Pie in the Eye, Pie in the Sky: Service Worth Your While

 Fabulous Felt Cherry Pie Barrette

Out of This Swirled Agate Bangle

Top: So, Kohl's

Skirt: Arizona Jeans, JCPenney

Shoes: Chase & Chloe, Zulily

Bag: Macy's Backstage

Bag charm: Carole, JCPenney

Sunglasses: Michaels 

I've never worked in food service, and I can safely say that I wouldn't want to.  For one thing, I lack the upper body strength.  For another, I'm not sure I could keep my cool with strangers.  I have a tendency to laugh when things get awkward, and also, I'm a terrible liar.  (The lobster bisque?  No, it wasn't made today.  More like last Tuesday, and also, I saw the chef drop his contact in it.)  While I'm being honest, I'm not that big on cooking either (yes, the Food and Recipes menu tab on this blog is very misleading.  Note to self: replace with Heel Steals -- Shoe Shopping Confidential.  Which may be about shoes I bought really cheap . . . or shoes that I stole.  Stay tuned.)  That said, I can appreciate the kind of creative catharsis that comes from baking a pie or a cake or even the almost-impossible-to-master souffle.  Because that catharsis is not all that different from the kind that comes from making a felt pie hair piece (the barrette kind, not the toupee) or stringing a necklace or stockpiling sequins.  Also, I love pie.  Mostly key lime, although mermaid marshmallow sounds tempting, too.  Even if I haven't heard of it outside of Waitress. 

Ah Waitress, the movie-starring-Kerri-Russell-turned-play-starring-Katharine-McPhee-and-sometimes-her-understudy.  My parents and I saw the play on Broadway a few weeks ago, and it was marvelous, as tasty as Entenmann's, Mrs. Smith's, and Mom's homemade pastries combined.  Because it is, after all, a sweet story.  Well, maybe sweet's not the right word, as it has spousal abuse and adultery.  Maybe it's better to say sweetly tangy, like Laffy Taffy or Sour Patch Kids or ambrosia that's started to turn.  Anyway, the eponymous waitress is Jenna, and her dream is to open a pie shop.  She bakes unusual -- and unusually named -- pies for Joe's Pie Diner, where she serves them to the local yokels, including the cantankerous-but-secretly-kind Joe.  A waitress's job is to tend to the needs of others, and Jenna's is no different.  Her boss is a jerk, and the tips aren't always what they should be.  Add her mean old husband and an unplanned pregnancy, and she's ripe for an affair with . . . her gynecologist?  Yep.  In the movie, this dude is played by Nathan Fillion, which, although unappealing (I'm no Fillion fan), is believable because Castle brings a certain snarkiness with his suave.  But in the play, Dr. Love (not his real name) is more of a corn-fed, aw shucks kind of guy.  In the end it doesn't matter because Waitress isn't about romance.  It's about a down-and-out woman finding her way.  And also about happiness and grabbing it any way that you can.  When Jenna hears about a pie contest with a serious cash prize, she thinks it's her last chance for freedom.  But fate has other plans.  

I wouldn't classify the movie version as a comedy.  A dark comedy maybe, but even that's a stretch.  It's more of a drama.  So, I wasn't sure what to expect from the play.  I'm happy to report that it's more fanciful than foreboding, from the smell of freshly baked pie being piped in the theater to the cherry pie lattice-topped curtain:

And then, of course, there's the music by Sara Bareilles (I'm working hard not to insert a "Cherry Pie" by Warrant joke here.  You're welcome.).  You can't be grim when you're singing and dancing, and the musical theater element makes what could be a dense dish as light as egg whites.

Here's my program (er, playbill; Tracy, get it together, this isn't the Ice Capades).  The production we saw wasn't with Katharine, but no one can ever prove it. 

After the show, it was out into the mass of throbbing humanity that is Times Square.  But only momentarily, as Dad expertly herded us out of the throng and toward the considerably less crowded Rockefeller Center. 

