Over the Rainbow

It’s a rare occasion in which I’ll call someone out on his or her ignorance, yet I had no choice but to do so twice this week.

Scenario 1:  Enlightening Mr. Newman to the fact that Shirley Jones is, in fact, David Cassidy’s stepmother, but portrayed his real mother on The Partridge Family.  She is the actual mother of Shaun Cassidy, thus making David and Shaun half-brothers, not full-brothers.  (Side note:  The Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew Mysteries is streaming on Netflix.  It’s bad seventies TV at it’s finest, so I naturally endorse it).

Scenario 2:  Late Friday evening,  I received a personal message on Facebook from someone I hardly know inquiring as to why I had not rainbow-alized my profile picture or, at the very least, remarked publicly about Friday’s ruling regarding gay marriage. At first I felt honored; not many people give  two hoots and holler about my opinion on anything, so after the euphoria of that wore off, I simply said,  “I didn’t think I needed to.”    I went on to explain that my closest of gay friends (ie:  people I know and love in the ‘real world’) had already received a congratulatory message from me via call, email, or text. “Plus,” I continued, “I look horrible in pastel colors and horizontal stripes.”

Thinking the matter concluded, surprise met me yesterday morning:  another message from this person, informing me that she found my flippancy offensive.

I did not respond.

Until now.

Lady, you don’t know me, you’re not gay, and suddenly jumping on the Straighty Support Bandwagon does not make you any more special than anyone else.  You’re part of the ‘look at me, not the cause’ syndrome that’s hurling our society even further down to hell in a hand basket.  Real support means you’ve a long history in some fashion with any given cause, you’ve embraced it, you’ve actually cried with those affected by it, and you sincerely rejoice in its victories without drawing attention to yourself.

I could go into my own personal history regarding this cause, but I won’t.  All I’ll say is that it’s one that’s near and dear to me:  from standing up for the ‘sissy’’ on the school playground to kissing several young men right out of the closet during my college days to holding the hand of someone who lost his partner of 30 years to a horrible illness….what a long, glorious trip it’s been.

Don’t talk to me about the rainbow...I’ve been over it more than once.  Oh, and by the way, my remark about pastels and horizontal stripes came from my dear friend, Gay Barry - not me.

Whew, now that that’s over, I’d like to address the so-called Christians in the room:  judge not, lest ye be judged.  Jesus taught tolerance, acceptance, and love.  The hate-filled venom some of you are spewing opposes those ideals.  Honestly, I’ve known atheists who are more Christ-like than you.  Think about it.

No matter our faith, the best witness we can bear is through our deeds, not our words.  We are on this particular plane to learn and to love, and as four incredibly wise men once put it:  all you need is love.  

Let’s get over ourselves, shall we?  Let’s educate ourselves.  Let’s live and let live.  Let’s walk the walk rather than talk the talk.  Let’s stop speaking in cliches or, worse, utilizing them as a literary device, Beth Newman

Do as you will, as long as it harms none.  

Love is all you need.

Do Something

First off,  big thanks to all who turned out to the Imperial Farmers Market in Sugar Land, TX yesterday.  Yours truly reserved a table in order to peddle a few wares:

If you couldn't make it out, both books are available through Amazon.

What a great day it turned out to be.  Nothing soothes the soul more than being surrounded by creativity and farm fresh eggs.  Community involvement - I normally shy away from it, but yesterday's event took me back to my own small-town upbringing.  Every event from the stock shows to the senior proms were held in the Dimmitt Expo building -never in conjunction, but sometimes awfully close.  There's nothing quite like slow dancing to Wham's Careless Whisper while inhaling the unmistakable  aroma of cattle manure.

Now don't get me wrong, boys and girls - I do love where I currently reside.  It's a safe, clean, convenient suburb outside of Houston, TX.  One that has experienced a lot of growth over the last ten years (see safe, clean, convenient).  That growth keeps the community well above water economically - a good thing until you Google Sugar Land Podiatrists and over 500 names pop up.  Honestly, where to you even start?

But back to the Market and a chance to make a little cha-ching.  It's a nice feeling when others spend their green American dollars on something you've created.  I've written a great deal about creativity recently.  I believe we all have a creative streak, and I think we owe it to ourselves t0 take the time to channel that creativity.  Even if you've no intention of making a buck -especially if you've no intention of making a buck.

