Happy New Year: Black Sky Affair, Do Me a Solid

Black Cutie Necklace

Sweater: Derek Heart, JCPenney

Skirt: Decree, JCPenney

Bag: Candie's, Kohl's

Shoes: Chase & Chloe, Zulily

Orange bangle: Mixit, JCPenney

Yellow bangles: B Fabulous

Mint bangle: Decree, JCPenney

Barrette: The Tote Trove

Blue heart ring: Delia's

Cupcake ring: A Self Portrait, Etsy

I don't drive at night.  It's not that I can't or even that anything awful happens if I do.  I just prefer to be on the road when the sun is shining.  It wasn't always this way.  In my twenties, I'd drive from Brigantine back home at all sorts of unlit hours after hanging with the husband (then boyfriend) without a thought.  Of course, before that I used to get on I-95, another fear-inducing activity, to see a guy I briefly dated who lived in North Jersey.  So maybe I was never a gutsy driver, just someone willing to put the pedal to the metal for love.  Anyway, one night about ten years ago, after the husband and I had moved in together, I went to my parents' house for dinner.  I was driving back to Brigantine and, as usual, got on the Atlantic City Expressway.  But I went out the in instead of the out.  I know, I know -- pretty awful.  Luckily, there was no one else around, and I was able to make a quick K-turn and be on my way.  But the experience shook me, and I decided not to drive at night anymore.  Between then and now, I've broken that rule a handful of times, sometimes with white-knuckled results.  The other night I found myself in a (potentially) similar situation.  I was leaving my parents' house just as darkness was beginning to fall.  The fact that it was still somewhat light out was helpful; it gave me the chance to get on the road and ease into driving before the sky turned completely black.  But even once that happened, I still felt relaxed, singing along to the radio and in control as the miles melted.  And I thought, maybe this should be my New Year's resolution, to drive at night, at least once in a while, when I know where I'm going and am wide awake and not at risk of being distracted by billboards.  Then again, I don't really believe in resolutions.  And even if I did, then I would rather go with something like buy duplicates of all the beauty products I use daily and stash them in my glove compartment (which isn't as much of a cop-out as it sounds; on Christmas Eve I made the husband turn around on the way to my parents' house because I'd left my Cherries in the Snow lipstick in another purse.)  Still, I'm not going to go all dramatic and "resolve" to do anything.  I'll just be more open-minded about venturing out after the sun's said goodnight.  And, of course, about stocking up on lipstick.

That said, this week I focused on something else dark and dangerous -- or at least, something that seems that way but most certainly isn't.  I'm talking about this Black Cutie Necklace (no horse jokes, please.  Unless they're about bronies).  I don't know about you, but sometimes, in some outfits, I find myself looking for a solid-colored necklace.  But Tote Trove Lady, you may be thinking, that doesn't make any sense.  You're all about being a crayon box full of color!  (Because in my imagination, you too have a thing for alliteration and cutesy metaphors.)  And to that I'd say, well obvi.  But when you love color as much as I do, then you have lots of colorful tops and dresses, and every so often, instead of adding even more bands to the rainbow, what you really want is a nice, monochromatic piece to anchor it all and make it look even brighter.  And more often than not, the shade for the job is good old-fashioned black.  So that's why I made Black Cutie.  What she lacks in color she more than makes up for in chunky statement beads -- bows, roses, and a heart, a treacly trifecta if ever there was one.  I'm really happy with how it (she?) turned out.  Especially how its (her?) inkiness pops against the sweater's bright stripes, as sharp and unforgiving as a goth chick tearing into a wall of Care Bears. 

The next time I'm night driving, I'll channel that dark goddess's chutzpah.  Minus the coffin purse and Happy Bear carnage.

So.  Whether you drive, take the train, or hoof it, safe travels.  And happy New Year.

Christmas Carol Playlist Extended

This time of year, radio stations that have been blasting Rudolph and Andy Williams since Thanksgiving return to their regularly scheduled programs.  Which is as it should be.  Because you can take only so much of the "Twelve Days of Christmas," especially the versions with those weird lyrics about bringing just four colored lights for the tree.  (I'm looking at you, Andy.)  But as for the rest of the holiday hoopla, I feel like I'm just getting started.  Maybe that's because I finished decorating the day before Christmas Eve and plan to leave everything up until Martin Luther King Day.  Some people may think that's strange, but to me, when all the excitement/merriment/chocolate mint of the big day is over, it's finally time to sit back, cinnamon tea in hand, and enjoy all those festive garlands and scary Santas.  It's also the best time to score bargains.  Especially on decorations.