On the way we stopped to take this picture.  If you look very closely (or break out your Sherlock Holmes-style magnifying glass or zoom in or whatever), then you can see my Flash Charms necklace and Lady in Lime ring from PinkBopp.

In keeping with the dessert theme, here are some ice pop stamps.  They're scratch and sniff!  What more could an '80s kid (or really, anyone) want from postage?  It's the perfect time to photograph them, too, because I just used my last boring PEACE stamp and need to send my water bill.  (Yes, I snail mail my bills like an eighty-year-old.  Obviously, for the super cool stamps.)

So, that's a wrap.  The next time your waitress serves you a slice -- be nice.  You don't know what kind of day -- or life -- she's had.

Also, you don't want her adding a side of lugee. 

Mama Drama: Going Postal

 Whimsical Waters Necklace

Dress: Zulily

Shoes: Worthington, JCPenney

Bag: JCPenney

So last week, I received an email from a customer informing me that she still hadn't received a necklace that she'd purchased in March.  Needless to say, I was gobsmacked.  As always, I'd shipped the package within three days of purchase and emailed the customer the USPS.com tracking number to let her know that it was on its way.  True, I didn't receive a response or get Etsy feedback, but that happens more often than not, so I thought that no news was good news.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

Not knowing what else to do, I logged onto USPS.com and plugged in the tracking number.  The red No Record Found that flashed on the screen made my heart sink.  There was only one explanation: the package had gotten lost in the mail.  In my nearly ten years of selling on Etsy, this had never happened.  I couldn't make the customer a new necklace.  The one in question was one of a kind, made from eclectic fabric flowers that I wouldn't be able to find again.  Instead, I issued a full refund along with my heartfelt apologies and the offer of a free item from my shop.  Thankfully, the customer accepted all of the above with grace and good humor.  Better yet, she loved the necklace she chose as her consolation prize, right down to the packaging.  Which meant everything to me.  When I send something across the country (or, once a in a while, across the world), I feel like I'm putting good out into the universe, and I want to keep those vibes going.

Still, I can't help but wonder what happened to that package.  Is it lying in an alley somewhere, pigeons pecking away at the illustrated envelope?  Or is some postal worker wearing the necklace to a summer shindig, margarita in hand, even as I type this?  In the future, I'll always track the package myself to find out if it reaches its destination, if only so I can contact the customer instead of her (or him) contacting me.  But the fate of this one will just have to remain one of life's mysteries.

In happier news, I saw Mama Mia: Here We Go Again last weekend, and it was fabulous.  So fanciful and colorful!  Plus, I always love a story with flashbacks, which is pretty much the whole deal with this one.  As you probably know, in the first Mama Mia, Donna's (Meryl Streep) daughter, Sophie (Amanda Seyfried), wants her father to walk her down the aisle.  The only hitch is, she doesn't know who he is.  He can be one of three guys (Colin Firth, Stellan Skarsgard, or Pierce Brosnan) that Donna wrote about in her diary.  So, Sophie invites them all to her wedding, they show up, and chaos ensues.  In the sequel, which is partially set in 1979, we return to the idyllic Greek island of Kalokairi to see a young Donna (Lily James) fall for her three handsome suitors and sing her (broken) heart out about it.  (As a bonus, we also get to see her buy her signature overalls at an outdoor market).  The air crackles with the delicious angst of young love in an exotic setting, and the songs play in your head long after you've scarfed down your popcorn.  Yet even more intoxicating is the sense of freedom and adventure.  Donna is an unapologetic risk taker, exploring the world fresh out of college without a plan or a safety net, bewildered by those who follow more well-worn and traditional paths.  And she's absolutely ecstatic doing it, even when her world seems to crumble.  It makes me wish that I would've done something like that at twenty-two instead of combing Monster for a "normal" job.  But then again, I guess it all worked out.  This strange little public diary of a blog is more my type of adventure.

Anyway, I stumbled upon a treasure trove of ocean-themed jewelry-making supplies not long after I saw the movie.  When I spotted these dolphin-shaped beads and the groovy druzy rock pendant, I thought, ooh those would make a cool necklace.  Beachy and boho and blingy and blue.  Just like Mama Mia!  

