that I was a cup size larger than I thought I was. Or thought I would ever be. We are not a naturally large-busted family, for the most part.

So, once your size is determined, she brings you an armload of bras: wide-set straps, demi-cup, full coverage, semi-sheer, patterns, colors, you name it, and at least one "t-shirt" bra, that is, a beige one that is lightly padded, not to add size, but to be more, um, discreet. All of these bras are in your "real" size, in my case, my new, larger size. And darnit if they didn't all fit, so I started to believe that she was indeed right. After I got over the shock.

The one I ended up taking home was made by Natori, and it did look far better under my crummy white t-shirt than the one I had on, both in the front and in the back. Tyla liked her new bra (same style as mine) so much better that she threw the one she had on in the garbage and wore the new one home. Hope she doesn't mind me telling you that. We were so thrilled that we thanked the sweet salesgirl over and over and sashayed out with our new purchases, pleased that we were now the two women out of ten who did have the right size bras.

A word about Nordstrom here: Their customer service is legendary among customer service trainers and book writers. While I've been at a few Nordie's stores that were staffed with some of the same raised-by-wolves, no-eye-contact teenagers as the rest of the stores in the mall, overall, they are definitely better. In some Macy's, for example, I can walk around for five minutes with something in my hand to try on, searching for someone to let me into a dressing room. In the shoe department at Macy's in Santa Rosa Plaza, by the time one of the leaners gets around to asking me if I'd like to try the shoe I've been carrying around, I feel like saying, "No thanks, I just wanted to see how heavy it was for a while." In Nordstrom, someone generally acknowledges me as soon as I enter their department. I really appreciate feeling welcome and cared for when I shop. I like Macy's; I grew up with a Macy's so I'm more familiar with it. I just wish they'd get their service training act together, as it varies so much from store to store.

On this day, we chose to have lunch at Nordstrom's cafe inside the store. I'll go on with my bra shopping story, but I do want to point out several things that they did right: 1) When the line was a few people long--just enough that you might decide it was too long and walk away, someone came out and said hello and handed out menus to all the people waiting in line. This not only sped up the decision making process at the counter, it made us feel included and got us thinking about all of the things we might be hungry for. 2) At the counter, one order-taker was floating between the window and the line, making eye-contact and helping where needed. 3) When we paid and turned around to find a place to sit, there was someone there to welcome and assist us. I think she even said "make yourselves comfortable". The service was fast, the food was fairly healthy, fresh and hot, and we were grateful that it was convenient and good. We tipped well, we felt good about the store, and we spent our lunch money in the store rather than going elsewhere. Same thing with the bras: because there was a fitting service, we were happy to spend more money at Nordstrom.

So, all in all, it was a good shopping day. We were careful not to tire ourselves, even though we tried each and every thing on. When in doubt, we did not take the item home. A couple of cheap impulse buys at H&M slipped through for me in the frenzy, but nothing major.

When I got home, I showed my new bra to Mike, who heartily agreed that it was the right size and looked better under the t-shirt. It felt a bit itchy, in a new-clothes sort of way, so I tossed in the cold water wash on delicate and hung it to dry.

The next day, I wore my new bra to work. It looked so much better under my t-shirt and fleece. A few hours into the day, I realized that my new bra was still itchy in the middle, and not only that, the underwires were poking me in the armpits when I sat down or slouched. Great posture therapy, I suppose, but it made for a maddening workday. By the end of the day I was distracted and cranky, and when I got home, I undressed and was out of the bra as soon as I walked through the door.

So now what? Bra is washed and worn once. Cup is the right size, underwires are too tall. Natori is not a cheap brand. I'm still pretty sure Nordstrom would take it back. They are, as in everything else, very customer oriented about returns. I feel slightly discouraged that I didn't spot the itchy places early-- bras are like shoes, I suppose, in that if they pinch or poke or itch somewhere, you won't wear them in. I no longer have the patience I did in my 20's to "break in" sexy, lacy bras with itchy spots. I don't know why they don't line all pretty lace bras with soft t-shirt material. Ok, I know why, but the point is, I don't have the patience anymore. So I guess it's back to the store again. Unfortunately, I probably won't be going back to Walnut Creek anytime soon. I just know that sweet bra fitter would sympathize and know just the low-profile underwire bra for me. So I'll have to brave the bra fitting wilds again on my own and hope for the best.