Years of experience have taught me not to burst into Target or Macy's expecting mountains of discounted, glittery loot to fall at my snow boots, though.  The post-game shopping game requires more strategy.  Instead of expecting a garden of goods, I hunt for delicate dandelions and violets curling up from the sidewalk crack crannies of shelves and clearance bins.  This pay dirt is often half-hidden by the moss and weeds of stuff that's broken or just plain ugly (and yes, I know that most people consider dandelions to be weeds, but to this horticultural hoarder, they're the belles of the Christmas ball).  Like so much of life, post-holiday shopping is all about managing expectations.  So although I didn't unearth as much as I would've liked during my expeditions, I was pretty pleased to find this wreath for 70% off at Michaels (just $18!) and this trio of LC Lauren Conrad pastel pine trees for 70% at Kohl's (just $2.12 thanks to $10 in Kohl's cash!).

Here's some other stuff that less holiday hustle and bustle gave me the chance to do:

1) Wear (and photograph) this Pretty Pompom Presents Barrette.  I've always wanted to make an accessory out of those tiny shiny packages they sell with the mini tree decorations in craft stores, and now I have!  I think the mini pompoms add that certain something.

Ugly sweater print top: Xhilaration, Target
Mickey & Minnie sweatshirt: Disney, Kohl's

 Pretty Pompom Presents Barrette

2) Take a proper pic of the husband's newest gingerbread creation: a castle!  

This is the first thing the husband built using his own homemade gingerbread instead of graham crackers.  It's been standing for a couple of weeks now and so has proved to be structurally sound.  I assume that it's also delicious -- emphasis on "assume," as half-month-old gingerbread doesn't make for the best eating (or the calmest colon).  Still, I was more than willing to gobble up the consolation prize of leftover gumdrops and Swedish fish.

3) Like most people, I visited with lots of family this week.  And most of them agreed that what everyone wants for Christmas after Christmas is to stay home in their pajamas all day.  There's just something about the go-go-go pace that comes with cranking out cookies, prettying up presents, and smiling like you mean it on demand all the time that makes you want to hibernate with a good book, Netflix account, and/or homemade tattoo kit (hey, I don't know what you're into) until March when Rita's reopens with free water ice.  Yep, the week after Christmas is that sweet spot of you-time (provided that you don't have pets or small children -- or parents -- in diapers) between the 25th and whenever you've agreed to rejoin the rat race. 

And that makes it truly -- sing it with me, Andy -- the most wonderful time of the year.

A (Different Kind of) Christmas Story

 Fabulous Felt Christmas Pudding Barrette

Turtleneck: Wild Fable, Target

Sweater: Arizona Jeans, JCPenney

Skirt: Kohl's

Shoes: Ami Clubwear

Bag: Macy's

Belt: Apt. 9, Kohl's

 Fabulous Felt Christmas Gelatin Mold Barrette

Dress: Xhilaration, Target

Shoes: Delicious, Zulily

Bag: Macy's

Belt: Belt is Cool, Amazon

Bangles: B Fabulous

Ring: Making Waves

Lime stretch bracelet: Cloud Nine

Kelly stretch bracelet: Parade of Shoes

This post doesn't have a tongue stuck to a pole, a bunny suit, or a fishnet-clad leg lamp.  But it does have Christmas desserts made of felt (full of fiber and hands down the healthiest part of your holiday meal!) and a strange ornament from Christmas past.  

I made this ornament back in grade school.  I think it was for the tree in the school lobby or something.  Anyway, my mom found it in her ornament box while decorating her tree and told me I should have it.  (Okay, she plucked it off the back of her tree from land-of-misfit-toy-territory and said, "Take this.")  I had mixed feelings.  Although it was nice to see Greta again (she didn't have a name back then, but I think she's earned it now), I was also saddened by her bedraggled appearance.  Clearly, the attic had not been kind; the Greta I remembered was a bright-eyed kid full of holiday hope and wonder.  Now she looked like an old refuge who'd taken a tumble off a Douglas fir.  I had to do something.  So I brought her to makeover central, a.k.a. the craft room.  First, I cut off her weird, noose-like wire ornament hanger.  'Cause if that's not a metaphor for lost causes, then I don't know what is.  Greta could stand proudly on one of my shelves or tables; no more hanging from Douglas firs (or prelit faux pine Home Depot floor models that tip slightly forward) for her.  I didn't have any kelly green ribbon to replace the faded and fraying bows securing her braids, so I made do with some moss-colored satin.  I glued on fresh cotton balls to upgrade her to marvelous marshmallow status, then added rhinestones, sequins, and miniature pompoms for that homespun, church bazaar feel.  Is she perfect?  Hail no.  She looks like a reject from the Trans-Siberian Orchestra or maybe a Russian majorette.  (Not that there's anything wrong with Russian majorettes; they're just not very Christmassy.)  But she's my majorette, and I'm happy to have her home for the holidays where she belongs.          