To create simply for the sake of creating.  To not even consider garnering a green American dollar for it.  Working with one's hands, one's imagination, with precious little concern about looking a fool.

Therein lies the rub - some folks simply don't want to be the weirdo who makes stuff.  I'm finally at the stage in my life where I'm willing to let my inner weirdo shine. Are you?  You're taking the time to read this, so that tells me right there you're probably  a dime short, so you may as well embrace that urge and just go for it. (Side note:  those who know me personally assumed I'd come out of the weird closet a long time ago.  Trust me, Sally - you ain't seen nothing yet.)

Perhaps if we turn off the telly, shut down the screen, and cut back the hours, we could get a full-blown grass root creative society going. Grow our own food, sew our own clothes, design our own decor, sing our own songs.   Everyone's welcome, provided they don't force us to really listen to the lyrics (I'm looking at you, hipster-musician.  You're bringing the party to a crashing halt with your pretentiousness.  Plus, you reek of artisan beer and clove cigarettes.  Clean up, straighten up, and stop taking yourself so seriously).

I have a dear folk-singing, french-speaking friend who told her young children that they could have anything they wanted for Christmas provided they didn't see it advertised on TV.  As a result, she raised a fine group of artists, musicians, seamstresses, and one convicted meth-maker. (Hey, at least he learned to create something and he even made a fine living from it for a
while...)

The older I get, the more I get that life is incredibly precious and short.  None of us has any guarantees, so we may as well get over ourselves, scratch that creative itch, and see just how much we can accomplish before exiting this plane.  Good luck, and may the creative force be with you.

ps...feel free to share your creative efforts in the comments section.  A chance to inspire and get inspired.  Let's do this thing!

Disciplinary Action (aka: My Simple Summer Journal)

Due to the nature of my vocation, summertime means downtime and I couldn't be more pleased.  I've enough to keep me busy and financially sound throughout the season without grind grind grinding at that grindstone. I've time to relax, enjoy, and partake of hobbies (henceforth known as 'disciplines' simply because it sounds fancier and more efficient).  I've also got time to think, which isn't necessarily a good thing.  In order to keep track of myself and to determine if I'm actually accomplishing anything, I've decided to set up a journal.  I gladly share it with you in the hopes that you, too, will take time to work on your disciplines, to ponder, or to simply sit and be this season.

Monday:  Spent most of the day at the sewing machine, my new favorite discipline.  My master plan for 'custom' (ie: homemade) summer wear is actually coming to fruition.  It's quite enjoyable and fulfilling.  Not so fulfilling is the constant media coverage and peanut gallery comments involving the arrival of Caitlyn Jenner.  She's here, she's happy, she will serve as an inspiration and good role model for the transgender community, and quite frankly unless our last name is Jenner or Kardashian, we've no business mulling it over at the rate in which we're doing it.  Move along, people...

Tuesday:  Custom summer wardrobe complete.  Have also officially converted all jars into simple and friendly-looking storage containers.  Nothing fancy.  I repeat - simple.  I yearn for simplicity and have made the decision to distance myself even further from the clutter of 'the virtual world' in order to co-create something a little bit more meaningful.  Something that will cause Mother Earth to smile and my husband to mock.  Ingrate.  I'm saving him a fortune on canisters and have freed up quite a bit of space in the pantry.  That should and will count for something at some point. Mark my words.

        Make your counter space a simple work of usable art.  I've entitled this Why the Hell Did I Buy Mung Beans?   No need to buy Mason jars.  Just save the ones your mayo, spaghetti sauce, etc. come in. Once you've eaten the contents, wash thoroughly.   Place goods inside jars.  Viola!

Wednesday:  A brief scan of the headlines and catch an item about an egg shortage.  Seriously considering how I can raise chickens on the patio of my humble townhouse without the homeowners association on my case when it occurs to me that thanks to heavy petitioning and emotional board meetings, the evil regime has officially been overthrown and we can all breath a bit easier.  Let our plants grow the way God intended them to grow. Maybe place a cute doo-dad atop our brick fences. I double-check the association guidelines and nowhere does it state that chickens aren't allowed.  Now we're getting somewhere.

Thursday:  The previous night's viewing of The Last Waltz'on Netflix has me musically inspired and has also provided within me a new found appreciation of The Band.  I partake in another favorite discipline, the ukulele, and am happy to report that I've almost got Evangeline and The Weight down.  Well, maybe not down, but passable.  You can probably figure out what I'm attempting to do after a few bars. 

