Scavenger Style: Maroon Raccoon

Shoes: Guess, DSW

Bag: Sleepyville Critters, Amazon

Dress: Kohl's

Belt: Marshalls

Jeans: City Streets, JCPenney

Bag: Lily Bloom, JCPenney

Sweater: Modcloth

Boots: Charles Albert, Alloy

Skirt: Tinseltown, Kohl's

Shoes: Betsey Johnson, DSW

Top: Xhilaration, Target

Skirt: Mudd, Kohl's

Bag: Nine West, Kohl's

Top: Who What Wear, Target

What a Sight Necklace

Bag: Betsey Johnson, Macy's

Headband: Express

Dress: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Marooned is a word that sounds like macaroon but that means anything but.  Macaroons whisper in pretty pastels; maroon blasts in like a foghorn, its hue matching the foghorn's rust.  Still, marooned takes on a certain kind of romance in the context of quarantine.  Like a velvet Victorian Christmas.  As in, I'm marooned in my house with an old-timey Santa.  Or, in my case, the husband and at least one raccoon.  Just kidding.  Or nearly.  

The raccoon, after all, made its exit.

Let me explain.

A few weeks ago, the husband went up into the attic to check on his pine cones, as you do (he's making a wreath), and discovered these dizzying footprints.  He never found the rodent-that-was-most-likely-a-raccoon, though, just the hole it slunk in through.  Apparently, the pine cones were not to its liking and it took off in search of something better. 

Speaking of the husband, when he saw the polka dot maroon babydoll dress of the last outfit hanging on the bedroom door, he said that it didn't look like something I'd wear.  I knew what he meant; it's kind of conservative.  But when it comes to clothes (and wildlife), I like the challenge of making them my own.  Also, I was drawn to this dress because it reminded me of the one I wore the Christmas I was nine, in the early '90s.  That one was roughly the same cut and color although more wine than russet, with a trio of chiffon roses instead of the tie at the neck.  So not quite as much like it after all, but enough to make me think of bubble pendants and the TGIF sitcom lineup.  It's true what they say about nostalgia from your formative years: even a little bit really sticks with you.  

I guess that's why I started making a '90s fashion Pinterest board.  I love collecting the mix of gritty (flannel, earth tones, dirty denim) and throwback '60s/'70s (daisies/sunflowers, neon, rainbow stripes) pieces, even if in real life the gritty always escapes me.  It's weird to think that I wasn't aware of any of it back when I wore it.  It was just, you know, the stuff that was in my closet.  But now it's a slice of history, both mine and everyone else's.   

Perhaps the raccoon and I aren't so different.  We're both scavengers, it of refuse and me of style.  Also, by the end of the day, when my eyeliner's melted, I rock a mean racoon eye.  Or, as my sister used to say, Gene Simmons face.

Which is fine, as long as that raccoon isn't rocking and rolling in my attic all night and partying in my pantry every day.

Pieces of April, A Thanksgiving Staple

A few months ago, I watched an old movie -- and by old I mean from 2003 -- called Pieces of April.  It's about a girl, April (Katie Holmes), who invites her estranged family for Thanksgiving.  April has partly pink hair and an overall punky appearance and lives in a seedy apartment in New York City with her boyfriend Bobby (Derek Luke), who is black.  April doesn't really know how to cook, and then her oven breaks.  Also, Bobby has gone on a secret mission to borrow a suit to impress April's family, and it's not going well.  The movie shifts between April's endeavors and her family's strained conversation as they drive from Pennsylvania to see her.  We watch April bang on one apartment door after another to beg to borrow an oven, then listen as her mother (Patricia Clarkson) laments about April's awful ways even as she pukes up her guts at a rest stop.  It's from her chemo because she has cancer.  But being sick hasn't softened her, nor has the intervention of April's well-meaning father (Oliver Platt).  

Having a front-row seat to April's plight is unsettling.  It's hard to watch her put herself out there only to meet one obstacle after another, her Katie Holmes girl-next-door-appeal seeping through her tough exterior.  One of her "helpers" is played by a withering Sean Hayes; another is more kindly but disabuses her of the notion that the best cranberry sauce comes from a can. (I'm with April on this one; it's just not Thanksgiving without that JELL-O-like substance for smothering otherwise tasteless turkey.)  As April struggles to put dinner on the table, her family struggles with its reservations, at one point going so far as to throw in the dish towel and stop at a diner.  

For me, the low point is when April tears down her carefully handmade decorations.  There's something so vulnerable about them in their crepe paper homeliness, the way they expose and then shatter the optimism that April clings to despite the odds.  Because this movie takes all the tension that percolates within families during the holidays and puts them in a pressure cooker -- pun intended.  April's poverty, her mother's death sentence, and the stereotypes that April's family unfairly and inaccurately ascribes to Bobby deepen the fault lines that spread between them.  But these are also the reasons why they need to break bread together.  Pieces of April may not be Planes, Trains, and Automobiles or A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving.  But in its own offbeat and, yes, dreary way, it tells us everything we need to know about this holiday.  