It just goes to show that a box of ornaments is like a box of chocolates -- you never know what you're going to get.  I hope that you too are reliving happy memories and making new ones with the people -- and creepy keepsakes -- you love.

Merry Christmas!

Something from the Star: Bright Light, Lite Brite

Neon Orange and Chartreuse Barrettes

Neon Purple, Blue, and Pink Barrettes

Banana Bow Barrette

 Neon Pink, Chartreuse, and Orange Barrettes

Inner Circle Barrette

Neon Purple and Pink Barrettes 

 Yellow Bow Barrettes

Top: Candie's, Kohl's

Skirt (a dress!): Modcloth

Shoes: Circus by Sam Edelman, Kohl's

Bag: Princess Vera, Kohl's

Belt: Gifted

What do G. Love & Special Sauce, Gremlins, and that Christmas light-like toy have in common?  They're all about lights and getting lit.  Although not necessarily in that order.  

Because Friday was the solstice, I thought it was a good time for a party look made for -- what else? -- northern lights and winter nights.  Enter this fluorescent frock, sparkly black top, and starry clutch  (holographic parka to ward off frostbite excluded.)  The top reminds me of an inky black sky, making for a spangled, albeit slightly smoggy backdrop for the brooch-styled barrettes.  I've worn it only once, to the movies.  This outfit, however, is ideal for clubbing in Juneau or Helsinki while downing mulled ciders and hot buttered rums.  Or, in my case, hot chocolates and herbal teas (see aforementioned sentence about me wearing this top to see Daddy's Home 2).  Because December is no time to guzzle the cold beverages so immortalized by the Sauce. 

So, about these barrettes.  I can't stop staring at them!  What can I say, their vivid colors and graphic shapes speak to me.  To make them, I decided not to fool with the craft store fare of openwork metal French and alligator clips and instead headed straight to the source, a.k.a. the grocery store grooming aisle, for Scunci and Goody.  These high-quality barrettes are comprised of French clips covered with durable plastic bars that make sturdy perches for cabochons.  The finished products make me think of candy, all colorful and shiny.  And yes, tasty.  Is it bad form to call one's own stuff tasty?  Not according to wannabe rap icon Big Tasty.  Then again, it's probably bad form to view the misguided middle kid from The Goldbergs as any kind of role model.  

One thing's for sure; these barrettes are a step up from the first barrette I ever made, which featured a weird, disembodied harlequin head.  I was about ten and big into harlequins, which were everywhere in the '90s.  Don't ask.  Anyway, the barrette was a big, gold-rimmed white plastic rectangle to which I affixed a ceramic sparkly green and purple turbanned head.  It was pretty heavy (figuratively and literally, clown motifs always being disturbing), and I don't think I ever wore it.  Kind of like how I rarely played with my Lite Brite set.  That was more of my sister's thing (literally; it was her toy.)  Maybe that was because of the if-not-menacing-than-unquestionably-unsettling clown head on the box.  The head that was most certainly that of a workaday circus performer and not a high-brow harlequin.  

It always comes back to clowns.  Maybe they're the ones we shouldn't feed after midnight.  

When Pigs Fly: Perfectly Imperfect

Banana Bow Barrette 

Perfectly Imperfect Necklace

Top: Mudd, Kohl's

Skirt: Wild Fable, Target

Shoes: Not Rated, Journeys

Bag: Olivia Miller, J. C. Penney's

Yellow necklace: So, Kohl's

Royal blue bangle: So, Kohl's

Turquoise bangle: Burlington Coat Factory

Yellow bangle: Boscov's

Black bangle: Mixit, J. C. Penney's

I ordered this beautiful black and red rhinestone necklace, and when it arrived, it was broken.  I was disappointed for about two seconds before I remembered that 1) it cost seven dollars, and 2) I could fix it and make it even better.  So, I gathered some bright turquoise plastic chain and quirky charms and cabochons, including one of a neon pink pig with wings.  The packaging said "when pigs fly," and that made me think of the children's book Perfect the Pig.