Am determined to actually write a song.  A love song:  Your Kisses are Better than the Empanada (But Not as Good as the Rice and Beans).  I got the idea from tonight's dining experience.  See, inspiration surrounds us; we merely need to remain alert.

Friday:  I feel incredibly simple (read into that what you will).  It occurs to me just how little time I've devoted to 'the virtual world' this week.  I, like so many others, have been guilty of scrolling in order to pass the time.  It feels good to work with one's hands (not just the index finger, or the middle finger depending on what's happening in your neck of the woods).  I make a conscious decision to plug in only a couple of times a day, if that much.   Too much mind clutter is not good for the soul.  Trying to create something is, I believe, and even if we're not good at it (see ukulele playing), it never hurts to try.  Perseverance, friends.  Perseverance.

Saturday:  My fabulous sister-in-law is downsizing, and brings me a cornucopia of goodies, including this:

I've dabbled in yarn disciplines, and am delighted to give it another go.  Thanks bunches, CK!  I sort through the tub while watching a documentary about The Eagles.  While there's no denying the impact of their monstrously catchy tunes, I've come to the conclusion that Glenn Fry is a complete and utter jackass.  That's another one of my disciplines:  passing judgement on art-eests who take themselves much too seriously, and it's one I've mastered beyond measure.  I'm so put off I throw a ream of yarn at the telly, and vow to myself that if I ever meet Mr. Fry, I will throw a ream of yarn in his face.  (Note to self:  keep yarn in purse just in case).  I pour myself a glass of wine (another favorite discipline), humming along to Take it Easy.  

And take it easy, I shall, Mr. Fry and company...indeed I shall.

A Sensitive Issue

Feelings....nothing more than feelings....

I think the worst thing anyone could say to another human being is, "You shouldn't feel that way."  "You shouldn't act that way," "you shouldn't dress that way," and "you should get out of my way" are acceptable suggestions when the appropriate opportunity strikes; however, feelings are highly personal, and I think when you encourage someone to put the kibosh on hers, you could very well be contributing to her emotional downfall.  

It boils down to sensitivity - something our society seems to lack these days.

Think about it:  when we ask, "how are you?" we don't really expect a response. On the rare occasion we get one, we're caught off guard.  Personally, I never tell anyone how I'm really doing, mainly because I so seldom get the chance to do so, and besides I'm not one to open up too much.  They don't call me "Close to the Vest Newman" for nothing (nobody calls me that - I'm just making stuff up at this point).

Anyhow, I think the vast majority of us could do with some serious sensitivity training - all the 'do unto others' ideals we were taught in Sunday School yet have forgotten over time.  If we really paused before speaking and attempted to place ourselves in another's position, we'd a) avoid hurting someone, and b) avoid making a complete and utter ass out of ourselves.  Of course, with that being said, I think many of us have become highly sensitive to things that simply don't matter in the grand scheme of things.  They include but are not limited to:

-politics
-religion
-money
-celebrities
-sports
-music

As far as sensitivity goes, the only things we should be sensitive about are:
-family
-children in need
-the ill and the old
-animals
-insuring everyone gets an equal chance no matter his race, culture, gender, or sexual orientation

Put yourself in someone else's shoes, Brother - you've no idea what they may be going through.  Think before you speak.  Listen more than you speak.  And if you're one of the quiet, sensitive ones who feels as if you may absolutely lose your shit at some point, do it and do it in a big way. Get it out. Make it one of the epic events of your life.  Make it so that generations to follow will tell stories of 'The time Aunt Sheila lost it and went off on everyone at Christmas'. I personally can't wait to reach the point in which I'll actually throw a drink in someone's face.  


All kidding aside, if you are one of the highly sensitive in a world of blundering oblivions, seek an outlet.  I recommend some sort of spiritual counseling because it helps cover all the bases (at least it does for me).  Go with what works best for you, though, and remember - what goes around comes around.

The meek shall inherit the earth.

One of the Worst

I won't say she's the worst person I've ever met, but she definitely falls into my Top Three.

It was through my brief stint working in retail several years ago that we met.  Hired as a manager for the store, I naturally assumed she knew what she was doing.  If thievery and stirring up trouble were prerequisites for the job, it's no surprise the Powers That Be saw something special in her.

