The sexiest woman is not the one with a curvaceous figure or a voluptuous personality.

The sexiest woman is not the one with a curvaceous figure or a voluptuous personality. A woman is not sexy because she can do a beautiful catwalk on the ramp. A woman is sexy because she stands tall despite the mess in her life. The sexiest woman is the one who has a broken heart, a wounded soul and a sad past but still carries herself with grace and dignity. The sexiness of a woman lies in

Beauty Parlor Night

In my twenties, when I was young and carefree, I rented a house with four other women.  We all worked, dated, and fret about the number of pizza slices we ate in front of the blinking black and white TV on Friday nights.  We were obsessed with clothes, the number on the scale, and finding Mr. Right.  Maybe not so carefree...

Our lone bathroom quickly became overflowing with lotions and potions, hair "painting" kits, pink shaving foams, and bottles of nail polish.  Although we each had our own personal needs, we gradually came to see how much fun it could be to unite and conquer our challenges collectively. Thus, Beauty Parlor Night was born.

We had lots of giggles and laughs running in and out of each others' rooms trying on lipsticks and giving each other manicures.  We shared dating horror stories as well as gave advice to the poor roommate who happened to be lovelorn that week.  We spent a lot of time cross-legged on each others' beds with Mint Julep Mask on our faces and towels wrapped around our heads.

For me, Beauty Parlor Night is still sacrosanct even though my routine has become much simpler. - I'm less concerned with trying new makeup colors and much more passionate about good skincare and smooth and lovely feet.  And it's imperative that my beauty regime eases me into a good nights sleep which is by far the best beauty aid of all for someone my age.

Like penguins tossing themselves to the sea, my roommates and I disbanded and plunged one-by-one into marriages.  I miss the young women I lived and "played" with long ago and was thrilled to chat with one recently.  "What are you doing at home tonight?", she asked.  "I just stepped out of a lavender honey bath. You"?  "I stole my daughter's blue nail polish and it's drying on my toes", she replied.


Note:  Next post up, "What I Did For Love Infatuation".  Soon, I hope.

Room With A View

I had a co-worker/friend who wanted me to meet her parents and so one lunch hour she took me to their small city apartment.  The first thing I noticed was a rather odd still life on top of the hi-fi in the living room.  There sat pictures of my co-worker and her sister as schoolgirls with hand painted macaroni necklaces slung between the frames.  Also included in this collection were two pairs of bronzed baby shoes, other small childhood artifacts and some long tapered lit candles.  "I told you", my friend whispered as she leaned into my ear.  It was right then and there that I decided I would never have an altar for any grown child of mine.  This vow was made before I was even married.

When my daughter grew up and left home, she left behind a small room with lilac walls and a big empty closet.  I was excited that I would at last have simultaneous summer and winter clothes storage but I also began to craft a view of myself in that room.  I saw myself reading on an as-yet-undiscovered loveseat looking out of the second story window to a sea of green from the woodlands behind the house.  I saw myself sitting in a cozy feminine chair at night in my slippers and shawl sipping a last cup of tea and watching TV.  I saw myself napping, exercising, daydreaming, and chatting companionably to friends on the phone, my leg dangling nonchalantly from said loveseat.  I knew I wanted to claim that room as soon as possible.  And although I have a fair amount of pictures of my daughter, a drawer filled with grammar school art, not to mention Mother's Day presents created by precious little hands, I knew I would have no shrines in this room.

Soon I spackled and painted the walls.  I took a chance and bought an alarmingly large antique armoire to hold the television and DVD player.  I found a faded rose-colored love seat with dainty flowing lines, a little tapestry vanity chair to hold magazines, and a graceful orchid plant.  But the pi�ce de r�sistance which thrilled me the most was a cheap white half-wall bookcase that now holds my entire collection of style books which for years, were inconveniently helter-skelter under my bed.

Last week as I perched on the new loveseat, I surveyed all that is mine and wistfully looked out the window trying to imagine the bare-branched trees in their soon-to-be green dress.  My eyes happily skimmed the titles of the books in my new shelf just before I smugly took stock of my winter sweaters, stacked up in the closet like drums.  The view is of a literary life full of reading and writing, and evening quietude to restore the soul.  But it only took a quick audit to see that as I look to the future, something was missing from the past.  Turns out it was a small round photo of a little girl in a pink tutu.

Spring Miscellany

 

Last month I saw the film The Woman in Gold with my daughter.  I was not expecting to be so swept away by the plight of Maria Altmann as she attempts to recover a Gustav Klimt painting of her aunt, Adele Bloch-Bauer.  The beautiful portrait was stolen from Altmann's family by the Nazi's just prior to WWII in Austria and never returned.  A small piece of written legalese kept the portrait in Vienna after the war.

The movie is really about love of family and what it means to belong and the talismans that tie us to those we've lost, (although having a famous painting is quite a special talisman).  Soon after I saw the film, I read the book, The Lady in Gold: The Extraordinary Tale of Gustav Klimt's Masterpiece, Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer, and became even more immersed in Altmann's story.  I decided that I wanted to travel to the Neue Gallery in New York City to see the Klimt myself.