Speaking of beaches, here's a shot of the faux surfboard attached to the Conex box that is the Sol Berrie smoothie stand on the less glamorous but beloved island of Brigantine.

Bold and inviting, it's the kind of picture you want to dive into -- one dutiful hour, of course, after downing your smoothie.  Or, you know, thirty seconds after downing your smoothie, pineapple-mango froth still dribbling down your chin.

How's that for unapologetic?

Small Thunder: Tiny But Mighty

Pink Lady Necklace 

Top: Self Esteem, Zulily

Skirt: Stoosh, Macy's

Shoes: Payless

Bag: Liz Claiborne, JCPenney

Belt: Kohl's

Sunglasses: Relic, Kohl's

No, this isn't a tribute to that '80s sitcom about the girl robot.  It's a nod to a novel about a woman in the '60s named Tiny.  Yes, Tiny (short for Christina).  I first became acquainted with her in Beatriz Williams's The Secret Life of Violet Grant, through the lens of her sister Vivian:

"Neither of us could politely stand Tiny, who by the grace of God had married her Harvard mark last June, and now lived in a respectably shabby house in the Back Bay with a little Boston bean in her righteous oven.  God only knew how it got there!" (89)

After reading this, I thought, oh, Tiny's the stick in the mud.  We're not supposed to like her.  Yet, even with this understanding, I sensed something of myself in this precious paragon, and I knew that, were she real, I'd get along with her much better than I would Vivian.  It seemed that Williams liked her too because she wrote a follow-up book about her, Tiny Little Thing, revealing, page after page, all the reasons why she wasn't so perfect.  In it, I learned how Tiny's marriage to rising political star Franklin Hardcastle shapes her identity.  Poised and polished, Tiny is the quintessential public eye wife, with never a word or a hair out of place.  That is, until one night when she gets drunk at a fundraiser and tells a reporter how she really feels.

Williams tells the story from two points of view: Tiny's in 1966 and her husband's cousin's Caspian's (ugh, try saying that one five times fast) in 1964.  Caspian knew Tiny before she was married, so his account is much different than the account she gives of herself.  For example, it's Caspian who tells us that Tiny's a ballet dancer and that she feels the most free when she's dancing.  It's also Caspian who divulges Tiny's wish to escape.  He asks her, from what, exactly?, and she says:

"From what everyone else expects of me.  From worrying about pleasing everyone.  Playing my little role.  Living up to their expectations.  Letting their expectations become my expectations, until I can't tell what's real, what I really want, because it's all wrapped up in my wanting what they want." (114)

That's the root of Tiny's problems, the pressure to live up to an impossible ideal, to be someone she's not.  Yet as she struggles to balance her burgeoning self-awareness with the burdens of being a candidate's wife, she finds out that some of those closest to her have been pretending to be someone else, too.   

I loved this book.  And not just because it made me think of that "politicians will philander" line from Baz Luhrmann's "Everybody's Free (to Wear Sunscreen)."  Because it's beautifully written, and its characters are achingly real.  Because it's poignant and nostalgic and perceptive.  But most of all because it questions the way girls are raised.  In upper class 1960s America, yes.  But also in all kinds of households today.

On a lighter note, I was charmed by the fashion.  Tiny wears an enviable collection of evening gowns as well as scarves, gloves, and darling day dresses - one of which is a Lilly Pulitzer shift in a green monkey print.  The style is one of the best things about that tumultuous time.  It inspired me to make this Pink Lady Necklace, which combines old-fashioned, ladylike elegance with bright boho accents -- a perfect combination for a '60s heroine breaking free from her well-brought-up shell.      

Because freedom is worth its weight in couture.

And that, dear readers, is no small thing.

