Holiday Stylemaker

My recent post on life as a senior Stylemaker, all while wearing white sneakers, has caused some soul-searching and the need for a little more honesty. 

Despite my preference for comfort, I usually do not attend holiday parties wearing a sweatsuit and white sneakers. In fact, nearly a month ago I went to the mall specifically to buy a couple of holiday outfits that would be appropriate for the tsunami of holiday parties and events headed our way.

I returned home with a pair of sleek, ankle-length black pants and two party tops. All went quietly into my closet to await the December festivities.

The day of the first event I pulled the tops from my closet. The first was a black, long-sleeved sweater embellished with pearl-wannabe’s. Very pretty. But the temperature outside was an unseasonal 70-plus degrees. After two minutes of wearing that top it went back into the closet to await winter weather. Has climate change really come to this: a person in a Midwestern state can't wear a sweater in mid-December?

I pulled the other top out. It was black velour. It looked just as warm as the sweater but thankfully didn’t cause profuse sweating when I pulled it over my head. I was thinking—great choice. Looks seasonal but feels fine.

But this top had other exciting features too. I must have read somewhere that fringe was in style. And asymmetric hemlines. As the second-choice top had both: an asymmetrical hemline and longish fringe. I thought I made a very fashion-forward statement with the fringed top and slim slacks. I even wore black flats to complete my “Black is the new black holiday look.”

Then I tried to use the restroom at holiday event one. Think disaster: fringe in the toilet, fringe stuck in my pants zipper. This tunic should have had a warning label that at least included diet restrictions. I decided I could not consume any drinks, festive or otherwise, since using the restroom in this outfit was just out of the question. Despite the heat I wore top number one to my next event.

Given the unseasonably warm temperatures and also the unintended encounters with toilet bowls, laundering of both tops proved a must. My new holiday tops had detailed instructions for laundering. Both suggested hand washing the garments, placing them flat to dry and then taking great care to iron all wrinkles.

I generally translate “hand-washing” into put in a delicates-washing-bag and toss in in the washer and hang dry. I’m happy to say both tops survived their laundry ordeal. And the fringed top looked particularly good once it dried, needing no ironing of any kind.

Now if there is any woman with experience wearing an asymmetrical tunic with long fringe who would care to share how to keep the fringe out of the toilet and the side zipper of pants, I may actually have something festive I can wear to the remaining holiday parties. Otherwise, it may be back to sweats and sneakers.

  

Happy Holidays: The Spruce Report

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah and New Year, and all the holidays in between and after.

There’s still way too much to do before any of the holidays can arrive.  Was it Noel Coward who said “Christmas now has us by the throat?” Well he should know—since he’s named for the Christmas holiday. As for me, I’m just in a mild panic. The presents aren’t ordered, the cards not yet sent and our Christmas tree is not yet up or decorated. If I were Santa’s elf I’d be on overtime or maybe out of a job. 

At least we have a wreath on our door. If we can get the outside lights up no one will be the wiser we’re so far behind. So this year we are multi-tasking: I’ve started this Christmas note while my intrepid spouse is looking for the timer for the outside lights. 

Real Time Report:  Was that Santa rushing by with presents as I typed?  No, that was my husband.  He was in the attic looking for the timer. 

Usually I report on the holly berries I can see from the window of my office. That is, in those years when we’ve not yet had cold and snowy weather. Once real winter arrives the birds eat all the berries. I could try to make some climate change point that the weather must be warmer this year since the birds haven’t eaten the berries yet.

Real Time Report:  Now my spouse is back from the basement, grumbling about things not being put in their place.  And then he’s dashing by to check the garage.  No timer in the garage.  

Instead I’m going to report on the astronomical growth of our blue spruce in the front yard. I don’t have any idea what that means as far as climate change. But I do have some idea of the practical implications for putting Christmas lights on a tree that has grown to be almost as tall as our two-story house.

        Real Time Report:  my husband has made another trip to the attic.  The timer was hidden in a   plain, unmarked bag.  The better to stay hidden each year.  But that means it’s time to start stringing those lights.  So I’m taking a short “break”.