At first, I simply found her annoying:  she wouldn't stop talking.  I'm not much for chit chat, but her stories of her alleged past as a salon owner, security officer, and being the ex-wife of an NFL player she refused to name intrigued me.  I'm pretty good at spotting BS; little did I know the S would get even deeper.

Her sneaky S snuck up on us initially in the form of bullying.  A colleague with some serious personal issues was having difficulty doing her job effectively.  Rather than reach out, contact HR, cut her a little slack (you know, the things  managers are supposed to do) our subject opted to report this woman as 'completely incompetent' and drove her point home by keying the woman's car.

I S you not.

She mocked a wheel-chair bound customer behind said customer's back. She flirted with every man who entered the shop, except the gay ones.  She didn't like homosexuals, and made no secret of it.  She told a Muslim woman to 'take the curtain' off her head.   She forced junior associates to buy her sodas and never paid them back. She parked in front of a neighboring store and threatened legal action when they asked her to stop.   She was a horrible speller, and her grammar was no picnic, either. 

You can't make this S up, Gentle Reader.

Then merchandise went missing.  Small things at first - earrings, stuff like that. And the gossip!  She went out of her way to tell any and all about insults from other employees (supposedly) hurled against each of us. Needless to say, morale hit bottom.   Some of us were asked by the Powers That Be to keep an eye on her and report back any suspicious or unprofessional behavior.  That's not my style, but I did as I was told.  My only offering was a report of her spending three hours on the phone with her cable company when she should have been on the sales floor.  We were the only two employees working at the time, so she easily figure out that I was the rat.  She accused me of being a lying, racist, anti-Christan goody-two-shoes, and promised to make my life miserable. That night I went home, typed up my letter of resignation, and plotted all the different places I could park my car within a two-mile radius of the store.  I didn't resign immediately, but I kept the letter in my purse, just in case.  After all that, the worst she did was ignore me - a welcome respite from her constant chatter, to be honest.

We then began receiving surprise visits from the Head of Security for this particular store.  Big chain stores have those, you know, and they've got all this groovy equipment to not only track inventory but to track transactions as well.  I'd heard things about questionable sales and returns while under our subject's watch, but didn't think much about it until the day she broke her vow of silence against me.

"WHAT DID YOU TELL THEM THIS TIME, BETH?"  Typed in all caps because she yelled at me as the Security Head and another manager escorted her to the back room.  

They were in there for hours, and no one wanted to leave at the end of her shift. Too caught up in the drama, we made excuses to stick around.  

Finally, she emerged from the back, purse in hand, and yelling (again).  "I WILL OWN THIS COMPANY!  I'M CALLING MY LAWYER WHEN I GET HOME!  YOU ALL ARE TRYING TO CRUCIFY ME!  JUST BECAUSE I'M A WOMAN!" (that one didn't make any sense; the store was predominately female.) And with that, she left.

My shift was long over, so I went to the back to gather my things.  The Security Head asked me how to get to the nearest police department.  I told him, and he ran out the back door, violating store policy. No one was to enter or exit the back door. I'd learned my lesson about being a tattle-tale, though,  and I figured as Security Head he could come and go as he pleased.

We never heard nor saw from her again.  

I left the store a couple of months after the incident - nothing to do with her and everything to do with me not being cut out for retail.  God bless those who are.  It's a tough, thankless gig, and I admire anyone who can stick it out for longer than a few months.

Although it's been years since the incident, she still crosses my mind.  Curious, I did a little detective work recently and discovered that she had been punished accordingly for her misdeeds against the store. It's all a matter of public record.  Thank you, Internet, for showing me yet again that karma is real.

Our Cause in Review

On-the-job travels have kept me away for a couple of weeks, so I welcome myself back to this little musing with open arms.

Unfortunately, Gentle Reader, I have no specific topic in mind, but since we're here to celebrate elegance, let's reconnoiter.  We cannot make strides toward world domination if we don't take pause to review what, specifically, we're here to do.  

Elegant Musings Mission Statement:  to enhance our lives with lovely and loving people, places, and things.  To ignore and/or mock those who refuse to measure up to our high standards.  To dress appropriately for every occasion and to use the proper fork. To display good will for all except those who don't deserve it (which includes but is not limited to bigots, hate-mongers, narcissists, oblivions, and your basic run-of-the-mill idiots).

