Frozen Treats and Strange Retreats

Berry Nice Ice Earrings

Clover and Crescent Earrings

The ice cream truck brings much good luck, especially when parked in a patch of four-leaf clover.  And if a pink moon's out, even better.

That's the story of these summer earrings.  At least until, upon closer inspection, the clover turns out to be poison ivy. 

In other words, always watch where you step.

And make the most of that ice cream. :)

What Up Y2K the Butterfly Way

Blossom Bow Butterfly Necklace

Shoes: Katy Perry Collection

Skirt: Tinseltown, Macy's

Bag: Skinnydip London, Macy's

Top: Almost Famous, Macy's

Hair clip: So, Kohl's; Mint bangle: Decree, JCPenney; Other bangles: B Fabulous; Sunglasses: Michaels; Ring: Claire's

Bag: Xhilaration, Target

Black bangle: Mixit, JCPenney; Headband: Xhilaration, Target; Sunglasses: Betsey Johnson, Zulily; Ring: Mixit, JCPenney

Bold Butterfly Barrette Brooch

Dress: Lily Rose, Kohl's

Shoes: Circus by Sam Edelman, Zulily

Striped Flight Necklace

Skirt: ELLE, Kohl's

Fluorescent Fight Necklace

Top: SHEIN

Bag: Luv Betsey, Boscov's; Bangles: Target; Sunglasses: Brigantine Beach shop; Chartreuse ring: Claire's; Pink ring: Miami accessories cart

Shoes: Steve Madden, Macy's

Bag: Amerileather, Zulily

Butterfly Shape Escape Necklace

Fabulous Felt Orange Vanilla Custard Barrette

Blue bangle: Burlington Coat Factory; Purple bracelet: Etsy; Blue beaded bracelet: Cloud Nine, Ocean City; Sunglasses: Nordstrom Rack

Skirt: H&M

Sky and Twee Necklace

Shoes: Betsey Johnson, Macy's; Bag: Betsey Johnson, Dolls Kill

Jacket: Gap

Yellow bangle: Silver Linings, Ocean City; Orange/red/heart bangles: B Fabulous; Sunglasses: Wild Fable, Target; Ring: Mixit, JCPenney; Barrette: The Tote Trove; Mint bracelet: H&M; Striped bangle: Zulily; Yellow bracelet: So, Kohl's

Top: SHEIN

If you flap your wings enough, then you just might land on the last night of 1999.  Big business and government were in crisis mode, desperate to protect their computers while the rest of us prepared for the end of days, Prince's apocalyptical dance party anthem a drumbeat.  Not that I include myself in that us.  On December 31, 1999, I was almost eighteen and far more concerned with the impending horrors of dorm life than the power grid going bust.  But when it came to fashion, I knew what was up.  Which means I was probably rocking butterflies.  

I couldn't help but think about that as I raided my brooch box in search of cast-offs to repurpose for new jewelry.  I found two caterpillar candidates, then set about transforming them into butterflies (well, they were already butterflies, but I trust you'll humor my metaphor).  I had a great time making Fluorescent Flight and Sky and Twee with plastic beads shaped like, yes, more butterflies and also fish and dolphins.  And I can proudly say that these are no longer your grandmother's brooches.  Even though my grandma rocked brooches regularly and was as cool as they come, having busted out the air guitar one Thanksgiving while talking about Jimi Hendrix.  Still, the necklaces aren't even my biggest brag.  That would be the Bold Butterfly Barrette Brooch, which is my favorite barrette brooch so far.  Because a butterfly barrette is better than the butterfly effect.  

Especially if it takes you back to sharing a bathroom with strangers.

Friends 'til the End if the End is the Middle

I know, I know.  What's up with the winter reading material?  Summer just started, and it's too early for Christmas in July.  But I have a good excuse for turning to holiday homicide.  It's because I was fleeing Sally Rooney.

Yes, Sally Rooney, acclaimed author of Normal People and Beautiful World, Where Are You, both of which I enjoyed, especially Normal People.  But when I got halfway through Rooney's debut, Conversations with Friends, which is about a college student having an affair with a married man, I had to put it down.  

The college student -- Frances -- is bleeding and in pain (whether or not as the result of sex with the married guy is unclear) and needs to be rushed to the ER.  Now, as you may know, I have a history of not doing well with books about blood.  Add psychological torment, and I'm a goner.  So I closed the book before I could feel that first nauseous twinge and reached for Mary Daheim's The Alpine Winter.  It was the only new, known quantity left on my shelf.  Also, if there's a story that'll cheer me up, then it's one about finding a body after eating turkey and unwrapping mittens.  Books -- much like life -- are all about tone.  And the tone of a yuletide murder peopled by even-keeled characters is preferable to the one of a girl in pain losing her mind.  