Stocking Stuffers

This morning I made corn pancakes, Neuske's ham and eggs for breakfast. Accidentally used fine whole wheat flour. I subtracted about a teaspoon of sugar and added a few tablespoons of unbleached bread flour to adjust the thickness, and they turned out great. A very tasty breakfast.

Here are some cellphone photos of holiday sights, including a real Santa waving from inside of a lighted sleigh at the funeral home on Soscol. He stands out there in the cold most evenings, just waving and smiling.

These Are a Few of My Favorite Things

Recently, as you may know, Oprah gave away her "Favorite Things" on television. The show, (which I watched because I was running on the treadmill at the gym, mind you, not because I would ever turn on the television before 5 pm at home) was as filled with screaming, crying and excess as the Saturday Night Live parody of it. I do like Oprah, in spite of all that. And I like some of her things, too. (Forget Obama-- Oprah for president.)

Then yesterday, I was reading Family Fun magazine at the orthodontist's office. In addition to all sorts of ideas for cute crafts, there were some touching columns about different things people have done to help make the holidays meaningful as well as plentiful. One that struck me as really beautiful was a story about a couple who had very little the first year they were married, so instead of over-extending their shoestring budget and buying each other new things, they wrapped things for themselves that they already had.

Now I know at first this sounds incredibly sad, which was my first thought. But what they did on Christmas morning was sit under the twinkling tree and reflect on how thankful they were for the gift of each other, and the things that meant a lot to them, like the first present or card he ever gave her, or a little token that reminded them of something special or something important in their lives.

The family still carries on the tradition. Each year, among the new gifts are a few meaningful things, such as a cherished toy that has been in storage, a guitar with a broken string that has been repaired, or a special blankie with a new name tag sewn in. Thinking about these old gifts again puts them in a thankful state of mind, which is often hard to achieve this time of year. It reminds them of the things that are truly special to them and to their family members, and to cherish those things and those people. One year, one of the parents had their two kids hide in big wrapped boxes as the other one came home.

A couple of things I thought of that are small but special to me:

Every time I see the giraffe's face (picture up top), I smile. It's not really a gift. The keychain was loaned to me with a house key on it. Last summer (seems like forever ago) my mother was in the hospital for almost a month in total, for a quadruple bypass. It wasn't until months later, when I knew my mom was safe and sound again, that I realized how stressful that time was, and how scared I was. My friends Ann and Enza let me stay at their house while I was helping out and visiting her at the hospital, giving me a vital oasis of calm and quiet to retreat to each night. Now they've moved, and I still have the keychain. And I'm still thankful for them and their generosity and support.

Speaking of keychains, I am never without the small black Swiss-Army knife keychain that my mother gave me years and years ago. I still have the tweezers, but the toothpick is long gone. (Who would use that in their teeth anyway? Gross.) It's totally worn and smooth, and the logo is completely gone. I use the screwdriver, the knife, the scissors and the nail file all the time. It's like a tiny emergency tool kit for just about anything. I feel capable when I have my little knife. Sort of like Mike feels when he has his Leatherman tool, I suppose, just on a smaller scale.

I have to take a break now, but as I go about my day and my week, I'm going to keep my eyes and my heart open to the good things in my life. I kinda feel like making some cookies, too. Maybe I'm getting a little Christmas spirit after all.

Double Your Giving Money

Environmental Working Group- the environmental advocate and watchdog that helped us add our names to the 30,000 gathered to support the Farm Bill, and operates Skin Deep, the consumer cosmetics safety reference site, is doubling any donation through December 15. They are also giving out a nifty reusable shopping bag full of cool green-friendly stuff with a $135 donation, which will become $270 with the program.

