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 "A Sip of Sarsaparilla"

A 1960's Vari-Vue Smile

I have been under the weather lately - physically, spiritually...

But every time I walk past this 1960's "Vari-Vue" motion image card in my bedroom, I can't help but smile.

Golden Coral with a Soul of Flame

I was sick this past week with a bad cold. The kind of cold that left me in a brain fog for days. Dizzy. Feverish.

It was lovely, really.

You see, I'm in love with my bed - it's where I do all my best reading, writing, thinking, dreaming. And so it was great to have a perfectly legitimate excuse to be able to spend hours and hours there, a roll of toilet paper at my side to keep the liquids at bay - and vintage magazines scattered all around me.

I'm usually happy, in a bittersweet sort of way, when I'm lost in the past - and reading an old magazine is one of my favorite ways to get there. With each turn of the page there is a chance to discover a new treasure: a story written by an author who later became famous, a quaint poem, a gorgeous vintage fashion advertisement, a photograph of a toy or cereal box or shampoo that stirs up an old childhood memory.

This past week as I paged through my magazines, my head was too foggy to focus on anything but the photos and illustrations - and I decided to make a game of finding as many interesting vintage hats as I could. And then I chose my favorite, based on my current state of mind:

Still mourning, but surrounded in the color of hope. Cautious, but open to new possibilities. Watching, waiting...peacefully.

So here's the winner. Not exactly a hat, but a gorgeous scarf of "coral-red fired with gold" to match the Dorothy Gray lipstick.

"Jewel of India - golden coral with a soul of flame." Dorothy Gray lipstick advertisement - McCall's magazine, May 1960.

Sisters

I just got back from my annual Mother's Day weekend with my sisters at the Mall of America. Here I am, modeling the flapper-style hat that I bought yesterday at Maurice's. I buy hats to sell but never wear them myself - but my sisters insisted!

You might not guess it from the photo (I'm pretty good at faking perky) but I am completely exhausted from having spent the night talking with my sisters until nearly 4 a.m.

What do five middle-aged women (all of us, mothers and most of us, wives) find ourselves talking about in the wee hours of the morning? Well to give you an idea, I recall saying at one point: "Okay, now which body part haven't we covered yet?" For some reason, we seem to find the aging female body an endless source of amusement. None of us can boast a perfect body (or sex life) - so I say, thank God we can at least laugh about it!

I love my sisters dearly, but they are a terrible influence sometimes.

We picked this particular weekend to get together for a very good reason: it coincides with the Susan G. Komen "Race for the Cure." And so each Mother's Day Sunday for the past several years, five sisters and three nieces have run or walked the 5K together in honor of our sister (and aunt) Michelle who died of breast cancer in 2007.

Now one thing you should know about my sisters is that they love to eat and talk far more than anything else in the world. Shopping comes a close third. And exercise? Well, that doesn't even make the list. So it was only a matter of time before someone would start to question the exercise component of our weekend.

Apparently, yesterday morning when a few of my sisters dropped off their overnight bags at our hotel room, one of them tentatively suggested that perhaps the 5K race on Sunday morning was unnecessary, and that maybe the very best way to honor my sister Michelle was simply to have a wonderful, relaxing "sisters weekend" together -- shopping Saturday afternoon, eating and talking all night long, then sleeping late on Sunday morning.

Well, that idea caught on like wildfire. And so by the time I arrived at the Mall of America at noon on Saturday, it had already been decided - the Sunday race was out, and a Mother's Day brunch was planned in its place.

Initially I insisted that even if nobody else wanted to join me I was going to drag myself out into the cold on Sunday morning and do the run by myself. After all, we had already paid our $30 registration fees, and picked up our race t-shirts. It just seemed like the right thing to do.

But at about 3:00, 3:30 this morning as I struggled to keep my eyes open, not wanting to miss the latest installment of my youngest sister's sex life woes, I finally caved in. The idea of getting up three hours later to run a 5K that I hadn't trained for, with creaky knees that just might give out at around the halfway point, was more than I could bear.

I know that Michelle didn't mind. If she had been able to be with us this morning, she would have been happily sleeping away with the rest of us.

We miss you, Michelle. Happy Mother's Day!

Michelle, Sept. 2007. Photo taken at a "sisters weekend" at a cabin in northern Minnesota, two months before she passed away. All seven sisters were able to be together that weekend.