The Neue Gallery is a hushed and intimate museum and while Adele Bloch-Bauer's portrait commanded the room it hung in, the collections are small and personal.  In the museum shop, I purchased a keepsake box of the portrait which contained two beautiful lipsticks reminiscent of Bloch-Bauer's gold dress and the fairy rose tint of her lips.  I thought it was a fitting souvenir for a style writer but I also wanted something to remind me of the beautiful story of triumph and the long-reaching ties of familial bonds.  I highly recommend the film.

Right now, any spare time I have is spent voraciously reading about Edwardian British socialite Heather Firbank.  The new book about her lovely wardrobe, London Society Fashion...The Wardrobe of Heather Firbank, is a gorgeous tome of all the Downton-esque clothes your heart can stand.  Firbank stayed ahead of each trend and bought clothes lavishly from the best couturiers of her time.  Every item in the book represents a happy memory of her life - from flirtatious dances to the thrilling weddings of all her friends.  She lovingly saved every opulent dress and accessory by tucking them away in trunks.  Until her death, the wardrobe stood for all her dreams, most of which were tragically unrealized.  But fortunately for us, she could not relinquish her things and they were eventually donated to the Victoria and Albert Museum.  The book catalogues them in all their glory.

Recently, I read an article about aging written by Dominicque Browning.  Browning was the long-time editor in chief of House and Garden who was fired suddenly a few years ago.  In the article she talks about the difficulty of finding a job after being terminated and all the attending insecurities that one would naturally feel.  An older and wiser editor advised Browning to "Go where the love is", after she suffered further rejections in her employment search.  The phrase reminded me that sometimes we have to step back and really think about the places we spend our time and effort.  Do we feel welcomed in those places?  Are they places that appreciate our passions?  Sometimes we are lucky enough to work somewhere like that or perhaps we attend an exercise class that always makes us feel more of who we are, or we attend churches where we are accepted and wanted.  "Go where the love is" really came home for me after I read the Browning piece.  I suddenly decided I will no longer frequent our local library no matter how many fine books are there.  Over the years, I have found the staff to be cold and impersonal - they look right through me.  The special events I have attended often make me feel less than.  There are people who have entrenched relationships with the library and don't seem to want to make room for others. 

As well, I was asked to attend a PR event for a business I occasionally highlight in my columns.  I brought along a pal for fun but soon discovered I had only been invited to help see that the room was filled to impress other media.  The PR director, who often emails me to ask if I will include one of her clients in my work, was dismissive and snobby and after a few minutes, I felt painfully awkward.  My friend, an accomplished teacher, said she was uncomfortable too, because the other women wouldn't make eye contact or greet her.  It wasn't where the love is and I will carefully choose where I show up and spend my precious time in the future. These days I am finding love at a friendly yoga class on Saturday mornings.  I even found it in my gynecologists' office by the always-happy-to-see-me staff.  Ditto new work events I've been attending.  Go where the love is...

And finally, I am having a renewed affair with the lowly bar of soap.  There is something so soothing about slipping into a tepid bath after a hot day with a fragrant fresh bar of soap.  My favorites are made in Italy but I recently found a perfect French apricot bar at TJ Maxx - it will be lovely for cooling soaks on summer's most sultry nights.  Many soaps claim to be "triple-milled", which research tells me simply means they rinse off easily.  Still, I'm amazed at how the delicate scent of soap lingers on the skin.  There is also something really nice about taking baths in clear unadulterated water again...for now, I'm eschewing filmy body washes and overly-fruity bubble baths for a delicious change of pace.  Amazon sells lots of Italian soaps in the prettiest floral boxes.  Soap is truly an unexpected as well as inexpensive simple pleasure.

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.

all lacquered up: shellac manicure

Long-lasting, chip free polish? Sign me up, please.

I recently had my third Shellac manicure and I absolutely love it. It's my new favourite indulgence.

Here's why:

• It lasts for about 2 to 4 weeks.
• It goes on like polish but sets like gel.
• It takes about the same amount of time as a regular mani.
• The high gloss colour stays shiny and flawless.
• No nicks, chips or smudges even with my multiple hours of typing a day.
• I don't have to worry about reaching for my keys and ruining my freshly done nails.
• It prevents me from biting my nails. This is huge for me.
• I feel like a lady when my nails are pretty and presentable.

The chic and understated neutral I'm wearing above is OPI�s Over the Taupe. I've renamed it Caf� au Lait. It�s a very �ladies who lunch� shade, wouldn't you agree?

One thing to note, Shellac manicures are only offered in salons and by nail professionals. If you live in Edmonton, you can visit my lovely esthetician, Amaris. The lady is a perfectionist and is the only person I trust with my nails. I�m persnickety, that way. Message me if you'd like her contact info.

If you'd like more info on Shellac, check out this review from Nails Magazine, this NY Times article or this blog post.

Hope you're having a lovely Friday, friends. I'm off for sashimi with the boy.

Dajana

p.s. My scooter mug is from here. It turns tea time into a fun event.