Every year, for the past twenty-two, we have strung little colored lights on the blue spruce in the front yard.  When we first moved to this house the spruce was about ten feet tall.  My husband could easily toss a few lights around the spruce without any help and it looked fine.

       Real Time Report:  I’m back working on the lights. My job is to check the strands to be sure all the lights work.  It’s too cold to stay out here and do any more right now.  Maybe I better go back to my Christmas note, with a hot toddy so I don’t catch cold.

Now that damn spruce is nearly two stories high and twenty feet across.  So why are we still doing it?  First, there’s the satisfaction of knowing we’ve nicely decorated our front yard.

Real Time Report:  As we string the lights I discover my job also was supposed to include separating the polarized strands from the non-polarized strands.  Oops—need to unstring the last few strands.

 Then, there are the neighbors who start to say things in July, like, “Sure looking forward to seeing your tree all lit up again.”  Finally I suppose it’s the idiocy of not wanting to give up something we’ve done for years.  And the fact that a few years ago when I checked with a couple of those outdoor light-hanging companies they wanted $5,000 to string lights on our tree.  If we should get good at this light-hanging thing we’d have a new career opportunity for our old age.

Real Time Report:  We’re halfway there.  Time for the ladder.  And maybe another hot toddy break. 

Each year after we get the lights on we feel that wonderful sense of accomplishment.  Yeah, right.  Stringing this tree is more like a recipe for disaster than for a hot toddy.  Half the time the lights don’t work, the ladder isn’t tall enough and the jerry-rigged extension pole doesn’t extend like it should to reach those top branches.  

Real Time Report:  All that’s left is to flip the switch.  Fingers crossed.  Good thing it’s getting dark.  The better to be wowed by the lights.  And . . . we are.  Yippee!  They’re all lit!  Until we turn away.  When we turn back only the very bottom lights are lit.  Argh!

Tomorrow we’ll try to diagnose what’s wrong.  For now I’ll close by saying we’ve had a good year, and been healthy, happy, and lucky enough to see our family and friends, though not as often as we would like.  Best wishes for a happy, healthy and great holiday season.  

Don’t forget to drink your hot toddy.  It helps mellow out that Christmas decorating experience.

Christmas Disaster Part 3: The Movie

You may have read my recent tales of disaster--with an attempted “natural” Christmas and also with the artificial kind.  As the holiday approaches and I need a break from the craziness of the shopping and decorating season, I turn to that all-time best Christmas disaster movie.  No, not the Chevy Chase one, or the one where Jimmy Stewart tries to kill himself.  Though I do love “It’s a Wonderful Life.” 

The all-time best Christmas disaster movie, “Die Hard” is just the ticket to get you in the holiday disaster spirit.  What’s not to like?  Bruce Willis with sort-of-bulging muscles in a dirty “beater” shirt, Bonnie Bedalia with big ‘80’s hair and shoulder pads, and a towering–inferno-in-the-waiting.  Identifiable bad guys with German accents but only greed, not real political or terrorist motivations.  And a good-hearted, hefty, Twinkie-eating cop who is smarter than all his bosses and the FBI combined.

Sorry for the spoiler but if you haven’t seen the movie by now you’ve been living on the moon or in a coma the last twenty years: the good guy wins, the obnoxious media guy gets a well-deserved punch from Bonnie, and Bruce and Bonnie decide they both should compromise and appreciate each other a little more.  And that doesn’t even mention the cute, African American limo driver kid, Argyle, who helps save the day.

Some ‘80’s media and “art” have not aged well.  But pull out your copy of “Die Hard”, or download or stream it or whatever you do.  Pour a little rum in your eggnog and have yourself a merry little Christmas disaster, complete with happy ending.  If you are surviving the holiday season you deserve it.  And most likely you did not have as tough a time making it home for the holidays as Bruce and Bonnie did.

The Competition

Christmas Disaster Part 2 and ½: The Saga Continues

Its 15 days before Christmas.  The Christmas cards and annual letter are not written, the shopping is not done, and we do not yet have a Christmas tree up. How could we already be into another disaster?

Today we put up the garland over the large wooden entertainment center in the family room.  Most years I have done this with the help of our cleaning person.  This year, my husband is retired.  So he suggests he and I will do the decorating together.  That’s what the joy of the holiday season is all about: spending time with loved ones.