"Lord help the mister who comes between me and my sister..."

Rosemary Clooney, Vera Ellen, Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye in the 1954 film "White Christmas"

Vintage Barbie and Ken dolls, early 1960's

I managed to nab this Ken doll at an estate sale a few years ago for practically nothing.

My Barbie doll has finally found her dream date!





I do miss that G.I. Joe, though.

Mystery Date

When one door closes, another opens. Will he be a dream? Or a dud?



When I was a little girl my Barbie doll's Mystery Date was always the same guy - a one-armed G.I. Joe. (A war injury, I suppose.) As pitiful as this Joe was, she couldn't even have him all to herself! She had to share with Midge and Francie, and Skipper too.

I've never had much luck with men, and neither did my Barbie.

When one door closes...

A few weeks ago I told you that I was pleasantly surprised when my ex-boyfriend asked me to go golfing with him. Actually, that invitation wasn't completely out of the blue. We had been having some good talks and had gotten together the previous Saturday too.

I won't lie. I was thrilled about getting a second chance with him. And I was crossing my fingers that maybe, just maybe, the sun the moon and the stars would all line up on my behalf, and things would work out between us after all.

But once again (as of yesterday) it's over.

Yeah, I'm disappointed. He is a good man. And that's all that I'll say for now. (What do you expect? You and I, we hardly know each other - of course I'm going to put on a brave face.)

One thing I will say, though, is....Wow, what a great guy he is to break up with! I mean that sincerely. I think that you can always tell a lot about a man's character by the way he handles the ending of a relationship - and he passed with flying colors. I'm grateful, because the healing process usually goes so much faster when the dumping has been a good one.

And I know what I'm talking about because I have been dumped badly a few times. What do I consider a bad dump? Well, one boyfriend ended a three-month relationship by phone, with very little explanation, just two weeks after the words "I love you" came from his lips - and then he refused to see me again. How does one go from "I love you" to "I never want to see you again" in just two weeks? I was heartbroken for a long time over that one.

Second bad dump: five-month relationship, ended by phone, during a time when a (very) close family member was in the final stages of terminal cancer. Like the other guy, I never saw him again after that phone call (his decision). No broken heart this time - but his name definitely left a bad taste in my mouth for a while.

But I don't want to dwell on that. I prefer to remember the good endings. Two men that I've dated were especially great at it. My most recent boyfriend, of course - and one other man who shall also remain nameless. (But if he reads this, he'll know I'm referring to him.)

Are you in the market for a new boyfriend? Too bad that I can't find a way to pass these two wonderful gentlemen along to you - they both come highly recommended! The great thing is that even if the relationship doesn't last very long - at least you can count on a lovely ending... :-)

They say that when one door closes, another opens somewhere. Yeah, I know it's cliche. Just like: "Everything happens for a reason." But I don't care. I'll take my comfort anywhere I can get it.

So - I guess I'm single again! That's not such a bad thing. Wish me luck...

"New York World's Fair" men's summer suits, Montgomery Ward Catalog, 1939. Price: $9.45

As I said, these two gentlemen come highly recommended

Oh, and I forgot to tell you - they're also very handsome.

April Angel figurine, 1950's, Napco Ceramic, Japan

She's almost as sweet as my favorite April Angel, my daughter.

Yes Rachel, if you're reading this, I really do mean it.

My darling daughter...

I finally got up the nerve to share my blog with my daughter, Rachel. There was silence for a while as she read it, and then the first thing out of her mouth? - "How can you call yourself the world's worst procrastinator? I'm the world's worst!"

She's certainly right about that. Like mother, like daughter. Only worse.

(I can get away with saying that because I don't have my own mother chiming in with memories of how unbearable I was to live with at times.)

On a brighter note........it's my daughter's 22nd birthday today. Happy Birthday, honey!

Sadly, this is the first birthday I can remember that I wasn't able to celebrate with her. Even on her 21st birthday last year, she chose to have her first legal drink with me and her older brother before going out with friends.

This year Rachel advertised her birthday plans to friends through her Facebook page, and managed to pull together a group of about twelve to spend the evening bar hopping along Grand Avenue in St. Paul. I'm always behind the times when it comes to cultural trends - so no, I'm not on Facebook - and if I were, I'm not sure I would have been invited to be one of her "friends." (For the same reasons I probably shouldn't have shared my blog URL with her - what was I thinking!) But my sister Mary's daughter is Rachel's "friend" - and so my sister found out for me where her starting point for the evening was going to be.