That said, it shouldn't come as a huge surprise that I'm breaking my quarantine again to have Thanksgiving dinner with my parents.  It'll just be the four of us, including the husband, but it's kind of ironic that I'm busting out now that the pandemic is surging again.  As recently as just a few weeks ago, I stayed firmly put, even opting out of my sister's birthday.  Everyone, the husband included, was beginning to worry about me and my refusal to engage with the outside world, however safely.  Then fate did its thing, and my work laptop broke, forcing me to go to the office to get it fixed.  It was a nail biter of an experience.  But I got through it -- with some humor, I like to think -- and learned that I'm stronger than I know.  The truth is, being an introvert/loner/whatever who's afraid of stuff means that I depend on my family a lot, even when I think I don't need anyone.  They're more than my family; they're my friends.  So I'm extremely thankful for them, on Thanksgiving and always.  

Okay, now that the serious stuff's over, it's time to explain what's up with this pie crust.  As you know, I don't like to cook or bake.  I find it boring, tedious, and, on some level, out to get me.  So, I'm all about the pre-prepared everything, and Pillsbury pie crust is no different.  It also happens to taste great -- a little salty, a little sweet -- and, in my opinion, is even better than the homemade kind.  So, I smashed it down into my pie plates and fluted the edges and didn't balk (too much) when the KitchenAid mixer-made pumpkin goop sloshed over the sides and obscured the crust completely.  Because holidays aren't about presentation (although I do have a mask to match my dress).  They're about being together.  Laughing and talking and wearing our masks when we're not shoveling in cranberry shaped like a can.

Whatever your plans, I wish you a very happy and healthy Thanksgiving.  And all the misshapen food you can eat.                             

The Perks of Being a Peasant

Top: Arizona Jeans, JCPenney

It seems like peasant tops and dresses are always in style.  Anytime anyone so much as thinks festival, boho, or Anthropologie sale rack, there they are, the ties of their wholesomely flattering drawstring necklines flowing as freely as if they'd just come from Woodstock or the compost pile of a community garden.  The popularity of the peasant aesthetic is a no-brainer.  Still, by all accounts, a peasant isn't a great thing to be. 

Dresses: Planet Gold, Macy's

Brainy or not, I fell for these farmer's daughter chic pieces priced for the proletariat (or what passes for the proletariat these days, the world having moved on from having one burlap sack per household).  I think each dress was less than fifteen dollars, although the promiscuity of my bargain hunting conquests prevents me from saying for sure.  I ordered them from the juniors section of Macy's, which gave me a thrill now that I've semi-graduated to the grown-up lady clothes known as misses.  That name's a bit insulting, don't you think?  As if a woman of a certain age with slightly more sophisticated tastes and generous proportions must be married or else.  And, by the same token, as if a svelte young thing couldn't and shouldn't be shopping for china.  So presumptuous!  Let crop top-clad coeds play house and fifty-five-year-olds troll for tail in sensible tweeds if they want to.

And yes, this time tail means men.  

Which reminds me of that Friends episode where Phoebe's dating two guys at once but complains that it's more like working in the field than playing the field.  Weirdly, this goes against what I just said about the supposed fun of stalking man meat.  But it also brings us back to the peasant thing, which is somehow both personified by and blown up by one Ms. Buffay.  

So thanks, Phoebe.  Even if you're not a peasant and your field is a park in the middle of the world's biggest city.  Your simple ways underscore wisdom, the kind best communicated through a song about a cat that reeks.  Regina Phalange has nothing on you, and not just because you married Paul Rudd.  

Princess Consuela Banana Hammock, however, is another story. 

Seeing the Forest Through the Sleeves: ELLE Spell

Skirt: Modcloth

Yellow flower barrettes: Goody, Target

Top: ELLE, Kohl's

Bag: Elizabeth and James, Kohl's

Top: ELLE, Kohl's

Skirt: Dolls Kill

Happy Hummingbird Barrette Brooch

Shoes: Worthington, JCPenney

Bag: T-Shirt & Jeans, Kohl's

Dress: Kohl's

Shoes: Jessica Simpson, ROSS Dress for Less

Skirt: Wild Fable, Target

Top: ELLE, Kohl's

Bag: JCPenney

Ah, fall.  Among other things, you mean the rebirth of sleeves.  True, the first outfit doesn't even have any (and the forest snapped here is more of a thicket).  But the message of the long sleeves that dominate the rest of this post is as clear as long johns on a clothesline: winter is coming.  So, bundle up -- but make it fashion!  Not that I think that Tyra Banks thinks that haute couture can be caught at Kohl's, which is, as per usual, where I got most of these clothes.  But consumer scores are in the eye of the beholder.  And I, as you know, behold polyester.  It's no wonder, then, that there are three poly tops here bearing the brand of a certain francophone magazine.  So let's all yell for ELLE, shall we?  The clothing line, that is, not the Legally Blonde character.  What the hell; let's yell for her -- and her little dog -- too.

