Better Than Their Betters

The title of my post comes from one of my favorite films, Mrs. Miniver.  I never paid much attention to the line until it came to mind this weekend.  Mrs. Miniver, played by Greer Garson, nearly misses her train home from London because she runs back to the milliner's to buy a costly and frivolous hat she fell in love with earlier in the day.  In the train car with her is Lady Beldon (Dame May Whitty), the town's wealthiest resident with the longest most ancestral history to her name.

Now, Mrs. Miniver is quite lovely but to Lady Beldon she is merely middle class and so, Lady Beldon has a mini-rant on women "running to and fro", buying up expensive and impractical "bits and bobs", and acting "better than their betters".  By "betters", Lady Beldon's meaning is crystal clear:  she means herself.

It's laughable really, because most of us have never lived under a true caste system which was apparently still evident in rural England before the war.  But wars are equal opportunity tragedies, as Lady Beldon soon discovers.

One of my favorite days of the year occurs on this weekend - I travel by train to Boston for an antiquarian book and paper show.  My friend and I have dinner afterwards at our favorite hotel restaurant and then take a long walk in the fall sunshine down tree-lined boulevards dotted with sparkling shops.  I usually try to pick up a few Christmas gifts, especially if I find something unusual.  But I also like to visit a particular lingerie shop to see what's new and finger a few pretty things.

I don't have to buy to be inspired.  I so enjoy looking at the way things are put together - the new colors and styles.  I always walk away from this day wondering if I should take more risks with my wardrobe and pondering more creative possibilities is always fun.  What was not fun was when I entered the lingerie shop that I was so excited to visit, I was first ignored and then insulted.  Perhaps if I were wearing a shiny black down jacket cinched at the waist with $500 sleek black riding boots along with designer hair and handbag, I would have been treated better.  It doesn't matter what was said or done but I did feel diminished in my new forest green sweater coat and attractive black suede loafers.  And that's just silly...

A friend told me today that she simply doesn't frequent stores where she is made to feel less than.  I may adopt her approach.  But for now, I took the time to write an email to the shop's manager who was not there when I was.  And I've already received a kind and apologetic response with a warm welcome to return and meet with her personally.

Now that's better...

A Kindred Visit

I recently drove six hours to visit my dearest friend for four days.  It was way too short.  We began anew at the spot we left off - where the heartsong plays.  Comforting, kindly, funny - that is what this friendship is.

A magazine brought us together - Victoria.  Our love of home and family found us both on a Victoria-related site, where we "met".  Soon I realized by reading her posts, that we had very much in common.  I reached out to her on the day I received a mean-spirited letter from my former mother-in-law who chose to contact me suddenly after nearly twenty years.  I sent a personal email and lucky for me, my friend, who just happened to be at her office on a Saturday morning to retrieve eyeglasses, logged onto her work computer and read it right away.  She called and together we determined that the unwelcome letter needed to be destroyed.  But it was the balm of her solace and comfort that broke the spell that threatened to ruin my weekend.  And thus began our daily emails and soon-to-be regular visits.

Our first meeting took place at Penn Station in New York City on the day we had lunch with Victoria's founding editor.  I recognized my friend immediately and while we trawled the subway that day, sitting shoulder to shoulder, I felt I had come home to something.  We could not stop talking, sharing, nodding in understanding, and as she sat with me later, waiting for my train home, my mind raced ahead to other potential visits.  I asked her to sign my new journal before we hugged goodbye.

So two weeks ago, I trekked to her neck of the woods again on a beautiful fall day filled with light and color.  I was anxious to see the improvements she made on her home, hear her sing in her church's choir, and meet another friend of hers.  We also did a little bit of shopping which was great fun.  And although it was only to the local mall, I imagined we two with baskets on our arms strolling a charming outdoor Christmas market, just like I saw in Victoria magazine years ago.

Time together always include fashion talks and so topics like new winter coats, ways to make leggings chic, and finding good cashmere were all discussed at length.  I also received a recommendation for an amazing shampoo that I would never have found on my own.  We cooked together and banged around her house reading vintage Seventeen magazines and watching old movies like sisters.  Tea figured prominently.  And hopes for our children...our joys...our fears.  A few fears.

This kindred visit gave me a present - a soul reboot.  As I made my way home alone, driving through the paved hollows of endless red and gold burnished hills, I couldn't even listen to the radio - my mind, so filled with new things and plans, craved room to expand.  I felt grateful to have someone in my life who cares equally about my past, my present, and my future. And in the long quiet miles, I came to see that a kindred friendship is a sheltering tree.

On the Fifth Day of a Feminine Christmas

This lovely is quite pleased with her beautiful gift set.  I wish I could tell what fragrance is in that box but it certainly looks like she's about to learn the benefits of layering one's scent.

I love the ice maiden look to this picture.  It makes me think she could be inside an igloo with the silvery tree and the frosted windows.  Her fur is strewn close by in case she gets cold in her silk charmeuse dressing gown.  Everything about this photograph says that Christmas is about luxuriousness and indeed, some of the best Christmas presents are those we can pamper ourselves with.