Requirements for Acceptance:  a good sense of humor and a desire to make the world a kinder, more compassionate and spiffier place.

Things We Won't Tolerate:  whiners, loud-mouths, stinkpots, cat-haters, know-it-alls, and lactose.

Things We Will Tolerate:  humor, irony, spiritual exploration, art, five-dollar words, and bottles of red wine.

How You Can Help:  laugh at this blog when appropriate, share this blog if you'd like, and take this and any other advice-offering forum with a grain of salt.  Only you know what's best for you.  Don't give me that, of course you do - turn off the TV, sit in silence for a minute (or day...or week...) and try to figure yourself out, for crying out loud.

Any Other Business?:  why, yes, thanks for asking. The only way we can make the world a more elegant place is by doing the best job we can while on this plane. No fighting, demonstrating, petition-signing is going to do it.  Pick a couple of causes that resonate with you (in addition to this one), and contribute what you can peacefully.  

Turn off all gadgets while at the dinner table.  

Eat good food.  Real food.  Fresh food.  

Shop locally if you can, and do visit second-hand and thrift stores often.

Limit the amount of stuff in your home.

Clean your home, for Heavens' sake.

Adopt as many cats and dogs as you can.

Limit your attention to Western medicine; seek alternatives when you're ill (if you're gravely ill, see a doctor, though - don't be stupid).

Get together with friends on a regular basis.

I could go on, but I've got Pineapple Pork (yes, local and organic, Wise Guy) in the crock pot and I must take my leave of you, dear hearts, in order to check on it.  If I haven't told you before, let me tell you now:  I appreciate you so much for reading my little scribblings, and although we may not change the world, it's nice to know I'm in good company in our efforts.

Dough for My Bread

It occurs every Saturday morning.

As I stand before my open fridge, tossing out non-eaten and soon-to-be expired perishables accumulated during the week, I can't help but calculate the money I'm literally throwing away. We've two humans and three cats living in this house, so it's not like I have to buy an exorbitant amount of groceries each week.  Nonetheless, my tendency to graze and Mr. Newman's tendency to do whatever the hell he wants food-wise results in a sad sack full of wilted vegetables and dodgy meats and cheeses.  It vexes me greatly, and the Mr. laughs at me, which vexes me even more.  Yet I never complain, until it's time to come up with a topic for my little scribblings.

Yes, I am frugal.  Yes, I realize others who are less fortunate would gladly come over and partake each week of the leftovers, but I don't want a bunch of strangers in my house, so I don't issue any invitations.  Frugal with money, frugal with generosity - that pretty much sums up my current existence.

I find, too, that the older I get, the more this frugality rears it's cheap ugly head.  I pride myself on never paying full price for clothing, books, and household items.  I readily admit to removing a beautiful plant stand a neighbor placed beside my dumpster because I needed one for the patio.  And sure, I'll even confess to hoarding pennies in an old Folgers coffee can in the event that our whole system shuts down due to the zombie apocalypse or total government mismanagement (which could very likely be one and the same).

I will not, however, dumpster dive. Taking something beside the dumpster is one thing; actually going into the dumpster is quite another.  I watched a documentary about people who get their groceries straight from the bin.  These people looked unhealthy.  And dirty.  And weird.  I'm weird enough - I don't need to egg it on even more.

I also refuse to buy in bulk.  I don't have the space to store five years worth of diapers.  I also don't have a baby.  This brings me to the extreme couponers:  if you're not going to use it, why purchase it?  I know a bald extreme couponer who has a hundred bottles of shampoo sitting atop a shelf in his garage.  His sole companion is a hairless cat.  'I had a coupon,' remains his only explanation for it.

I will, however, own the fact that I don't know everything (just most things):  the super-jumbo package of croissants Mr. Newman brought home the other day did not go to waste as I'd predicted. If I had a dime for every croissant I've thrown away recently, I'd have several dimes.  He assured me they would not wind up in the garbage, and just to make sure they wouldn't I ate the last one this morning.  Don't tell him.

I will also acknowledge that sometimes trash really is trash.  Unlike some people I know, I won't attempt to fashion bracelets out of toilet tissue cardboard nor will I wear a lampshade as a hat. 

I actually did wear a lampshade once in my early twenties, but it had nothing to do with frugality and everything to do with an outrageous party thrown by a friend of a friend.

Come to think of it, it really was a cute lampshade. It totally brought out my eyes.