The Heifer Foundation - if you are thinking about giving to the Heifer Foundation this Christmas (A flock of ducks is still twenty bucks!) Fosters Wine Estates Americas, the company that Mike works for, is matching all employee donations, with no upper limit. Maybe your company does, too. Be sure to check it out. If you know an employee of any one of the many Fosters wineries, ask them about it. I would also be happy to collect any donations from anyone who does not know a Fosters employee, and have Mike donate them via the program. Maybe we can get all the way to an ark. That's two of everything, benefitting countless families all over the world, including the U.S.. Your gift could go twice as far.

Don't forget about Six Degrees. This site, started by, Kevin Bacon, is a hub for charity donations of all types. If you are so inclined, you can start your own "badge" and your friends, family, or anyone, can use it to donate to the charity of your choice. Or you can just donate to the charity of your choice on the site. I never played that strange trivia game "Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon" but apparently after K.B. got over the embarrassment of being sort of a has-been 80s star with a drinking game named after him, he decided to play on the notoriety to benefit worthy causes. And then his career reignited and he made some movies and now everything is ok again. See what positivity and good deeds can do for you?

Last but not least, don't forget to make donations to your local food bank, Red Cross, children's charity and/or Planned Parenthood. If you know any Republicans, be sure to donate to PP and NARAL in their name for a little extra holiday thrill. These are the services working day to day to make life better for people who need them, during fair weather as well as fires and floods.

The next time you go grocery shopping, buy two of every canned good you buy and put half in the food drive barrel on the way out. When you go Christmas shopping, if you see a tree hung with requests from needy children, grab one. Just one. You don't have to be a hero. One little thing, that you can spare, can make a big difference.

Pie Crust, Crabcakes, and Other Odds and Ends

The Very Best Pie Crust Recipe
(Courtesy of Grandma and Grandpa Landre)

Ingredients
2 1/2 c all-purpose flour
1/2 c cold unsalted butter, cubed
1/2 c Spectrum shortening
1 tsp salt
1 tsp sugar
1/2 to 1 cup ice water

Tools
Food processor or pastry blender
Rolling pin

Method
Place flour, salt, sugar in a food processor, spin to combine. Distribute fats on top of flour, close processor, and pulse until it resembles coarse cornmeal.
Sprinkle about 1/4 c of the water on top of mixture. Pulse a few times to mix evenly, sprinkle a little more water, pulse again. What you are looking for is a mixture that will just hold together when squeezed. You don't need any more water than that.
Scoop out into a bowl or a floured work surface and press together into a ball. Flatten the ball into a disk, roll out.
I always roll and shape my crust, then chill it in the refrigerator while I'm making the filling. Easier to work with that way.

I find this easiest in a food processor, but it can also be done with a fork or pastry blender (that weird D-shaped thing in the back of your kitchen drawer with wires or blades and a handle).

I used this recipe for my second pumpkin pie on Sunday, and it was just perfect. Flaky, not tough, the right amount of brown.

Mike made the salmon version of the cakes below for lunch today, which we had with an iceberg wedge salad. A very nice lunch. When I see canned salmon in the pantry, all I can think of is an unsatisfactory sandwich experience. (I love tuna, but for various and sundry reasons, I don't buy it anymore.) So these delicious salmon cakes were a nice surprise. Crab season has been postponed in small pockets of the San Francisco Bay due to the oil spill, but the local supermarkets and fish markets have still had plenty. A couple of dollars a pound more expensive, as it is coming from Washington and the outer regions of the Bay, but it's there if you want it.

Crab cakes
(Courtesy of Susan Ridley)

Combine:
1 egg
2 tsp Worchestershire sauce
1/4 tsp dry mustard
2 Tblsp mayo
1 tsp lemon juice
1 Tbsp mustard
1 Tbsp melted butter (olive oil works fine)
1 tsp parsley flakes (totally optional)
1 tsp Old Bay seasoning
1/2 c bread crumbs (scant)

Allow bread crumbs to soak up the liquids.

