Sass by the Glass: Grape Expectations

My latest read, The Summer Job, was yet another recommendation from my favorite librarian, Ellie.  This debut novel by Lizzie Dent is the story of Birdy, a loser Londoner who decides to impersonate her bestie as a world-class sommelier for the summer.  Despite being unable to tell a citrus note from a Shasta, Birdy plans to wield her wine goblets at Loch Dorn, a sleepy hotel-slash-restaurant tucked into the Scottish countryside.  It'll be an adventure -- and best of all for suddenly homeless Birdy, rent free.  But things go, ahem, sideways once she realizes that the so-called hole-in-the-wall B&B is actually a posh spot helmed by a Michelin-starred chef.  High profile and demanding, her role as resident grape guru instantly gives her something to worry -- and, yes, wine -- about.  One cringeworthy incident after another tempts her to cork the Chablis and hightail it back to London.  But the quiet charms of a certain chef (not the Michelin man; he's a wanker) paired with her newfound need to succeed keep her as rooted as the cuckooflower for which she and the kitchen staff forage.  Soon, secrets at Loch Dorn and from the home front have Birdy working overtime on more than the wine list, making The Summer Job a classic tale of a screw-up (or, in this case, a screw-top wine aficionado) stepping up to save the day.

This book was the perfect palate cleanser after Nicholas Sparks's beautiful but emotionally draining The Wish.  It made me think of silly stuff like wine o' clock somewhere merch, UB40's "Red Wine," and, of course, Step Brothers's Catalina Wine Mixer, even though I don't drink wine -- or anything fermented.  It's one of those books that's fun to read but would be a trial to live.  At least for me.  Pretending to be a wine expert, or really, any hospitality professional, is at the top of my list of nightmare jobs, right under Uber driver and phlebotomist.  The stress!  The lies!  The hangovers!  It's no wonder poor Birdy didn't go into cardiac arrest and fall headfirst into a glass of Merlot -- even if she did just that metaphorically, as illustrated on the cover.  Indeed, the high-jinks alone are enough to make this novel into a hilarious movie.  I see Phoebe Waller-Bridge as Birdy, partly because Dent sort of looks like her but mostly because of her brand of over-the-top, elegant irreverence.  (Apparently, this was no accident; in the author discussion at the back of the book, Dent shares that Birdy was partially inspired by Fleabag's title character.  Even if Dent did go on to say that she'd choose Gillian Jacobs to play Birdy in a screen adaptation.  No disrespect to you, Gillian -- I loved you in Community -- but no one other than Phoebe Fleabag herself should rakishly don Birdy's apron.)  As for the fetching foodie, Kit Harrington would do very nicely.  His sensitive intensity is just what this recipe requires, even if I'm drawing more upon his performance in Modern Love than Game of Thrones.

But enough fantasy director league chatter.  The point is that The Summer Job serves up a grape escape.  

No doubt about it; Dent's debut goes down easy.   

Colorblock Brain Teaser Sneezer

Top: Bar III, Macy's

Bag: Harajuku Lovers, ROSS; Barrette: INC, Macy's; Scrunchies: Lady Arya, Zulily

Skirt: Amazon

80s Explosion Necklace

Jacket: Marshalls

Bag: Betsey Johnson, Dolls Kill

Top: Almost Famous, Boscov's

Bracelets: Jessica Simpson Collection, Amazon

Sweater: Crave Fame, Macy's

Rockin' Locks Necklace

Pink pumps: Jessica Simpson, DSW; Rainbow pumps: Anne Michelle, JCPenney

Scrunchies: Lady Arya, Zulily; Bag: Francesca's; Ring: Making Waves, Ocean City; Pink bangle: Don't Ask, Zulily; Striped bangle: Mixit, JCPenney

Whenever I hear the word "colorblock," I think of a Rubik's Cube.  Which is a puzzle I could never solve.  Thankfully, when it comes to fashion, the rules of color coordination are more forgiving.  That's why I love a good colorblock sweater (also, a good striped top, but this isn't about you, stripey).  Dramatic and bold, these pullovers put it all out there, giving the rest of your outfit a party palette to play with.  