Quelle Surprise: Color Me Scrappy

 Blue Bubble Necklace

 Pretty Prism Barrettes

Top: Marshalls

Skirt: Amazon

Shoes: Chase & Chloe, Zulily

Bag: Luv Betsey, Macy's

Belt: Izod, Marshalls

A rainbow is like a surprise gift from nature. Which is an odd thing for me to say, because I don't usually like surprises. Or nature. Nevertheless, last weekend, I read a novel called Surprise Me. Title notwithstanding, I knew what I was getting into because it's written by Sophie Kinsella, beloved author of the Shopaholic series. It's about a married couple that starts freaking out after some health insurance company-appointed doctor assess their life expectancy (I guess that's a thing in England) and informs them that they have a good chance of living until 100. Although Dan and Sylvie (those are their names) are in love and all that, umpteen more years of finishing each other's sentences seems suddenly daunting. So, Sylvie comes up with a grand plan to keep the spark going with little surprises. The story starts out sweet and light-hearted, shimmering with the kind of nervous energy that is the hallmark of any Kinsella caper. Then things take a turn, plunging Dan and Sylvie into uncharted territory and invoking the old caveat: be careful what you wish for.

The topsy-turvy plot serves as a wake-up call for Sylvie. Although she's a mother of two and holds down a job, she comes off as a little naive, trapped in an arrested development symbolized by waist-length hair and aggressively frilly clothes (which is something, by the way, that I appreciate only as a metaphor; stylistically speaking, I would never side with pixie cuts and pants suits). Sylvie needs more than a makeover, though. She must confront a painful secret before she can move on with her marriage. Some may say that this is too tangled a tangent for a book with a yellow cover splashed with pastel hearts. But I say that this is Kinsella's wheelhouse, sprinkling the spangly over the unspeakable. (Rebecca Bloomwood shopped, after all, to deal with all the little and not-so-little disappointments in life.) That's what makes Kinsella's books so good; like a well-dressed department store mannequin, they're fun and fashionable but have lots of layers.

Now, on to that rainbow. Rainbow rhinestone hairpins, that is. Rainbows, come to think of it, are a lot like Kinsella novels, in that they're masters at making the best of things that are unpleasant. The unpleasant thing, in their case, being rain. Anyway, I used metal slider barrettes to make this hair flare, and I like the way it turned out, flashy yet simple. Talk about an oxymoron!

Next I worked with the metal circle charms left over from last week's Ariel necklace. Sometimes that's the best part of buying supplies for "planned" projects, using the "scraps" to make something that never even occurred to you. I embellished them with cool-colored rhinestones to make this Blue Bubble Charm necklace. The purple, chartreuse, and turquoise remind me of a colorblocked silk blouse that my mom had in the '90s and that I once wore, tucked into chino shorts, on a ferry. (I have a picture, and it is not good.) But the mod-slash-under-the-sea aesthetic of that color palette stayed with me, and I was excited to recreate it in this necklace. It's a little slice of nostalgia, the pot of bold at the end of the rainbow.

Unlike the poison ivy that surprised me many summers ago on yet another, albeit non-ferry-related, vacation. Not a good slice of nostalgia, that.

I have my reasons for not liking nature.

Ariel and Rapunzel and Cinderella and Belle

Top: Macy's
Skirt: Arizona Jeans, JCPenney
Shoes: Payless
Bag: Betsey Johnson, Boscov's

 Magical Mermaid Necklace, Royal Razzle Dazzle Necklace

Top: Rebellious One, Macy's
Shorts: Merona, Target
Flip flops: Marshalls
Bag: Xhilaration, Target

We've all seen the tee shirts.  Some name and some name and some name and some name from pop culture that all go together.  I used to have one with the names of the characters from "Sex and the City."  I wore it gamely until some dude at the bank stared at it a little too pointedly and asked, "How's Samantha?"  That tee shirt may be long gone, but my fascination with and respect for iconic quartets remains.

And there are few things more iconic than a Disney princess.