Gently fold in 1 lb crab meat
(canned salmon tastes pretty good too)

Make into 6 patties
Pan fry approx 6 minutes each side on medium heat, or until brown and crisp.

Due to the dry weather, we have had an extended fall here in the Napa Valley. I can't even describe to you how beautiful it has been. This week it is just starting to get nice and crisp outside, but the vineyards are still in full golden color. They are so gold, and so orange, and so numerous that there have been days that I felt overwhelmed by all of the warm colors. Enough already! Can I just have a little bit of something else!? Then we had a sprinkle of rain, and we got a dash of bright green. Many of the fields are being plowed, so that adds a nice dollop of chocolate dirt brown, too. Ahhh. The guys are out doing "pre-prune" this week, so by the end of the week, all that pretty color will be on the ground.

Here is a nice fall soup recipe that I found on chowhound.com. We had this for lunch or dinner one of the days this week, and I had it again for lunch yesterday. The flavor really improved after a day or so. I added an extra sprinkle of salt to mine when I served it, as I found the parsnips to be a little sweet. Great flavor.

Parsnip and Cauliflower Soup

Ingredients

1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1 medium leek, white and pale green parts only, halved lengthwise, rinsed, and thinly sliced
1 cup peeled, coarsely chopped parsnips (about 2 medium Parsnip:parsnips)
2 cups coarsely chopped cauliflower florets (about 1/2 of a small head)
1 teaspoon kosher salt
2 3/4 cups water (I used homemade chicken stock)

Method

1. Heat olive oil and butter in a medium saucepan over medium heat until foaming. Add leek and season well with salt and ground white pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until leek is softened but not completely cooked, about 3 minutes.
2. Add parsnips and stir to coat in oil. Cook for about 4 minutes, or until parsnips are softened but not completely tender. (Do not let the vegetables color.)
3. Add cauliflower, stir, and cook for about 1 minute. Add salt and water. Bring to a simmer, reduce heat to medium low, and cook until vegetables are completely tender, about 8 to 9 minutes.
4. Remove from heat and allow soup to cool slightly, about 10 minutes. Process soup in a blender until completely smooth. Return soup to the saucepan and place over medium-low heat. Taste and adjust seasoning as necessary.
   

The soup as made on chowhound (a great recipe resource, by the way) was served with fried beet chips, but I think it would be terrific with homemade bacon crisps on top. We had it with some warm, buttered, savory pumpkin bread. It needed the salt from the butter, but there was plenty of flavor besides that in the soup, which tastes creamy and hearty without cream. It was a nice break from all of the heavy eating. This recipe could serve as a master recipe for any pureed vegetable soup, from broccoli to pumpkin to butternut squash, cauliflower, potato, beet, you name it.

Speaking of pureed soups, I mentioned my stick blender. As I also mentioned, the whole messy idea of pouring hot soup into a blender and then back into a pot is just silly to me. Not to mention potentially dangerous. I have had a hand blender since the mid-1980s, when I actually used to demonstrate Braun products in department stores. They are also called immersion blenders, because when you are making soup, you can stick the blender right into it and puree to your desired thickness without moving the soup. Makes great smoothies for one, and cleans up with a quick rinse in the sink. As I mentioned, I've used mine for 20 years (yikes, I think that makes me really old). It does not, however, crush ice very well, so unless you already have a crushed ice dispenser to break down the chunks, I wouldn't recommend using it for margaritas.

This week, when I made the soup, I barely had time to finish cooking it before we had to go somewhere, so I threw the whole pot in the refrigerator on a hotpad and pureed it in the food processor the next day cold. If you are going to do that, I recommend spooning the vegetables in first, getting them good and pureed, then adding the liquid slowly. This would probably also work well when blending the hot soup with a blender.

Note: By the way, Robert Redford was right about the dishwashing detergent. It really is working well, with no residue. It's even getting chicken stock grease off the reusable plastic containers, which is pretty impressive.

That's it for now. More soon.

The Natural

I have learned from a reliable source that this is Robert Redford's favorite dishwashing soap.

Yes, it is true.