But I digress....

In my opinion, waste is wrong.  Wasted food, wasted time, wasted talent, wasted youth - if we utilize the ingredients we already have, perhaps we'd all be a bit richer, and not necessarily in monetary terms.

Not-So-Brilliant Conversationalists

A colleague and I recently discussed how folks these days have little to actually talk about in person due to social media.  She didn't have to tell me about her Christmas, nor did I need to share about mine.  Thanks to Facebook, we knew the holiday score and in one regard it was fine - we could get down to business fairly quickly.  On the other hand, we missed the social element that once-upon-a-time prefaced 'getting down to work'.

I took that encounter to heart, and have tried to be super-mindful of what I throw out into the cosmos via the Internet.  I never felt the need to post the minutia of each moment, and I certainly never posted anything heavy or personal.  I've always tried to keep it light in the hopes that my reported deeds and misdeeds might make someone smile.

Social media is a wonderful tool for staying in touch with far-away family and friends.  It's also a great method to 'meet' and 'interact' with like-minded souls.  Too many of us misuse it, however;   when we're more concerned with impressing the masses rather than those living within our homes, then we've got a problem.  

We live in the age of Too Much Information, and I wonder if the overload has gone so far overboard that we can no longer discern fact from fiction.  

I also wonder how much of that TMI energy we're absorbing simply by default.  Got five minutes to spare?  Check Facebook.  Then log on to Twitter.  Then visit Instagram.  That five minutes turns into a good solid hour, and then where are you?  Behind in your work; behind in your being.  I know, for I've been guilty of it far too many times.

Off course,  we should take note of the fact that social MEdia sites are rife with narcissists, sociopaths, and your basic run-of-the-mill attention whores.  These folks have no interest in real connections.  They're more concerned with reaching a certain number of 'likes'.  One connection I had went so far as to create fake profiles for a cast of characters with whom he 'interacted' - everything from fake personal assistants to fake family members, which then led to fake enlightenment and fake excitement.  His desperate attempts at presenting himself as a raconteur fell flat rather quickly. The fewer responses he got, the more outlandish his posts became.

I ended up deleting him from my online world.  I 'd never met him in person, and couldn't quite recall how we connected in the first place. 

There is no shame in living a life that's real. And undocumented.

This leads us back to the original point:  have we lost the art of conversation?  Real conversation - the equal exchange of give-and-take.  Listening more while speaking less. I once clocked someone in at 43 minutes before he even asked, 'And how are you?'   It's probably my own fault; I've never been much of a talker and I'm terribly private.  Still, it's always nice to be asked.

If, like me, you're desirous of changing your social media habits, why not give the following a try:

1.  Logging on only once or twice a day; posting even less.

2. Deleting or blocking the narcissists and Debbie Downers (I conducted a 'blocking ceremony' a couple of days ago, and it certainly felt good).

3.  Post only the positive.  If it will make someone smile, laugh, or think, you're good to go.

4.  Share links to art, music, and the written word, not the latest horror from the news.

5.  Live honestly and simply, and relay your life as such. 

6.  If it's not someone you'd want to chat with over a glass of wine, don't connect with him online.

Just like everything else in life, finesse and balance in our social media habits are important. Our real and online interactions have the power to make or break someone's day.   Utilize your networks wisely, but more importantly, utilize your time with the person standing two feet away from you wisely, too.  Ask, listen, and reciprocate - quite easy, once we put it back into practice.

Do-Over

Ladies, gentlemen, and undecideds:  it's a brand new year, and I'm sure many of you are chock full of hope and strong resolve to make this, 2015, the best year ever.

I sincerely wish you the best of luck.

Personally, I don't do 'resolutions' anymore.  I make a mental note of things I want to rid myself of and go from there.  I added a little punch to it this go-'round by attending a New Year's Eve bowl burning ceremony, which is not to be confused with something the stoners in your life might enjoy.  No, in this brand of 'light up', we write down bad habits, baggage, and other blah blah blah to banish, set it on fire, and drop it into the community kiln.  It may sound silly, but the act of it certainly elevated my spirits.  I won't share my entire list with you (it was long and much of it quite personal), so I'll just hit a few highlights based on random categories:

Community - I've leaned awfully hard on isolation in recent months, and getting back in 'the game' will serve me well, I'm sure. Many of us go into a new year with the intent of 'getting involved', 'helping the less fortunate', 'being kind', and we shouldn't sneeze at these sort of sentiments.  Specificity is key, however:  in other words, what action, pray tell, will  you partake in to make your community a better place?  For me, it's bringing back hats.