"Mary," I said excitedly, "Don't you think Rachel would get a kick out of it if Daniel [my son] and I surprised her by showing up tonight?"

Now my sister Mary is a real sweetheart, and always has a smile on her face. The smile is there whether she's happy or upset, whether she agrees or disagrees. When you know her well you can figure out which are the true smiles and which are the nervous or half-hearted ones. Her response to my question? - definitely a nervous smile. I got the point.

So, I wisely decided it was best if I just stay out of the picture tonight. Rachel's birthday cheesecake will have to wait until tomorrow.

I guess my little girl is all grown up now. It's hard to let go.

By the way, can you believe someone as young looking as me could possibly have a 22-year-old daughter? (Sometimes a person has to fish for compliments. I'm not too proud. :-)


Woodbury Facial Soap ad, McCall's magazine, Sept 1951

Please don't hold your breath

In case you're wondering why I haven't written in a while, I've got a very good excuse:

"Procrastination,

Procrastin-a-a-tion ...

is makin' me late,

and keepin' you wa-a-a-a-a-iting..."

----------------------------------------------------

Too bad that procrastination isn't as exciting as anticipation. I'd be squirming all the time.

Better than Par

My ex-boyfriend caught me by surprise yesterday by inviting me to go golfing with him.

I made a few lucky shots, but on the whole I played a pretty lousy game.

.

I didn't care, though.
Some things in life are better than par.

.

And I'm not talking about a candy bar.

.

"Wise is the golfer who carries a Baby Ruth in his pocket.

What a feast it is at the hungry ninth.

Stimulating, pure chocolate, plumply bulging with meaty nuts

whose toasted crispness gives rare flavor to the creamy fudge center in which they await your pleasure.

Here is enjoyment better than par - a generous goodness which satisfies your hunger deliciously;

a nourishing bracer which creates eager energy

for a lustier game on the last long nine...."

.

Vintage 1929 ad for Curtiss Baby Ruth candy bar, featured in June 1929 Photoplay magazine

.

Hmm...what exactly are they selling here?

They sure don't write advertising copy like they used to! :-)

When you were a kid, did you sleep with a rubber rat?

You know, I've always thought that I was a pretty typical little girl growing up...

I played Mommy with my baby dolls (oh, how I loved my dolls!) and then it was Mystery Date with Barbies and my brother's one-armed (he had an accident) G.I. Joe. I was a bookworm and had my nose buried in a book much of the time, but also had a bit of the tomboy and daredevil in me too. I remember riding my bicycle down the street near my school - with no hands, and eyes closed. Yes, I fell. But I was proud to show off my scuffed knees and elbows to my sibs, daring them to give it a try too.

Typical kid stuff.

But this morning I suddenly remembered The Rat.

When I was about 11 or 12 years old, I bought myself a black rubber rat with babysitting money. It had sort of a slick oily look to it, with a long winding tail and beady red eyes. Ugh...gives me the creeps thinking about it. But I slept with that thing! Its name was Oscar.

I'm not sure what I was trying to prove. I suppose I was at an age when I wanted to show that I wasn't a little girl anymore. (Little girls sleep with dolls, not rats.) Plus, growing up as daughter-number-three in a lineup of 7 girls and 2 boys, I think that I was continuously struggling to stand out in some way. I wanted to be unique. The rat made me eccentric, but that was fine too.

I'm not sleeping with rats anymore. (Or at least I try not to very often. :-) But I know that I've got a lot of that doll-loving, book-crazy, risk-taking, attention-craving girl still in me. As an adult, I think that it's important for me to look back often at who I was at 5 and 9 and 12 and ask: What did I like to do? What made me happy? What was I good at? And what did I dream of becoming when I grew up?

In this blog I'll be writing about my quest to become "the best version of myself." But I sometimes wonder if, in some ways, I might have been closer to that best version 40 years ago. Hmm... It's certainly an idea worth exploring.

.

p.s. - In case you're wondering, I'm the little girl behind (and above) the sister in the white communion dress. (Click on the photo to enlarge.)

Just 5, but I look so cocky and sure of myself. I want her back!

Vintage 1950's Turban Hat, soft champagne & oh so glam!

I sold this hat on eBay a couple of years ago. I want it back!