Easter Finery

When I was too young to understand anything spoken in church, I asked my big brother why we had Easter.  His wise, all-knowing answer was, "Easter holds us over 'til Christmas".  And it made perfect sense.

My mother created Easter baskets for us but what I remember most fondly was the finery she outfitted my sister and I in.  There were winsome cotton dresses with smocking and sashes or colorful prints of flowers or birds, cotton ankle socks with lace trim, straw hats with excruciatingly tight chin straps, snow-white cotton gloves, and brand new shoes.  How I loved the shoes!  So much so, that one Easter Eve, a pair slept in their cardboard shrine right next to me in bed.  I remember peeking into the box just before sleep, peeling apart the crinkly tissue paper and inhaling the leathery goodness. Our shoes were often shiny black patent with petal cut-outs or dainty t-straps replete with pearl buttons. But sometimes we found the same version in milky white or pale pink.

The most heralded Easter garment however,  was the spring coat.  Each year on a special Saturday in March, when winter was still biting our toes, my mother would take my sister and I to the big city department store to search for new coats - coats that would have their debut only on Easter Sunday.  Formal and lightweight outerwear was not hard to find in those days because everyone had a spring coat back then.  They were as ubiquitous as ski jackets in December.  The quintessential go-to color was navy and if all else failed, it was the one hue that could be counted on to coordinate with any dress.  But more often than not, my mother found pretty pastels for us in nubby weightless wools or sturdy pique cotton with large tone-on-tone buttons.

Along with the coats, we would buy rustling slips and tiny structured grown-up-looking purses to match our shoes.

We gave Easter special honors by dressing as beautifully as could be afforded.  Our ensembles were thoughtfully planned, purchased and executed with an excited anticipation that belied a holiday my brother said just came around to hold us over.

Sunshine On Her Shoulders...

...makes model/actress Shelley Hack happy in her vibrant floral jacket.  I also love the rays of sun that illuminate her hair and pretty face in this picture, which I recently found in one of my vintage Seventeen magazines.  

Trotting out bright floral-fresh new clothes was always a rite of spring passage.  It began with the Easter outfit which included black patent Marjane's, white lace-trimmed socks, a smocked dress, pastel spring coat, white gloves, and a beribboned straw hat with a too-tight under-the-chin elastic strap. But Easter sometimes came with frigid temperatures and it was back to ski jackets and knit hats the next day. 

April is a changeable month in the Northeast.  A co-worker once vowed that on May 1st, no matter what the forecast, she would begin wearing her spring clothes (turnip!).  I know that longing and since I've never been good at transitional dressing, selecting things to wear in early spring is always a challenge.  I wish dressing now were as easy as pulling on a tropic-colored summer dress over my head.

My daughter and I went shopping yesterday and she couldn't decide if a tangerine sweater was "too bright".  I explained that once the sun shows itself again in earnest, the tangerine will feel just right. She bought the sweater.  I bought nude pumps to lighten up my work pants and sweaters.  

As I yearn for lovely sunshine on my own shoulders, I look back at some of my most memorable and favorite spring clothes:

mint-green "baseball jacket" with rainbow cuffs my grandmother made me

red, white and green striped dirndl skirt my mother bought me when I was in Jr. High School

white piqu� dress trimmed with daisy rick-rack for 6th grade dance

shiny vinyl egg yolk-yellow raincoat with "fireman" hardware closures worn over bell bottoms on rainy school days

double-knit rose-colored date dress with short sleeves, Peter Pan collar, and three matching pearl buttons 

red dotted-swiss dress with white lace trim and back tie worn under graduation gown

(Graduation Day)

On the Twelfth Day of a Feminine Christmas

 

I have a love/hate relationship with New Year's Eve.  In New England the weather is almost always seasonably frigid and it just seems cozier to stay tucked indoors.  But tradition calls for a convivial and festive party like our "cover girl" is enjoying.  In her hands is a statuette of Father Time carrying a scythe which implies the death of the old year.

 

It's actually this passage of time which keeps me betwixt and between staying in or going out on the year's last night.  Whether New Year's is a clich� or a holiday steeped in the mystical,  I think everyone should have the chance to "do" New Year's Eve, at least a few times, with a big glamorous and raucous party.  There's nothing more fun than bewitching finery and a boisterous crowd to send your cares a-packing until after midnight's countdown.  But the draw to stay close to the hearth has been far more compelling these last few years.  I often have many new gifted books to read, plenty of left-overs, and not to mention - the weather outside is so frightful. 

 

Mom says "New Year's Eve is for amateurs."  But I think she is talking about those who party too much or those who party infrequently and thus, overdo it on this one night.  I think Mom is at an age and stage where she can do whatever she pleases and these days, she's happy to watch the revelers on her television set rather than have a drink with them.

 

For me this year, I think I will follow Jane Austen's logic, a women who also knew a thing or two about joyous partying:  "Ah!  For real comfort, there is nothing like staying at home".  Ah! indeed. 

 

~  

 

This concludes my Twelve Days of a Feminine Christmas and although it was not on the true calendar, I hope you enjoyed it. 

Flights of Fancy

Have you been stopped at a red light in a November dusk and watched the eerie dance of the starlings?  They fly en masse from wire to wire with the precise unison of synchronized swimmers.  I love watching them - first two birds courageously make a flying leap, and then suddenly all swoop and land onto the nearest wire in mere seconds.  I wonder how they managed their strange flitting before electrical wires.  Why they do it is a mystery (any readers know?) but it is one of my private pleasures during airy and heartrending November.

The year's 11th month is the most atmospheric.  In the Northeast, early darkness is forced upon us with the return to standard time.  A peek outside a sunny window at 4:00 pm turns stark and foreboding fifteen minutes later, when bare branches turn the sky into a cover of an English Lit paperback of Edgar Allen Poe stories.  Time stands still for a week or two, even as the holidays bear down.  We are gifted a reprieve with nothing much to do except make holiday lists and dreamy plans.  Before Thanksgiving, it is time to slow down, surrender and let the darkness have its way.

The storied birds may be seen as an icon of time's fragility but I welcome them as a reminder of my favorite holidays and my ever-increasing desire to make each moment count, especially now when the world is so brittle and tenuous.  The starlings won't stay much beyond November - but the fancies borne of my overarching lists may bring long-remembered comfort and joy to those I love so deeply.  As I plan and quietly watch, I keep this in mind.