I don't know if you know this, but Mr. Redford lives at least part of the time around Calistoga, which is a little north of here. And apparently, he shops at a health food store I sometimes go to in St. Helena. After I selected this detergent, all by myself, the owner told me that he stocks it because Bob came in and asked him to. The owner said he told Bob he was concerned about wine glasses being sparkling, this being wine country and all. Bob sent down his assistant later that day with a freshly washed wine glass to show him (the health food store owner) how nicely they came out, even without rinse aid.

I don't actually know if anyone calls him Bob, but I didn't want to keep typing Robert Redford. Although that might mean that my blog comes up on searches for him. Which could be mildly interesting for fans, or just annoying.

Endorsed by eco-conscious wineglass-washing celebrities everywhere.

A Birthday Card

This card is one of several by Cara Scissoria (Scissor-ee-uh? Scizz-or-eeya?) of Los Angeles. These cards crack me up.

The Silver Palette

Ok, I'm not going to explain or justify this. I was shopping for a pair of plain black dress pants when I came across this silver trench coat on the rack at Macy's. I brought it home, but the tags are still on it. Silver: lamé or just lame? Poll at right. Please vote.

A Couple of Good Ideas

You know when you're cooking, and the recipe calls for "1 c red wine" or some other silly amount? You don't want to open a bottle of something if you're not going to finish it. Quite often, you're going to have wine anyway, but sometimes you're not. Or sometimes you don't want to dump two cups of the special wine you've bought to have with dinner into the sauce, forcing you to open a second bottle with dinner. For a while, I was keeping small amounts of leftover wine in the freezer in bags, but it never freezes all the way, or I forget about it, or it gets in the way. I take after my grandma in the freezer department, so I'm always needing to make room for something else, and the fermented grape slushies had to go.

I'm sure that the Gotts and Co. of Three Thieves didn't intend to make cooking wine when they made these little 250 ml "bullets" but they sure work for that. The wine is not that great, but it's just fine for sauces, and you can stow it in the pantry until you need it. I'm a pretty open-minded wine drinker, by the way, and I'm not afraid of a low price tag in and of itself. (A two-buck price tag is a no-no, however, if you get my drift. I have tried that stuff, and it is gross.) I have been known to buy whole cases of $6.99 chablis from Trader Joe's and like it. Not often, but once or twice. I've had their tetra-pak of Pinot Grigio before, and it was actually ok. But anyway, it's a solution to the cooking wine dilemma.

The next good idea is this Pharmaca thing. We just got one. Very smart. It's a beautiful, open store, with pretty displays and lots of light and color. There are testers, free samples and a licensed aesthetician in the cosmetics area... and a sink and towels for washing the tests off. Why is this smart? Because cosmetics are high-dollar items. Not only are they profitable for the store, but people want to check them out before they take them home. If I trust that I'm getting good advice, and I get to feel and smell the product, not only am I going to buy it, but I'm going to feel good about my purchase and return. See? Smart.

They are stepping right onto the escalator of the current natural/organic trend, but by being an "integrative" pharmacy, they also offer band-aids and regular old stuff like Doctor Scholl's products for your feet, and tampons (conventional, organic cotton and bleach-free), and soap and magazines. So if I'm curious, I can pop in there and check out my options without worrying that I'm wasting a trip. A lot of the things I want are there. It has its drawbacks, of course. The main and most profitable purpose, and the one that takes up the most shelf space, is supplements. Of which they have their own brand. Which most people don't need. There are all sorts of trendy things, like CLA, whey protein, I couldn't even begin to list them all. If you want it, it's there. And the illusion is that if it's there, it's good for you. And there are some things that just aren't. So I'm hoping that the sales-folks are well-trained enough not to overly recommend things that are potentially harmful in high doses. That could lead to trouble.

Sale Alert

If anyone is in the market for some All-Clad pots and pans, Shackford's locally is having a sale-- something like 30-40% off. It's a "factory-authorized" sale, so there are probably others out there. Check Sur la Table... You may wince at the prices, but these pans last forever.