Still, I don't like being bested by a book.  It's only happened to me twice, once with The Help and once with a bargain book whose name I can't remember.  (Somehow, some way, I even managed to finish The Bell Jar.)  And I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't curious about how things pan out for Frances.  So maybe someday I'll pick up the thread of Rooney's Conversations again.  (I didn't throw it out like I did The Help.)  But for now I'm ensconced in Alpine and its small-town eccentricities.

Because sometimes cold comfort is the warmest kind.  

And some friends are best left behind.

To B or Not to Be: That's the Obsession

Skirt set: So, Kohl's

Dress: Zulily

Bag: Harajuku Lovers, ROSS

Bag: Dolls Kill

Tank: Candie's, Kohl's

It's officially summer, and you know what that means: more B roll to kick off the season!  Here are my favorite passed-over pics.  Three are staged, and two are candid.  

Not that you couldn't tell from my scowl.  

And also the photo-bombing cooler. :)

Burying the Read: Par for the Corpse

 

I so badly wanted to use "par for the corpse" even though, despite its cover, this book has nothing to do with golf.  But golf is a dad thing and so is Leslie Meier's Father's Day Murder.  Sort of.  This time, Lucy Stone goes to Boston to accept an award for investigative journalist of the year.  But when she sees what the other women are wearing, her beloved bright sheath makes her feel like she never left Tinker's Cove (okay, so already this isn't a Father's Day thing, but I can only stray so far from my area of expertise): 

"It didn't take Lucy long to realize her dress was all wrong; most of the woman were wearing beaded cocktail dresses or long evening gowns.  In fact, she realized when they finally found their table and sat down, every single woman at the banquet was dressed in some variation of black.  Black silk, black chiffon, black with beads, black with rhinestones, short black cocktail dresses, black evening dresses, and even black pantsuits.  All black.  There was no way she was going to get lost in this crowd, not in her pink-and-orange poppy print.  In fact, she couldn't have chosen a dress that would make her stand out more." (54-55) 

This, of course, made me feel for Lucy -- and fans of bold clothing everywhere.  But wardrobe woes are only the tip of the investigative iceberg.  The real trouble starts when newspaperman of the year Luther Read gets murdered.  Although his son is hauled off in handcuffs, Lucy is unconvinced that patricide is to blame.  She wastes no time in tracking down Luther's disgruntled relatives, business rivals, and jilted lovers in search of the one he pushed too far.  But she still finds time to take in a museum or two and visit Boston's famed Filene's Basement (more garb gab, hooray!).  Now if only she can catch the killer in time to serve her husband his Father's Day breakfast.    

Still, Father's Day Murder isn't all sightseeing and red herrings.  Below its country girl-in-the-big-city surface is a serious message.  Namely, that cutting Luther loose was one way for the killer to put down the patriarchy.  Because Luther, it seems, wasn't a very nice man.  He was one of those bosses who took advantage of his female staff, the kind of seemingly innocuous monster who hid behind his power and gender.  What's more, a second murder -- this time of a young female reporter -- spotlights dangers to women in the workplace on a terrifying new level.  And Lucy can't help but think about that, especially after overhearing the unkind commentary of two male journalists: 

"What a pair!  So smug and complacent and so sure of their place in the world.  They'd never had to battle the glass ceiling; they'd never had to prove themselves the way women did in the news industry  They were the ones who checked out the girls and made passes; they stared and ogled and commented and joked.  All in good fun, of course.  Safe in their thick-soled shoes and confident in their strength, they had no idea what it was like to be five-foot-two and one hundred and ten pounds, late at night, alone in a dark parking lot." (221) 

That's all Lucy needs to hear.  Unstoppable in her red Mootsies Tootsies, she shows the boys in blue a thing or two.

Ovaries are nothing to argue with.

The Mustang Gang: Father Knows Jest

I was getting into my car to drive to my parents' to drive to my sister's for Father's Day when my mom called.  "Wear warm clothes," she warned.  "We're taking the Mustang."  A couple of years ago, my dad finally bought his dream car, a gently used, painstakingly maintained Mustang convertible, and he drives it every chance he gets.  

I'd ridden in it only once, last Father's Day, on an ice cream run.  But my sister's was forty minutes from my parents'.  So I knew that I needed to bring the big guns in the form of a hoodie and scarf.  And I was glad I did!  For most of the ride, my face was entirely covered.  

Which was just fine with me, because warmth and sun protection in one.  Even if my sister said that I looked like "something out of an '80s Grey Gardens."     