There is a time in every pre-teen's life when she begins to receive more womanly gifts.  Gone are the dolls and toys, replaced by perfumes, lipsticks, and lotions.  I distinctly remember receiving soap-on-a-rope, toilet water, and handkerchiefs in the sixth grade.  Later, my mother filled my Christmas stockings with Yardley Pot-o-Gloss, false eyelashes and newly-invented pantyhose.  Under the tree were electric rollers, a lighted makeup mirror and white go-go boots.  The mirror eventually got stuck on "Office" and the boots faded from the scene but I never got tired of sets of lipsticks and fragrant bubble baths.

Today's beauty sets are available at any price and in any combination.  I especially like the ones that have Christmas motifs on the packaging such as snowmen or snowflakes.  It makes such a cute and festive gift for a girlfriend or niece.  A dear friend just sent me a pre-Christmas gift of two pretty spring nail colors with a lavish rose-infused handcream.  It came in a tartan tin and is sitting patiently under the tree right now.

I highly recommend buying a pampering set for yourself before Christmas.  Look for a selection of small shampoos and each morning, test drive a new one.  Or try a combination talcum powder with body splash.  Spoil yourself during this busy season while you are busy spoiling others.

A Day in November

Like Christmas, one of my favorite days of the year comes but once in twelve months.  Yesterday was the day I made my annual trek to my favorite Boston book fair.  This exhibit is small and highly curated with only the most intriguing books and paper, including old letters and journals.  I especially love the children's books.  I saw a full collection of Lucy Maud Montgomery's Anne series - the same books my grandparents brought me from Prince Edward Island when I was a girl.  I would have saved them had I known my set would become so valuable one day.  I pawed my way through first editions of Nancy Drew with their colorful 1930's dust jackets.  Nancy was so chic as she, George, and Bess strolled into the Lilac Inn to solve that mystery.  My fingers brushed across the spines of Cherry Ames, Sue Barton, and Trixie Beldon...all pre-teen favorites.  I read a few ancient letters and poked through some marvelous old photographs.

A lot of commerce transpires at this book fair and I've been lucky enough to go home with some lovely things over the years - but not this time.  Prices have risen and I am being cautious.  After our  early dinner, my friend and I strolled through one of the most upscale and elite malls in the country - The Copley Place Mall.  I know this mall intimately as I once had a job with offices ensconced on the third floor above the shops.  The only thing that has changed since I left that job is that the mall has become even more expansive and decadent.  Only the most exclusive shops have real estate at The Copley Place Mall - dark and delicious chocolate emporiums, Italian leather handbag stores, and be still my heart, a gorgeous French lingerie shop.  It was almost too "too" and after peeking into a few stores and watching enormous amounts of credit and cash exchanges, I noticed I was beginning to feel a little sorry for myself.  I WANTED that cozy oatmeal cashmere lounging outfit for $750.  I NEEDED that butter-soft red Italian handbag with the petite brass acorn-shaped clasp that cost what my parent's paid for their first house.

Usually I find browsing delightfully inspiring.  I love looking at the way stylists put together ensembles for store's windows.  I will often take pictures discreetly with my cell phone to remember the unique way colors and patterns are mixed.  I get ideas for writing my style column with these images:  it keeps me relevant and helps with trend-spotting even if I cannot afford to buy.  But this time, a cloud fell over me with the excess and exorbitance. It was all too much and I was overcome with a stifling and urgent need to escape.  As my friend and I headed for the escalators and back to the train station, I suddenly noticed an Asian family huddled close on a small marble bench in the center of the mall near a three-story waterfall.  I saw the father figure bent down on one knee before the bench where I presumed his two small children, wife and mother-in-law were sitting.  All heads were bowed. All hands were touching.  Their eyes were squeezed shut.  They were praying.  I certainly don't know why - it may have been a benediction before having a meal or perhaps they were taking a break from someone's bedside in one of the numerous city hospitals nearby.  I wondered about them even as the crowd pushed us ever forward towards the overstuffed escalators filled with people carrying enormous crinkling shopping bags.  But so moved was I to see that tender private family moment in the middle of all the handbags, trinkets and clothes of my dreams.  As we glided slowly down the escalator, elbow to elbow, I lifted my head above the throng to see if I could get a last glimpse the small family but they had disappeared.

Now I'm not going to tell you I had a big epiphany or that I am banning beautiful exclusive shopping meccas in the future.  But being touched to the core by the poignant image of the praying family, I started to examine areas of my life where I need to slow down and connect in more meaningful ways.  On the long train ride home, I began to make a mental list for some casual suppers I will host for loved ones soon, and other ways I can be kind, generous.  Available.  I made a promise to myself to read more inspiring things and not just the free fashion tomes I receive from publishers.  And I will remember that it is not always the dress I am wearing but the woman inside the dress that I should be most concerned with.

When I arrived home, I quickly scribbled down some of the things I had seen in Boston:  the books, the love letters, the trees at dusk that flank Copley Square's beautiful old Trinity Church.  And yes, the supple leather handbags and silk scarves.  And I wrote about that dear family with heads bowed in a hushed evocation all their own.  After I put out the downstairs lights, I reached for my grandmother's afghan to wrap about me as I stepped onto the porch for a last moment at the end of a long day.  Outside, the night was still and quiet...as if in prayer itself.