In past years, my cleaning person and I would push back the artificial mums and philodendron (the Non-Christmas Decorations—NCD) that usually sit on top of the entertainment center.  Then we would string the artificial greenery in front to hide the NCD.  With a stepladder, it would take the two of us five to ten minutes.  And little muss or fuss.

This year, my spouse said, “Let’s do the decorating the right way.”  That is, Step 1, take down the mums and other Non-Christmas Decorations.  Of course, this results in Step 2, find a place to put all the NCD.  There is a lot more NCD than Christmas greenery.  So, my gracious husband climbs into the attic and hauls out some empty plastic tubs.  Next comes Step 3, take down the NCD.  Also a big project.  Not only is the NCD voluminous but it’s a hodgepodge.  Mums and greenery in pots, strands, and all sorts of other configurations that had been interwoven for a look of a solid, wall-long floral front. How we will ever get this all back up I'm not sure.  

But taking down all of this decoration once in awhile no doubt is a good idea. Because that takes us to Step 4, dusting.  The only problem is I am terribly allergic to dust mites.  One of the reasons we have a cleaning person.  Thus, soon I look like the proverbial TV allergy sufferer: sneezing, sniffling, and red, itchy eyes.  And that’s after taking a boatload of allergy medicine.

Having completed Steps 1 through 4, we are proud of our accomplishments.  And finally we are ready for Step 5, put up the Christmas garland/greenery or “CG” for short.  The CG comes in large strands with colored lights, activated by a battery pack in each strand.  Oops, Step 5 is check the strands and batteries.  


All finally is a “Go” for Step 6, put up the CG. In previous (misguided) years this had been the only Step.

My husband climbs on the stepladder while I hold the rest of the strands.  This seems to be my place in Christmas decorating.  But the decorations don’t want to stay in place.  There no longer is anything to prop them up with. Nevertheless, my spouse manages to get them situated.  The greenery appears settled, so he puts away the stepladder. 

Not surprisingly, the previously clean carpet now is dusted with artificial needles.  Did I mention our cleaning person had come the day before? I guess Step 7 is clean up the mess.

In addition to allergies, I have bone spurs in my shoulders, an old injury to my cervical spine, and tendonitis in both elbows. Thus, my arms are pretty useless for doing any real work.  That is the other reason we have a cleaning person. Not to worry, my husband says, he will handle Step 7 with our trusty, old vacuum.   

As he vacuums, though, rather than artificial needles disappearing, we see big globs of dust appearing.  The vacuum has been set on “hose” rather than “floor.”  Once corrected, (Step 7 and 1/2?) the dust and needles come up, but not without more sneezing, sniffling, and itching.  Maybe I should make sneezing a separate step? 

A dusty scent lingers in the air.  After all, it is an old vacuum cleaner.

After vacuuming, we find more than dust has been disturbed.  The artificial greenery has all come tumbling down, this time leaving a much wider swath of needles in its wake.

I won’t bore you with the Step by Step's.  Suffice it to say we repeat all the previous Steps with one addition.  This time, my intrepid spouse improvises a base for the greenery with metal book ends.  He really is very good at “Jerry-rigging,” even if by now we must be at Step 8. If we get to 12 Steps I am going to be ready for some alcohol.

I firmly believe we are done with all the Steps in Christmas decorating.  We can gather around our gas fireplace or even the two-foot-tall red-ribboned-bedecked rosemary “tree” in the kitchen.  After all, who really needs a Christmas tree? 

Christmas Disaster Part 2: Christmas Lights

If you read my previous post you will know “natural” Christmas decorations don’t always work out to expectations.  So, perhaps a return to the old-faithful of Christmas decorations is in order. 

Christmas lights.  What is prettier than to see a beautiful tree all lit with colored lights.  We have a blue spruce in our front yard and have been stringing lights on it for most of the twenty plus years we have lived in this house.  The tree, about 12 feet when we first moved in, of course, has grown over that time.  Each year, for the last ten years, at least, my husband swears that THIS year, is absolutely the last year he will put lights on the tree.  