A classic story by Susan Jeschke, Perfect the Pig is about a piglet who is the runt of the litter and, as such, is overlooked by his mother and siblings.  Then one day he sees a big sow struggling on her back.  Despite his tiny size, he uses all of his strength and ingenuity to push her right side up, and as a thank-you, she grants him a wish.  The piglet asks for wings, which sprout right away.  But when he returns home, his siblings laugh at him and tell him to live with the birds.  So he does, but the birds laugh at him, too.  Ostracized, the piglet flies out to the city.  There he lands on the fire escape of a kindhearted artist named Olive.  When she sees him, she says, "So tiny, and with such beautiful wings.  How perfect!"  And so that's what she decides to call him.  She washes him, feeds him fresh vegetables from her garden, and makes him the star of her still life paintings.  As Perfect grows, Olive starts saving money so that they can buy a house in the country.  Then one day, when Perfect is out flying, a man kidnaps him and forces him to perform in his show.  He cages Perfect, feeds him garbage, and threatens to send him to the butcher.  Perfect is shocked and heartbroken, and his wings begin to ache.  Then Olive sees a poster for the show and finds him.  She and the kidnapper argue over who should keep Perfect, so a bystander sends them to a judge (as you do).  The judge does the old let's-let-the-pig-decide deal, Perfect goes to Olive, and the judge grants them half the kidnapper's earnings.  They use it to buy that house in the country and live happily ever after.

This is such a bittersweet book, with such a grown-up message.  I remember being disturbed by it as a kid, though.  I hated the idea of little Perfect being ridiculed for the very wings that made him so special.  Also, the part about the man exploiting him was unsettling because it showed that evil lurked in the world.  Although this story still makes me cry, I now appreciate its bright side.  Which is that Perfect and Olive are kindred spirits bound by a benevolent universe.  And that's a reassuring thought, whether you're five, ninety-five, or somewhere in between.  Even if the back of the book says "ages 4-7."

That said, I think this little winged piglet is what saved this necklace -- and made it unique.  Well, that and the banana, which I found so, er, a-peeling, that I used a couple more in the matching barrette.  Both accessories are fun and eclectic in an '80s way, which is fitting because 1) Perfect the Pig was published in 1980, and 2) this outfit screams Debbie Gibson hosts story hour.

So, I guess the moral here is to persevere and embrace imperfection (and to be kind and refuse to eat refuse).  'Cause pigs got to fly, and rhinestones got to shine.  No necklace -- or wing -- is ever broken.

Bright Tights, Big City

 Day Glo Gumball Necklace

Tee: Mighty Fine,  JCPenney

Blouse: My Michelle, Kohl's

Skirt: Bubblegum, Macy's

Shoes: Unlisted, Marshalls

Bag: Nordstrom

So, I read this Pulitzer-nominated, "serious" book that I didn't much like and was all set to blog about it by saying, "I kept at it and eventually realized that this book was not unlike our friend the crab -- you had to labor away at cracking the claws to get to the delicious meat.  (And yes, my choice of the word "friend" to describe dinner is not lost on me.)."  Then I read this other, wonderful book and said, oh, scrap it, I'll blog about that instead.

That book is Still Me, which is Jojo Moyes's final volume in the beloved Louisa Clark trilogy.  Surely you remember Lou, the bright-eyed and brightly clad caretaker of the handsome, wealthy, and embittered paraplegic Will Traynor?  They fell in love, and then he died and they made a movie about it starring the Mother of Dragons (Emilia Clarke) from "Game of Thrones?"  Well, Moyes wrote another book after that called After You.  Me Before You ends with Lou setting out bravely into the Paris sunshine wearing the bespoke bumblebee-striped tights that Will gave her.  But in After You she's back in England and has to get on with it.  And she starts by stumbling off a ledge and being rescued by a hunky paramedic named Sam.  Sam's steady influence helps shepherd her through 1) a humiliating gig as an Irish-themed Hooters barmaid and 2) becoming a kind of foster mom to Will's surprise of a troubled teenage daughter.  They fall in love and it's lovely -- not at all like when Oliver moves on after Jenny in, blech, Oliver's Story.  (Full disclosure: I've never actually read Oliver's Story.  That's how much I hate the idea.)  But then, maybe that's because Will was doomed from the start, destined, it seems, to be Louisa's teacher (his last name is Traynor, after all, which sounds an awful lot like "train her") as opposed to her partner, making the idea of Lou and Sam go down easier.  At the end of After You, Sam gets shot (what?!) -- but lives, and Lou emigrates to New York City to become a caretaker for another super rich family.  Because, despite overcoming her grief, she still has to grow, to move from the small town where she's always lived to take a bite from the Big Apple.