     

Anyway, a good time was had by all.  It was a day of dad jokes and classic rock (The Cars, as Dad quipped, appropriately included) and baseball talk (the Phillies lost, but they'll get them next time.)  We had hot dogs and hamburgers by the pool, and I got to hang out with my nieces and nephew.  The seven-month-old had a high time playing with my necklace, which was adorable until she tried to eat it.

On the way to my sister's, we had stopped at Acme so Mom could pick up some ice cream (apparently, the Mustang's programmed to fetch Father's Day dairy).  Dad and I waited in the car.  He took off his baseball cap and said that his hair was almost all white.  I said that it looked good on him, and that I had more white hairs too.  When Mom returned, Breyers melting in hand, Dad filled her in on our conversation.  I thought that it was poignant that we'd gone from Dad teaching me how to ride a bike and drive a car to us comparing notes about the follicular passage of time.

At the end of the day, Dad thanked Mom and me for humoring him with the Mustang.  And although we didn't say so in pun form at the time, wild horses couldn't drag us away.

On that note, I hope that everyone had a happy and memorable Father's Day.  Hopefully, with lots of laughs and ice cream. :)

How a Not Great Review Told Me What to Do, Plus a New Look at an Old Skirt

Shoes: Guess, DSW

Bag: Worthington, JCPenney; Black bangle: Decree, JCPenney; Other bangles: B Fabulous: Butterfly ring: Mixit, JCPenney; Chartreuse ring: Claire's; Brown ring: Charlotte Russe; Purse charm: Michaels

Orange-Eyed Owl Necklace

Dress: Lula Roe

Bag: Elizabeth and James, Kohl's

Shoes: Coconuts by Matisse, Nordstrom Rack

Heart and Flowers Necklace

Sunglasses: JCPenney

Top: Jessica Simpson, Macy's

Tan Folksy Fringe Barrette

Skirt: Hollister, Marshalls

Desert Doodads Necklace

Top: Macy's

Bag: Olivia Miller, Amazon; Turquoise bangle: Mixit, JCPenney; Bows: Zulily; Fabric belt: Steve Madden, Zulily; Turquoise belt: Mixit, JCPenney; Turquoise ring: Michaels; Medallion and owl rings: Mixit, JCPenney

You already know that I love to shop.  But I also love reading (and writing!) product reviews.  Not only do they provide insight into what's on offer, they also let me peek inside shoppers' minds.  For example, I was perusing the Kohl's site (as I often am), when I got sucked into reading reviews for these strappy flip flops:

Sandals: So, Kohl's

They came in black, white, brown, pink, mustard, and multi.  One woman had purchased them in multi and was disappointed to find that they were "primary colored" and, in her opinion, "old-fashioned."  (Another shopper ordered a pair that arrived caked in dog poo, but that's neither here nor there.)  These "complaints" caught my attention -- in a good way.  Because if someone finds something too flashy or odd, then chances are I'll love it.  So I clicked add to cart and have been rocking the retro rainbow ever since.  As a bonus, they cost only $9.99 and are comfy. 

Then, in a not-so-seamless segue, there's this peasant skirt:

Skirt: ROSS

Although I didn't buy it after reading a rave (or grave!) review, making it mine made an impression on me.  I'm sure I've shared this story before, but that's not going to stop me from doing it again, maybe with a few extra details.  

I was twenty-five and on a business trip to San Francisco.  I was working as a medical editor, which could be exciting but stressful.  One day, when my duties were done, I took the scenic route back to my hotel.  And by scenic I mean the street with the stores.  Now, I know that when most people travel, they like to find off-the-beaten-path shops and restaurants that give them an experience they can't get at home.  Yet although I understand the appeal, no matter where I am, I'm drawn to the familiar.  So on that particular March day, after having been scolded for apologizing to a cabbie and saying nay to networking drinks, I was relieved to see the steadfast storefronts of H&M and ROSS.  Especially ROSS, because I had one at home.  And sure enough, that was where I found the peasant skirt.  It stood out from the staid blacks and whites that crowded the rack, as cool as a Caribbean sea.  In other words, just the post-convention palate cleanser I needed.  

Fifteen years later, this skirt is less vibrant than it used to be.  I've worn it with all kinds of tops in all sorts of prints and colors, to BBQs and, yes, to the office.  I even had to stitch a hole in it.  But I still love it.  It makes me as happy as it did on that West Coast day of retail therapy, worldly for having crossed the country and brave for having survived it. 

To that end, I'm still not sorry for saying sorry to that cabbie.  Anyone who can drive anyone anywhere will always get props from me.