I'd been eyeing up Disney princess buttons in various craft stores for years.  Which, now that I'm typing this, sounds like a really long time to contemplate so small a purchase.  But last week I finally bought them and set to work making them into charms.  Which turned out to be more involved than I thought.  (Perhaps my subconscious was hip to this, accounting for that procrastination.)  Once I snapped off the loops at the backs to make them flat, they fell apart like puzzle pieces.  But I fixed that with a little Gem-Tac.  Next, I attached each princess to a disc charm.  Then it was finally time for the fun part: rhinestones and pink chain and Swarovski crystals, oh my!  Also, a spectacularly sparkly unicorn head.

I'd also picked up some Little Mermaid buttons, so I rinsed and repeated to make an Ariel necklace.  (Get it?  Rinse and repeat, like shampoo?  Because of the water in the shower and ocean and also the long, mermaid hair?  No?  Okay.  Never mind.)  Ariel gets to be in both necklaces because she's my favorite princess.  The scorpion centerpiece is a little weird, I'll admit, but I already had it from an old necklace that just wasn't working.  (Before that it was a brooch that I wore, in another lifetime, on the lapel of a suit.)  That said, I think it adds a little unexpected edge, a little, ahem, salt, if you will, to the sweet. 

I've decided not to list these lovelies.  For one thing, there's the age-old ethical question of character licensing.  Far be it from me to filch profits from the multi-million dollar machine that is the Disney empire.  For another, they were relatively expensive to make, and I feel weird about charging what might seem like too much for such delicate pieces.  But if I'm being honest (as I try, always, to be), then the real reason I'm not putting them on Etsy is because I want to keep them.  Like many a kawaii-Lolita enthusiast, I can't resist an accessory that blends the gossamer daydreams of childhood with the somewhat more gritty glamour of being grown up.

The Swarovski, in case you were wondering, is the grown up part.  Which is a lot more palatable than saying that being grown up means having to clean the bathroom.

Romancing the Tone: A Love Affair with Shoes

Top: Material Girl, Macy's

Skirt (a dress!): Macy's

Boots: Union Bay, Kohl's

Bag: Worthington, JCPenney

When you're feeling less than thrilled with life, read a romance novel.  Fun and frothy, they are the reading woman's rom coms, complete with meet-cutes, beautiful people, and predictably happy endings.  On the flip side, if you're on top of the world, then these confections can seem kind of hollow.  But they've got me through a hard time or two, and sometimes I even learn something.

Case in point, last winter I was putting away a pair of UNIONBAY boots I'd scored for 70% off at the after Christmas sale at Kohl's and noticed that the box had the Seattle skyline on it in the lower left-hand corner.  (I could tell because of the Space Needle.)  

And I thought, huh, I guess Union Bay is a real place, and that it's in Seattle.  Then I remembered that the romance author I'd been reading sets a lot of her books in Seattle, and that she references Union Bay.  And I was like, mind blown.

Who says you can't add a wrinkle to the old brain from hanging with happily ever after?  And also, from bargain basement shoe shopping?

In keeping with the, ahem, heart of the matter, I unearthed this bubble pendant that I embellished last Valentine's Day.

Unlike the other pendants that came in the Target Dollar Spot four-pack, it was gray to their more traditionally cheerful reds and pinks.  But to me, that made it even more appealing, the perfect canvas for a neon rainbowed, 1980s-inspired design.  Still, it was kind of subtle all on its own (and you know I don't do subtle), so I paired it with my oldy but goody Rubik's Cube-esque squares-within-a-square pendant for the purposes of this post.

Both necklaces now dangle as decor in my craft room, which I dare say is almost finished after months of poking and prodding.  And shopping.  More on that (relatively) soon.   

That said, sometimes sunshine is only a creative project or department store or book store (or, yes, Amazon.com) away.

Lovers' tales and footwear sales: kind of brings a whole new meaning to kinky boots.