So, now that you're all caught up, let's plunge into Still Me, shall we?

Louisa is the paid companion (I don't know about you, but that term always gives me the giggles) of Agnes Gopnick, a seemingly innocuous if high-strung Polish masseuse-turned-socialite who's in her late twenties just like Louisa.  As the second and much younger wife of a captain of industry, she's despised far and wide in Manhattan.  That's why she needs Louisa to play therapy dog.  Yet things aren't easy for Louisa either.  Getting used to a new country, a hideous uniform (no small feat for fashion girl Lou -- although she grins and bears it with the same equanimity as she does everything), and the ways of the one-percenters, all while missing Sam terribly, is nothing to sneeze at.  And although this book has an offbeat and keen sense of humor, it isn't of the zany-new-girl-in-the-city variety.  It's a story of layers, and sometimes it tears your heart out.  Because Louisa is put through the wringer, both on the job and off the clock.  Even after everything she's been through, her still-trusting nature lands her in trouble.  Suffice it to say that a lot of stuff happens, and she leaves the Gopnick household and ends up as the, albeit unpaid, companion of an old lady named Margot De Witt.  Earlier in the book, Mrs. De Witt seems like an unfeeling crone.  And initially she doesn't care for Louisa.  But after an emergency throws them together, Lou's kindness and their shared love of fashion win Mrs. De Witt over, and the two soon become confidantes.  As a retired fashion magazine editor, Mrs. DeWitt has roomfuls of crazy designer clothes and accessories, which, paired with her ballsy attitude, made me picture her as Iris Apfel.  (It turns out that this was what Moyes intended, as revealed in the Q&A at the end of the book.)  Luckily, I have this book about Iris, which I first heard about on Tiara's Jewel Divas Style blog, to post here for your viewing pleasure:

Anyway, things are finally on the upswing for Louisa.  She has a knack for getting herself into impossible situations only to muster her considerable imagination and optimism to turn it all around.  This is how Moyes takes us from the depths of despair to the kind of feel-good, well, feeling where the garden explodes into bloom and a trolley of tea cakes races in from the wings (this being an English story; if it were based in New Jersey, then I'd say non-urine-tainted water slides and Manco's pizza).  Moyes makes you work hard for the happy ending (there were more than a couple of times when I thought, why couldn't I have just chosen a nice cheerful murder mystery instead of hopping aboard this emotional roller coaster?).  But that makes it all the more satisfying; no plot hole-filled Swiss cheese here, just the sweet, gritty crunch of gumballs (like -- insert subtle product placement -- the ones in my Day Glo Gumball Necklace).  Because Still Me isn't any old romance; it's a good romance.  Plus a journey of self discovery.

Here's one of my favorite parts.  Partly because it captures the book's theme, partly because it's about clothes.  (I can't tell you my actual favorite part because it's even more of a spoiler than the rest of this post.)  Louisa and Agnes are at the famed Yellow Ball, and Agnes is worried that her avant-garde gown doesn't fit in with the other women's more classic looks:

Lou: "Own it.  Hold your head up.  Like you couldn't give a crap."

She (Agnes) stared at me (Lou).

Lou: "A friend once taught me this.  The man I used to work for.  He told me to wear my stripey legs with pride."

Agnes: "Your what?"

Lou: "He . . .Well, he was telling me it was okay to be different from everyone else.  Agnes, you look about a hundred times better than any of the other women here.  You're gorgeous.  And the dress is striking.  So just let it be a giant finger to them.  You know?  I'll wear what I like."  (54)

Agnes may have billions, but Louisa has wisdom.

Guess you can say she earned those stripes.

