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Character, Clothing, Courage, Fashion, Gifts, Grace, Laughter, Lessons

Clothed in Congeniality

I’ve been shopping all of my life and I have nothing to wear…

Growing up in a middle-class family with two little sisters didn’t allow for many frivolous shopping sprees.  We didn’t need for anything, but we could always selfishly find a want for more clothes. I always looked forward to new outfits for our church conventions in the summer and a few at Christmas time.

The Christmas that I was in 7th grade, my precious grandmother made all of her granddaughters a sweatshirt. These weren’t just regular threads. Allow me to walk you through this fashion statement, so you can fully understand the beauty of it.  My sweatshirt was deep purple, on the front there was a vine made from a thin, green ribbon, with a line sewn down the middle to create ruffled edges.  On the vine were different colors of pink flowers, made from ribbon as well. These were special flowers as they were VELCROED on.  Yes ma’am, no foolery here.  I had the option of pulling a blush-pink flower off the vine on my shoulder, and trading places with the bashful-pink flower on my stomach, or the hot-pink flower on the other shoulder.  The front was beautifully covered with floral goodness.  I could not wait for Christmas break to be over, so I could wear it to school.

Seventh grade is so awkward.  I don’t have to explain this to you, as it is a fact of life. My middle school years were a tad more cumbersome.  Due to our religious beliefs, I wore skirts every day for modesty. Middle school is not the place you want to be different, but it grew my character and created a funny bone.  The first day back to school, I woke up early and couldn’t wait to get dressed.  You know that feeling of assurance – your day will be good because your outfit is rocking.  I clothed myself in a long, blue jean skirt, penny loafers, and my new 3-D floral sweatshirt. Boom.  Watch out world.

Throughout the day I discovered my flowers were a tad difficult to stay on the Velcro vine, so I adjusted how I carried my books – normally tucked to my chest, now held at my side with one arm.  Whatever, change is good.  After lunch, I was walking down the hall and heard, “Hey!  Hey girl in purple!  Hey…Girl that wears skirts!  Skirt girl!”  I finally realized it was me they were yelling at, and turned around to see the most popular 8th grade boy, who every girl had a crush on.  Hoping he had a glass slipper for me to try on, I answered, “Yes?”

“One of your flowers is in Hallway A.”, he said, then turned on his heel and walked into the lunch room.  I looked down and sure enough, one of my floral buds had fallen off, leaving a white square of Velcro showing.  I never wore the sweatshirt to school again.  I decided in that moment to aim for Miss Congeniality and focus on having a good personality.  I couldn’t control my looks and clothing.  My personality and ability to let things roll off, would serve me better. While you can’t control your outer life, we can always control our inner self.

Cut to adulthood – I still believe and operate on those principles, and I also love clothes and fashion.  Like, I could marry them.

Hubs and I were getting dressed to go out the other night and he joked, “Hey, let’s pick each other’s clothes out.”  Then we both roared with laughter at the thought of it.  He laughed because he made a funny.  I laughed to cover my horror at the mental vision of walking out of my closet, clothed in threads chosen by my groom. Flashbacks of middle school made me shutter.  Here is where I emphasize that it is healthy for love to have boundaries. Clear lines.

It’s no secret that I love to travel, yet hate to pack.  Partly because I need to bring it all.  Or at least a couple of choices for each day, as I don’t know what mood I’ll be in upon awaking. Somedays I feel like being Sporty Spice.  Others, I can’t wait to be all fancy and stoic like Posh.  Most times I would welcome imitating Baby Spice by staying in my pajamas, aka “yoga pants” all day.  Bottom line, I don’t know what I really, really want, until waking up and checking the pulse of my day.

You can imagine how sad I would feel if I brought the outfit for Sporty Spice, and Ginger Spice showed up that day for dressing.  Awkward.  I’m making it sound like I have a plethora of outfits to choose from when in actuality, my style walks a pretty basic line.  My friend Jessica refers to it as “classic”, when I’m almost positive she means boring.  But once she compared my style to Jennifer Aniston, so I forgive her.