Ribbons and Bows and Lots of New Clothes: I Enjoy being a (Gilmore) Girl

Top: Monteau, Marshalls
Jeans: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's
Bag: Glamour Damaged, Etsy
Shoes: Penny Loves Kenny, DSW

Blue and Lime Dot Double Bow Barrette 

Peach and White Stripe Double Bow Barrette 

Embellished skirt: Macy's
Ruffle skirt: Arizona Jeans, JCPenney
Pockets skirt: Arizona Jeans, JCPenney

Rainbow Ribbon Necklace

I was already planning on the ribbons and bows and clothes component of this post. Because there are few things I enjoy more than trotting out the still-tagged items in my staging closet. What's a staging closet, you ask? In my case, it's the tiny, old-timey closet adjacent to the actual closet in my bedroom. I like to think that it was where some stray cat slept back in 1927 when this house was built (not really; I'm not a cat person and don't know why I said that. Maybe because it sounded more PC than saying a servant slept there or something.) The husband uses the actual closet, whereas my closet is one of the spare bedrooms. Yes, you read that correctly. An entire bedroom is my closet -- and it's full. Maybe someday when I'm feeling brave and/or braggy I'll photograph it and post it here.  But let's get back to the matter at hand, namely, what do I keep in the staging closet? Clothes I haven't worn yet. Also, less glamorously, my winter pajamas, workout clothes (i.e. hole-speckled over-sized tees, hoodies with broken zippers, and exactly three pairs of sweatpants). Anyway, I was all set to center this post around my old faithful and favorite topic of fashion when I read Lauren Graham's Talking as Fast as I Can: From Gilmore Girls to Gilmore Girls (and Everything in Between). And I thought, hey, why not throw in something a little cerebral? What's that? An autobiography by an actress is about as cerebral as a smoothie? Maybe some of them, but not this one. And also, smoothies are good for you.

I used to watch "Gilmore Girls" back in the day, but I sense that there are episodes, or maybe even whole seasons, I missed. (Clearly, I wasn't always the loyal TV devotee that you know and love today.) But I remember really liking it. Lorelai and Rory had the kind of cool, best-friendsy relationship that every mother and daughter wanted, and no small screen duo has come close since, except for maybe Jane and Xiomara from "Jane the Virgin" (which, like "Gilmore Girls" once did, airs on the CW. Coincidence? I think not.). Lorelai and Rory's snappy, adjective-laden dialogue was the kind you'd find in a quality chick lit novel, and the setting of Stars Hollow was postcard perfect in a modern-day Norman Rockwell, college town kind of way, making it an ideal backdrop for all those conversations.

Which brings me to Talking as Fast as I Can. You know that I love autobiographies by comediennes, and this is a really good one. In no small part, I'm sure, because Graham is not just an actress, but a writer (she wrote the semi-autobiographical novel Someday, Someday, Maybe. I know it's only semi-autobiographical because she goes to great lengths to correct the misconception that it is entirely autobiographical in Fast.). This book is filled with the kind of random observations and personal anecdotes that I've come to love in light-hearted memoirs. One of my favorite parts is when Graham introduces her alter ego, Old Lady Jackson (OLJ for short). She invented OLJ to give advice to her young costars on Parenthood so she wouldn't sound like a stick in the mud. For example:

"OLJ is (obviously overly) worried about things like that dating app that wants you to have your location on all the time (how is that possibly safe?) and the fact that all you ate yesterday were liquids that came in mason jars from that juice place on the corner (really? No solid foods at all?). OLJ doesn't love it when that guy texts you at eleven o' clock on a Friday night after you haven't heard from him all week and wants you to "hang out," and you do. She's worried that you aren't being treated as well as you deserve, and while she understands that "things are different now," surely there have to still be people out there with better manners and an ability to make plans with you at least a day or two ahead of time?" (158)

Classic, right? A real Mary Poppins for the digital age. Even if it is for the clubbing vs. Romper Room set. (Please, no notes about how "Romper Room" came out long after Mary Poppins.)

I just may go back and watch the entire series ("Gilmore Girls," not "Romper Room"), then launch right into the much-anticipated Netflix "Gilmore Girls" special "A Year in the Life."

Because Stars Hollow is a happy place, one where new clothes and flowery prose are celebrated in equal measure.

And also to see if I can find the ghost (or, what the heck, cat) embodying the spirit of Old Lady Jackson.