The spruce is now at least 30 feet tall.  We have a six-foot, half-broken, step-ladder and a re-purposed expandable golf ball retriever.  With these implements so clearly insufficient to reach the top of the spruce, I took my husband at his word and investigated what it would cost to call in the professionals.  $1,500!  To install and take down lights on a large tree.  And that was when I mistakenly told them the tree was about fifteen feet tall.  Did I mention I'm not so good with spatial dimensions?  Assuming they could work us into their schedule before Christmas?!?  How can there be a recession going on if the professional light-hangers are so busy at those prices?  I laughed out loud.  And figured we would finally have a dark tree this year.  A little sad but not the end of the world. 

So on a recent day I was surprised to see my husband dragging out the old broken step ladder and golf ball retriever.  I knew my place.  Holding the ladder, trying to juggle the wrapped strands, and praying my spouse did not fall down on his head or mine.

The lights went up and we applauded ourselves when we tested them before proceeding to get out the small artificial pre-lit trees for the front porch.  That night when we arrived home in the dark, the top three-fourths of the spruce was totally dark, as was the top of one of the little artificial trees on the porch.  Maybe lighted bottoms and dark tops are “in” this year?

Surely in this age of sleek iPhone’s and iPad’s, amazing electronic devices, and remotes for everything under the sun, there must be a better way to put up Christmas lights than to test your lights, string up the strands, plug them together and then hope for the best.  Only to find half or more don’t work because a bulb is loose, a fuse in a strand has blown (one of the strands on the spruce), or somehow a Grinch has just cast a spell on your Christmas lights (the small artificial tree—those lights somehow just came back on).

The pre-lit trees and decorations are no better; they are as temperamental as the old-fashioned strands.  But you can’t just take them off and put another strand on. 

The spruce finally is prettily lit with colored lights.  At least for the moment. The little artificial trees are firmly planted in the flower pots on the front porch.  And no one has had to be rushed to the emergency room for head injuries…yet.

But where is the clever ingenuity for Christmas decorations with lights that just somehow neatly work without all this struggling?  Wouldn’t we all be more in the Christmas spirit if we didn’t have to run back to Walgreens and get another strand or two of lights every week?

Christmas Disaster Part 1: Where Have All the Holly Berries Gone?

It must be the time of year for the Christmas letter: the birds have been busy devouring the holly berries.  Usually they wait until the temperature drops to sub zero and the ground is covered with snow.  Today it is above freezing and the ground is so wet some birds keep getting distracted from their premature plunder of the holly berries by worms wiggling in plain sight.  Go figure.  Maybe the birds know something about climate I don’t.

To get into the Christmas spirit I read a few articles about current decorating ideas.  Martha Stewarts’s weekend newspaper column suggested decorating with nature this year.  Bring the natural beauty indoors.  Banish the artificial and phony.  Save time and money. What a great idea!   

So when the birds began their attack of the holly trees on Saturday, with work gloves protecting my freshly-manicured hands, I ventured outside with my pruner.  Our Shetland Sheepdog Schatzie stood guard at the front door and barked, scaring off any birds who might be contemplating taking issue with my bringing nature indoors.  

I cut a generous armload of the holly branches, some still with berries.  Makes me think if Tippi Hedren had owned a sheltie dog, Hitchcock’s “The Birds” would never have been made. 

As Martha Stewart directed, I tried to place the branches in a large bucket.  She suggests soaking them for 24 hours so they are completely hydrated.  The branches were too big for any of our buckets.  By now the sharp holly leaves had scratched my hands, ruined my manicure, and the gloves also were wet and useless.  I removed the gloves and tried pushing the branches into a cooler.  At least they now mostly fit.

Ferrying buckets of water to the cooler situated on the back porch, I tripped, spilling water everywhere. My shoes, clothes, and the floor were soaked.  At least I had the foresight to use warm water.  So it was not as bad as it sounds, more like a bath while fully dressed.

I closed the back door, cleaned up the mess and changed clothes.  And promptly forgot about the holly branches in the cooler until today.  At least they should be well hydrated.  So I re-cut the branches and filled several vases.  More scratches.  But, what the hell: you can’t make an omelet without breaking some eggs. 

By now the birds have completely stripped the bright berries from all of the holly trees.  That’s just as well.  I’m totally done with this “natural” Christmas decorating.