But back to the beginning and that cocky cube.  Being bested by it didn't stop me from buying it in tissue box cover form:

Tissue box cover: Amazon

It holds court in my craft room offering, not tissues, but the artistic equivalent of trash talk inspiration.

Hit me with your best snot, Sir Rubik.        

A Spark in the Dark

Some call him cheesy.  Or maudlin.  Or even a misogynist (that was me).  But even so, Nicholas Sparks remains one of our most gifted writers.  His novels of love and loss are universal, embroidered with the kind of idiosyncratic details that make you feel like you're there.  And his latest, The Wish, takes us on the most off-the-beaten-path journey yet.  A frame story told through flashbacks and letters, The Wish jumps seamlessly between the mid '90s and the present to tell a tale that's old-fashioned yet timeless.

When sixteen-year-old Maggie Dawes ends up pregnant, her parents ship her from Seattle to the Outer Banks to live with her aunt, an ex-nun lesbian.  Scared and sullen, Maggie finds Ocracoke rundown and boring.  But then she gets to know her aunt -- and meets her tutor-to-be, Bryce Trickett.  It's her relationships with both -- and seeing the world through Bryce's camera lens -- that transforms Ocracoke into a haven.

Inspired by Bryce's passion for photography, Maggie begins taking her own pictures.  And it turns out to be a therapeutic outlet, helping her through her pregnancy the way that painting helped the teens in her aunt's convent:

"I imagined pregnant girls in a bright, airy room in the convent with wildflowers blooming outside.  I thought about how they felt as they lifted a brush, adding color and wonder to a blank canvas and feeling -- if only for a brief moment -- that they were like other girls their age, unburdened by past mistakes.  And I knew that they felt the same way I did when I stared through the lens, that finding and creating beauty could illuminate even the darkest periods." (229)

Photography evolves into Maggie's North Star, guiding her into the future.  At the same time, the events that unfold for her and Bryce elevate coming-of-age angst to a new level.  In telling their story, Sparks weaves his magic to celebrate life's fragility.  

And although much of this story is indeed sad and dark, his metaphor of photography reminds us that pictures -- like life -- are all about catching the light.

Frosty Flakes and Mountainous Makes: Pass the Salt, Pretty Please

Dress: Vylette, Kohl's

Chalet Getaway Brooch Barrette

Bag: Circus by Sam Edelman, Kohl's

This post isn't about diabetes-inducing cereal or porcelain god offerings.  It's about winter.  Sort of.  But not really.  What it's really about is this Chalet Getaway Barrette Brooch I made last Monday after we got twelve inches of snow:

Now, we all know that I loathe the cold.  Which means that I'm no fan of mountains, much less chalets.  But even I can't deny that there's something magical about a white winter scene.  (Hey, Frozen's not a goldmine for nothing.)  It's pristine, it's peaceful, and the ice crystals remind me of rhinestones.  And as long as I'm observing it all from the right side of a window, I'm into it.  Maybe that's why I busted out of my beige rut and bought some blue eyeshadow.  Because January is prime time for ice queen eyelids.  No ice required.

Eyeshadow: Revlon, Walgreens

That said, here I am on my snowy porch when that Monday storm was swirling full force (no eyeshadow show-and-tell yet; the package arrived yesterday):

Hat: Nine West, Boscov's

It was so brutal that as soon as the husband snapped this pic, I took myself -- and my tam-o'-shanter -- indoors, where I swapped my icicle suit for pajamas.

Then I promptly parked myself at a window, hot tea in hand, to watch the world from inside.   

Lordy, Lordy, Look Who's Forty

Skirt: Modcloth

Spoiler alert: it's me!  Yes, it's official.  Today I enter my fourth decade.  There was a time when I thought that meant a minivan and mom jeans.  Or, worse yet, humiliation in the form of a Grim Reaper-themed rager.