By the way, this post has a nice new make instead of just golden oldies.  In case you can't spot it, it's the humdinger of a Happy Hummingbird Barrette Brooch!  For consistency's sake, let's call him Humbert.  Like Engelbert Humperdinck -- but not.  Because the outdated pop culture references from Game of Thrones and America's Next Top Model weren't enough, and the best and worst things come in threes.

On that note, I think I'll make like Mr. H and fly away someplace warm.  

Dragon style.

The Chenille Deal and an Homage to Abbey

 

Sweaters: So, Kohls; Floral dress: Trixxi, Kohl's; Houndstooth dress: Rewind, Kohl's

This morning, I was surprised to see a dusting of sugar-white frost on the lawn.  Why the surprise, I don't know.  It is the middle of November.  But isn't that the way every year?  The seasons change as they always do, and yet we watch, slack-jawed, as if the sky's spewing seaweed.   

One good thing about the chill in the air is that it means it's time for sweaters.  The chenille ones pictured here were seven dollars each, which was quite a bargain considering that there's nary an acrylic thread between them.  I love how toasty and homey they are, like gingerbread and strawberry cakes just waiting to be decorated with gumdrops.

Speaking of which, this Lipstick Love Barrette Brooch may look familiar because it started life as a headband.

Lipstick Love Barrette Brooch

I have a cannister full of failed projects that I reinvent into stuff that's (hopefully) better.  The Checkerboard Core Barrette Brooch is brand new, though.  Even if it does echo an album cover art project I made in sixth grade.  The album was called The Sour Apples.  My dad thought it had something to do with the Beatles' Abbey Road.  It didn't.  But maybe I should have said it did.

Checkerboard Core Barrette Brooch

Or maybe I should have made something reminiscent of "Octopus's Garden."  To fit in with Abbey Road.  

And to make some sense of that seaweed.  

Field of Screams: Sci-fi Butterfly

Sweater: Apt 9., Kohl's; Skirt (a dress!): XOXO; Belt: Wild Fable, Target

Shoes: Chase & Chloe, Zulily

Bag: Guess, Macy's

From top: Silver Linings, Ocean City; B Fabulous; B Fabulous; Decree, JCPenney; Don't Ask, Zulily

Magical Meadow Necklace

A meadow is a magical place.  It's where you can find butterflies, daisies, and maybe even a wild rose or two.  Then again, if you're not keen on the great outdoors, then you can find those very same things in an accessory like this Magical Meadow Necklace.  Because fashion is as fashion does.  And retail is  better than nature.

Nature, by the way, can be yucky.  Metaphors aside, I've always been icked out by the whole caterpillar-turning-into-a-butterfly thing.  It seems like an alien pod hatching process as opposed to something that would occur here on good old Earth.  

Also, there's just too much slime.

Pocket Docket: Cargo Carried in Style

Bag: Marshalls

Boots: ShoeDazzle, Zulily

Top: Elizabeth and James, Kohl's

Hearts and Flowers Cameo Necklace

Tee: Macy's

Opening Night Necklaces

Bag: Betsey Johnson, Macy's

Top: Xhilaration, Target

Shoes and bag: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Skirt: Candie's, Kohl's

Bird and Blossom Necklace and Barrettes

Pocket doors, pocket squares, pocket change.  These phrases harken back to a simpler time yet also hint at the future.  A door, after all, is a sign of a new beginning, and you can't walk through one without something sharp to wear and a little spending money.  Then there's "Pocket Full of Kryptonite" from the Spin Doctors.  Which reminds us that pockets -- and in this case, the future -- can sometimes be scary.  Still, show me a woman who doesn't squeal like a five-year-old with a new My Little Pony upon discovering that her fresh-from-the-store dress has pockets for stashing lipstick, tissues, or emergency M&Ms.  A subtle side pocket like this is so much more elegant than the cargo kind, even if I did use the C word in this title.  

What I'm saying is, surprises -- like pastel-colored, non-pooping ponies -- can be wonderful.

Ironically, the most prominent pocket in this post is just for show.  Because as some wise -- or sadistic -- person once said, fashion over function, my friends.  In case you can't see it, the pocket imposter in question is that black square on my red T-shirt in outfit number two, and it's completely covered by sequins.  

Because if you can't tote that tube of Cherries in the Snow, then you might as well sparkle.