Home - our houses, apartments, campers, and tee-pees should serve as our sanctuaries.  Be they big or small, grand or dumpy, they should all be one thing:  clean.  They should also reflect who you are by way of furnishing and decor (mine currently reflects a borderline schizophrenic with a fondness for Mediterranean fabrics, rocks/crystals, and old Hollywood).  I call it 'entertainingly earthy', while others have called it 'Shirley McClain on a very tight budget').  I like it; it makes me happy, and I sincerely hope that your space does the same for you.

My fire-place.  These are Sea Salt candle-holders (a gift from my mother).  The rocks I collected from my vacation in Chama,  New Mexico.

I purchased this angel in Spain and gave it to my grandmother several years ago.  Nanny passed away in November, and I'm delighted to have this little trinket back.  She sits atop a glass bowl of crystals.

This photo of Dean Martin hangs in my downstairs bathroom.  That's amore.

Fashion - re-read my last musing from December, and review my previous comment re:  hats. (Side note:  I will be including 'look of the day' photos in future musings to show you, Sweeties, that you can look fab on a budget, and that you should look fab all the time. Get creative.  Here I am getting ready to run errands this morning:

Three-Way Poncho by Suzanne Sommers, pants by Target, the scarf was a gift from my mother-in-law, and I'm in sandals because 'pedicure' was on today's to-do list.  This will also be a chic napping outfit later today.

Overall self-improvement - once upon a time, I was a self-help book junkie, and if there's one thing I learned from my years of study, it's this:  they all say the same thing.  Pick one that resonates with you and go with it. Dr. Phil doesn't need anymore of your money, and you don't need Deepak's or Oprah's approval.  My personal favorite is Joan Crawford's My Way of Life, which I mused about last year during this time (see last year during this time).  She covers everything from organization to work ethic to fashion.  It may not be the most well-written book out there, and it certainly has its outrageously campy moments, but I can honestly say that it's one of my favorite books of all-time.

'Treasure yourself,' says Joan.  'Done,' says I.

Other random things we should all consider: 

-Eat healthy, but know that Kroger and Target carry hormone and gluten-free meats and poultry that are far more affordable than a certain healthy chain store that charges a week's wages for hamburger meat.

-Get on a good skin-care regimen based on your skin needs.  I'm on the verge of a birthday, so my needs are great.  If you're young and stay out of the sun, a good cleanser and mild moisturizer should do.

-Stop filling your mind/soul with garbage that passes for entertainment.  I'm currently enjoying Portlandia on telly, and I can't stop listening to Carlene Carter's Carter Girl album (which is not an album; it's a download on my phone.  I'm not that old or old school yet).

                                        She sure does look like her mama these days, doesn't she?

-Slow down, mind your manners, and display compassion for everyone.  They may look okay on the outside, but you never know what's happening behind closed doors.

-Speaking of 'behind closed doors', keep your personal business, drama, and half-naked selfies off the Internet.  I could also do without photos of your child's first kill of hunting season, but that's just me.  Oh, and ladies please stop with the duck-pout.  

I'm no expert; these are just a few tid-bits that work for me.  If you can use any of them, great.  If not, that's fine, too.  But if you do take anything away from this musing, let it be this:  hats.

A Kick in the Fancy Pants

I preached it and until this past year actually lived it.  What led to my fashion downfall, you may ask (or not).  Life, that's what happened.  2014 was way too real for my bones, and when you combine that with reaching 'a certain age' and the joys that come with it (sleeplessness, weight gain, unexpected 'warmth'), I figured 'why bother?'  It's not as if my little corner of suburban heaven is exactly a fashion capital.  No offense to my yoga-panted neighbors.

But then I watched a wonderful documentary called Advanced Style.  Based on the fabulous blog by Ari Seth Cohen, it featured fabulous older women (yes, much older than me) who do not let age, illness, or anything for that matter keep them from allowing  their inner fashion goddesses to shine...each and every day...rain or shine...in sickness and in health...til death do them part.

  If those gals in their seventies, eighties, and nineties could still get their style game on, thought I, then there's no reason why Beth Newman at almost mid-forty-ish, couldn't do the same.  (You know I'm serious when I refer to myself in the third person).