When I was seven, my uncle threw my dad a surprise party for his fortieth.  There were black balloons everywhere, and the walls were covered with tee shirts showing my dad struggling up a hill.  There was even one of those canes with a horn on it.  Everyone was having a wonderful time, laughing and scarfing down shrimp.  And I was incredibly angry.  How dare they make fun of my father like that and ruin his birthday with hideous decorations!  (Years later, I learned that my uncle wanted to hire a stripper but didn't because my sister and I would be there.  That would've been truly traumatizing.)  Anyway, my parents explained that there was no need to be upset, that the party was all in good fun.  And I begrudgingly accepted that, taking comfort in my enormous neon green hair bow and an endless stream of Shirley Temples.

So today, I'm celebrating my fortieth, not in black, but the way I celebrate everything -- in big, bold rainbow colors.  I may be older and wiser -- and have a few gray hairs -- but I still have the carefree fashion sense of that little girl in the green bow.

That said, if you ever catch me in a minivan, then the Grim Reaper has already arrived. 

Flora Florentine

Sweater: Jessica Simpson Collection, Amazon

Lucky Lunar Necklace

Bag: Betsey Johnson, Amazon

I got this sweater and handbag for Christmas.  Which came as no surprise, because they were on my Amazon wish list.  But what did surprise me was how well they went together, like a strange spring garden crawling with hippies and ladies who lunch.  And that got me thinking about the bag.  What if, like those well-heeled women, it looked all cool and in control, but on the inside was really a mess?  Like an exquisite flower arrangement days away from becoming fertilizer?  Once so acquainted, I felt compelled to name this baggage-burdened bag Flora Florentine.  And to tell her rambling rhyme of a story:  

Hi, I'm Flora Florentine,

The centerpiece of every scene.

I'm purple, yellow, orange, too;

My petals have the hues for you.

But once the wedding's over

Or the birthday cake's a crumb,

I go home with Aunt Ida,

And it's fairy tale to slum.

She waters me with Evian

The first day but runs dry,

Then drowns me in off-brand OJ

Until I choke and die.

That's when Fluffy slurps me up

And hacks me up outside

Into the slimy soil

Where the worms and critters hide.

I decompose into the earth,

Our mangled fibers mingling, 

And serve as slug and grub food

But end up stalwart and singing.

I stretch and smile in the sun,

A lovely, leafy thing,

An orchid, rose, or marigold

To tempt the bees to sting. 

Any moment, any day,

The gardening shears will flash

And I'll be plucked to join a bunch

For the next splashy bash.

Until that hallowed, happy time,

Until that golden then,

I'll wait for my big moment 

When I shine at table 10.

P.S. Fertilizer and Florentine or not, at least Flora isn't made of spinach like those sad eggs and chickens.

A Key West Christmas, Christmas isn't Over Until Mrs. Claus Sings, and Other Random Holiday Things

Sweater: Kohl's

Fabulous Felt Pink Palm Tree Barrette

The Christmas palm tree is finally ablaze!  And January 2 or not, I couldn't help but snap a pic next to it in last year's flamingo sweater.

My New Year's Eve ensemble was quieter.  Unless you count the uncorked pop of my champagne bottle purse.  (Speaking of which, there was a fizzy, noisy mess when the husband opened the sparkling cider.  Perhaps the grocery delivery people enjoyed a game of catch -- or just pulled a prank -- with it.)  To celebrate, my parents came over.  We had takeout, took in a Jim Gaffigan special, and then turned on New Year's Rockin' Eve to watch the ball drop.  Also, there were hats.  

Sweater: Macy's

Go for the Golden Girl Necklace

As for my old Go for the Golden Girl Necklace, I'd planned to wear it even before I heard about Betty White's passing.  Which turned out to be weird but fitting.

And that, dear readers, is a wrap on the holiday season.  

At least until the carnival-level revelry of Groundhog Day.