Page Match: Ann With a Tee vs. Anne of Green Cables

I Heart Howlite Necklace

 Mesa Medallion Necklace

Triple Horn Unicorn Necklace

Olivia Octopus Necklace 

There are a lot of Ann's out there in pop culture, some great and some questionable.  But the best and brightest to me is Anne from L. M. Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables.  This starry-eyed, red-headed orphan's boundless imagination and sunny sweet spirit won her the hearts of everyone on Prince Edward Island.  My aunt gave me the boxed set one year for Christmas.  (See below; and yes, in volume one, Anne is defaced -- literally, by peeling paper in her facial region.  If that doesn't say much-loved, obsessively-read childhood favorite, then I don't know what does.)  As soon as I started reading the first book, I was hooked.  Anne's charming personality -- and Montgomery's heart-breakingly beautiful prose -- cast a fairy tale spell over what was an otherwise ordinary Canadian town.  That world and its everyday magic was what inspired me to start keeping a journal.  I was so eager to capture everything, to jot down every sun-dappled street, cherished new dress, and wonderfully weird thought until it became something better than it was in my mind.  This went double for the bad stuff -- once I put my worries on the page, they always seemed suddenly smaller.  So, I loved Anne for her colorfulness and her courage.  Also because she insisted that people spell her name with its proper "e."  Which I found especially funny because I always got annoyed when people inserted a superfluous "e" in Tracy.

So, if the "great" Ann is Anne of Green Gables, then who's the "questionable" one?  Why, women's fashion retailer Ann Taylor (and for the sake of this post, its more affordable offshoot, Ann Taylor Loft).  For those who don't know, this chain is a bastion of sensibly stylish apparel for no-nonsense women and as such has been the butt of many a movie and TV show joke:

This is 40: Leslie Mann's Debbie laments turning the big 4-oh by whining, "I don't want to start shopping at Chico's and Ann Taylor!"  'Nuf said.

"Girls": Season 1: A job interviewer gives Marnie's suit the stink eye and asks, "Where does one even buy an outfit like that?," to which Marnie flatly replies, "Ann Taylor."  A few seasons later: Shoshanna interviews for a job at Ann Taylor (corporate office, no sweater folding for this one) and it's going gangbusters until she passes because she wants something bigger and better.  Her bravado leads to a dead-end job in Japan, which kind of makes Ann the one that got away in this story.  Moving on.

What's Your Number?: Anna Faris's recently fired Ally uses an Ann Taylor gift card to buy a new interview suit (Ms. Taylor, it seems, always has a seat at the job hustling table).  However, unlike with Shoshanna, it's the Ann Taylor avenue that's the dead end because Ally's true destiny is making clay figurines.  Score one for team crafty!

Instant Family: Rose Byrne's Ellie deals with a foster daughter who tests her by making a crack about her old lady sweater, causing an outraged Ellie to protest, "This is from Ann Taylor!"  Sorry, Ellie, but the kid knows her stuff.

So there you have it. Ann Taylor, bastion of boring, er, sensibly stylish apparel.  A hip and free-wheeling fashionista such as myself wouldn't be caught dead wearing so much as a pair of socks from there, right?  Well, almost.

I actually have three Ann Taylor Loft garments in my wardrobe: two tops (above) that I bought eons ago and a cardigan (also above) that I picked up at an outlet in Nashville last year.  The tops aren't even Ann Taylor brand, but rather the cute and bucolic-sounding Daisy and Clover.  My favorite thing about them is that they're flattering -- so take that, sensible!  My favorite thing about the cardi is the sperm whales.  Upon seeing it out for the photo, the husband asked, "Did you put the octopus necklace with the sperm whale sweater because of their iconic yin and yang battle for the sea?"  To which I replied, "Shell, yeah."  (And yes, he really talks like that, which just goes to show we were made for each other.)

So, if that's it for Ann, then what's up with this hunter-hued sweater?  Straight out of Arizona Jeans country, this classic dream weaver serves as a backdrop for my Triple Horn Unicorn Necklace to represent -- who else? -- our girl Anne of Green Gables.  Because nothing says whimsy and wonder like one (or three) of these mystical beasts.  I've always loved unicorns (obvi).  And I think that lots of other girls and women (and/or boys and men, hey, I'm not here to judge) do too because they represent both childhood comfort and the sometimes uncomfortable idea of the fantastic and far-out unknown.

Anne with an "e," blink once if you agree.  What's that?  I have to replace volume one first because you can't blink and also might be coming down with age-related macular degeneration?  Fair enough.  I'll put in a word with Santa.  And also maybe that aunt.