I realized upon viewing it that I had a closet full of old friends I hadn't visited in a long while, and spent the remainder of the evening playing dress-up, mixing, matching, ripping, stitching, and such.  I felt truly good, truly creative, and couldn't wait to get my style back on track. 

The next day

I put a button-down shirt underneath an old cocktail dress.  Paired it with leggings, cowboy boots, and a scarf.  The purse is an old thrift-store find that I love but had never really put to good use.  I wore this to the grocery store, got several compliments from the husbands of my yoga-panted neighbors, and a gorgeous young employee of the store insisted on carrying my two small bags of groceries to my car.  If that isn't success, Sweeties, I don't know what is.

Then later on....

I dyed my reddish-brown hair to reddish-red hair, thanks in part to past experiences with the hue and a recent Mad Men marathon.  Joan rules.  Enough said.

What I'm buying...

 Canned music and corporate outfits that resemble one another simply won't cut it for me, nor will the exorbitant prices ($120 for a plain white button-down shirt?  Thanks but no thanks.)   Give me thrift stores, consignment stores, and the fantastic Diva Exchange clothing swap parties hosted by my friend, Marian Bell (marianbell.com).  Or just give me your old clothing...

But then again, my style may not be yours.  I encourage you to figure out your fashion preferences and go boldly with them.  Fashion should be fun, and it's certainly a great way to express yourself. Do your homework, but most importantly get inspired.

You can't have style without inspiration.

-Isaac Mizrahi

Very true, Mr. Mizrahi, and thank you for the reminder.

Please please please check out Mr. Cohen's blog advancedstyle.blogspot.com

The Summer of My Malcontent

When I reflect upon past summers in which I had ample opportunity to do absolutely nothing, yet felt compelled to remain a little worker bee, I think to myself, “Wow, what an idiot.”

As a pre-teen, I continued my education during summer break through daily viewings of the CBS soap opera, Guiding Light (most of the little I know about life came from that show).   I then committed myself to reading any magazine I could get my hands on:  Seventeen, Young Miss., Bop – anything that had self-help hints, make-up tips, and the latest news on Rick Springfield. 

At age 16, I started working after school and during the summer months.  As an adult the allure of summer vacation drove me into a career in education, so what did I do?  I set aside each June, July, and August to work on my master’s degree (which I never got, by the way, and I don’t even care).  I then moved into an administrative role, and haven’t had any summer fun since.

 

That’s a lie.  We’ve taken many fantastic trips and spent a great amount of time around the pool.  I suppose my little musing today is my declaration of rebellion:  I’m not going to bust my hump working this summer.  I’ve got plenty of little tasks lined up to keep me financially sound until I return to the full-time grind in August.  The bills will be paid, the groceries bought, and a few gorgeous things shall be purchased, no doubt. 

Society tells us to work work work so we can get more more more.  I’ve got more than I need, thank you very much, and quite frankly I’ve been through the ringer the last few months, and I know that I’m no good to anybody unless I get some time to just sit and be.

Therein lies the challenge, though, Sweeties.  I find it difficult just to sit and be.

I feel guilty for doing nothing.  I always have.  Isn’t that ridiculous?

So I’ve made a little list of things I’d like to accomplish, which I know counters everything I’ve said up to this point.  Gosh, am I a contradiction today or what?  Who cares – it’s almost lunchtime and I’d like to get this thing posted.

Beth’s Summer Fun To Do List:

Proficiency on the ukulele (I dream of performing a little cabaret act in which I tell funny stories and then balance them with depressing songs.  Think about it:  ‘Guy walks into a bar…’ followed by ‘Today Billy Joe McAllister jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge..”)

Elegantly muse more –stop groaning. Ingrates.

Sew – My nieces’ Barbie dolls are swimming nude, and that’s just not done in my family.

Read – I do this already so I shouldn’t even put it on the list.

Anyhow, if you have the summer off, I encourage you to enjoy yourself.  If you don’t, I feel bad for you, you poor slob, and I do hope you can schedule in a little fun at some point. 

 

PS:  Because I’m a giver, here’s my recommended summer reading list, compiled with love just for you:

My Way of Life – Joan Crawford

Jenny and the Jaws of Life – Jincey Willett

Anything by David Sedaris

Gunn’s Golden Rules – Tim Gunn

The Complete Stories of Truman Capote