At one time, I clearly had too much time on my hands and stitched a favorite quote for my closet. “I like my money where I can see it, hanging in my closet.”  Perhaps it was a warning label, framed for my husband. “This girl does and will buy clothes, think of it as an investment, with a return of happiness.”   Here are a few things I like to have in my closet to make me feel warm and safe:

  • White/neutral shirts. I don’t care if it’s a t-shirt or a blouse. I am like Mel Gibson in Conspiracy Theory.  He felt compelled to buy the book ‘Catcher in the Rye’, over and over.  I have the same pull to white tops.  I breathe easier with an assortment.  This also applies to blue jean shirts, one simply cannot have too many.
  • A good pair of comfy jeans. I mainly wear Seven for all Mankind, because they fit me well.  Also, to avoid the mental agony of going to try on another brand that may or may not love my shape.  Dance with the one that brought you.  Side note – 7 for all Mankind’s website always has a 40% off sale at the end of the season.  Be patient friend.  This ensures you won’t have guilt for buying two pairs.  If you are local, run to Mainstream Boutique and grab you a pair of Mac and Me jeans.  They are cute, trendy jeans with a secret, inside waist band of ELASTIC.  No one wants to admit they are throwing in the towel and going straight stretchy pants, but if we can secretly do it? Yes please.
  • Platform wedges. Everyone in our house is now taller than me.  They love reminding me of this, and I play the game only because it makes them happy.  I’ve never wanted to be any other height than I am.  Truthfully, I’ve never paid attention to height until I had teenage boys.  I wear wedges because I like the look of them on my particular legs.  Never to be taller.  Own your inches ladies, no matter how many you have in each direction.  The elderly ladies in the gym locker room remind me every time I’m getting dressed, “You won’t be able to wear those for much longer!”  So, rock ’em while you can Sister-Lou.
  • Layering pieces. Which means light-weight sweaters or jackets in Texas. Even when it is hotter than heck outside, I freeze in the office.  Layers speak love to me, it’s like hugging your body.
  • Fun accessories. This is where I will throw out the class and get crazy.  Belts, jewelry, etc.  The funkier, the better.  It balances the boredom of a white shirt or all the neutrals that I wear.
  • “Movement clothes”, a phrase coined by my friend Casey. This basically means pajamas, but without the commitment of calling it that, just in case someone thinks you mean yoga or workout clothing.  As soon as my feet enter the door of our home, I’m headed to my closet to change into movement clothes.  I love comfort.  I could never have a reality TV show, simply for the fact that I would never be dressed appropriately for the camera.  They would have to ask me to get dressed daily, and I would reply with a deadpan stare and point to my surroundings. In our home, we wear movement clothes.

No matter what threads cover you, your outfit will go a lot further if you are clothed in congeniality. Even if it is attached to you with velcro, wear it proudly.  Especially if it was stitched by your grandmother.

October 16, 2017 by
Friendship, Laughter, Lessons

Lighten up and Laugh more

Life has been so sad lately, I need a laugh break.  If you could benefit from one as well, I invite you to read on.

One of my favorite qualities in a person is the ability to laugh at oneself.  Life is more doable when taken lightly.

I’ve had so many embarrassing moments in my life that I sometimes wonder if I accidently picked up an extra serving, meant for another.   I’m usually the first one to rat myself out, and haven’t decided if this is a good quality or not.  I’ve been in conversations before, halfway through my story, only to realize the person hearing it has a look of horror on their face.

Whoops.

Retreat and wrap it up. I apparently got lost on my way to the sharing circle. Embarrassing stories are to be saved for back porch nights with the inner circle.  When someone shares an embarrassing moment with me, it seals the deal of my love for them. I don’t mean a “Oh my, I burped out loud – clutch my pearls” story, let’s dive in deep my friend.  Dish it out in a safe place.  Shame cannot survive being spoken.

I’d love to share one with you now, it’s actually my favorite.one.ever.  Only it isn’t mine, but I tell it with FULL permission rights.  This gracious friend was brave enough to offer the use of her real name.  Probably due to the fact of threatening her for years that this story is going in a future book.  I’m sharing it here because it deserves a shrine, and I don’t feel that she tells it with as much gusto as it deserves.  She skips some important moments, and this story has earned a space of its own.

Pull up a chair my friend, join me on this back porch.  Chances are, if you have spent any time with me at ALL, you know what story I’m about to tell.   I can’t image any men who would read my blog, but if you are lost and ended up here, feel free to sit this one out.

I was a fresh eighteen years old, and walked into my first day on the job at Bourland Dry Cleaners in Willow Park, Texas.  It was a drop off/pick up location, so the only other employee was the gal training me.  She was a year older and less than thrilled to welcome me.  With her 5-inch-long, dark brown nails, she taught me how to tag and bag clothes. In future days, she taught me how to smoke skinny cigarettes and drink.  We saved our money and chipped in for a mini fridge for the store, to ensure that her beer and my wine coolers stayed cold.  In the distant, more settled days, she taught me how to cook, take care of a baby, and be a homemaker.  You can see where I simply had to have her in my friend barn.

Our job didn’t require matching attire. We just felt the need to go above and beyond. Bless.

Vanessa was in cosmetology school in the mornings, and worked at the cleaners in the afternoons.  Due to many-a-late nights, she missed a lot of school.  Like most of it.  Luckily for the majority of population, she didn’t make a career out of doing hair.  The person in charge of the school finally cracked down and told her that she wouldn’t complete the course if she missed one more day.

With two weeks of school left, Vanessa told me that afternoon that she couldn’t go out after work until the semester was over.  Secretly, I was thankful.  I had gone from living on the shoulder of the life’s highway – straight to the fast lane, and welcomed a rest.  The very next morning, Vanessa woke up rested with full nights sleep, only sick as a dog.  A virus had hit her full force.  Fully recommitted to the trade of making ladies beautiful, she got dressed and headed to class.

The accident occurred on the backroads.  Please don’t be alarmed, this was no car accident, more of a virus-natured one.  I should mention that this was 1997, so clearly, she was dressed in a plaid mini skirt, tights, and loafers.  Who wasn’t after Clueless hit the big screen?   Vanessa had a decision to make – go home and change, or press on. The decision was simple, she was no beauty school dropout.

Always a survivor, she remembered that Koryn, a friend from high school, lived just up ahead.  Koryn had a large family and a welcoming house, everyone was always coming and going.  Desperate, Vanessa pulled in the driveway and ran into the house at 7:30 am. She made a beeline for the restroom to use the facilities and clean herself up.  She went to the extreme of washing her unmentionables in the sink and even blow-drying them, cutting no corners on a quick sanitation job.

When the twenty minute clean-up mission was complete, she walked to Koryn’s room to explain that she needed to avoid using the wash cloth on the side of the tub.  Upon entering her friend’s room, she found a strange man lying in Koryn’s bed.  Realizing she didn’t have time to find a family member, Vanessa figured it best to contact them after school.  She had some hair to color and cut, perhaps even perm.

A few months passed and poor Koryn never received that warning call.  One night, while out in Fort Worth, we ran into Vanessa’s high school friend.  Nessa immediately and apologetically started relaying the story to her.  Koryn listened in horror, her face scrunching up in disgust and disbelief.  I felt so sorry for the poor girl, and replied by making faces of sympathy back at her.  I was silently hoping she hadn’t used that washcloth to cleanse her face.  When my dear friend got done with her story of admission, Koryn replied with, “Vanessa, we haven’t lived there in like a year.”

Howling would be the best description of my laughter.  For once, Vanessa was stunned into silence.

Here is where I could be cheesy, and insert a classic lesson in this story.  One like, “Always know what road you are on” or “Be present on your journey”, or an obvious one, “Know whose bathroom you are in”, or for the homeowner, “Know who is in your bathroom”.   But, wouldn’t you agree, this story needs nothing.

There isn’t a lesson to be learned, other than be sure to find laughter on this journey of life.

Give yourself permission to lighten up and laugh.  Life will take care of handing us the heavy stuff from time to time.  Most importantly, surround yourself with the funniest of friends.

My dear Vanessa, who Hubs has nicknamed Trouble #1

*To wrap this story up in a nice little bow, years later Vanessa found out who the new homeowners were.  Three single, handsome guys in their twenties.  As luck would have it, we ran into one of them a decade later, and I got to witness Vanessa telling him the story.  The best part was watching his brain scan his past calendars to see if he was the one home from work that day. Greatness.

**Disclaimer – By request, no names were changed for protection in this story. We could all learn from her transparency. For all you other friends, your stories are still safe with me.  In the vault, unless you give me written permission to take them out.

Laughing…even in Vermont

 

September 4, 2017 by