Elegant Summer Travel Tips - 2014 Edition

 I love clothes.  I love trips.  I love wearing snazzy clothes on trips.  With that being said, however, one thing remains that I don’t love:  lugging around tons of luggage, because traveling, while wonderful, can be a pain in the neck, so why add to the trouble by over packing? 

Unless one is taking a months-on-end extended holiday, one should never carry more than one suitcase and one travel-bag.  I’ve had the very good fortune to travel to many places world-wide, and did so each and every time with my belongings packed away in one mid-size case.

So, how did I do it, you may be asking yourself (or not).  I’m happy to share my elegant travel tips with you, Sweetie, provided you promise to abide by them:

1.      Go with separates, preferably in wrinkle-free fabric.  I spent ten days in Spain with only three pair of trousers and a small variety of tops and cardigans.  Mix and match, and take advantage of any laundry services your hotel provides.  If no service is available, or if you’re a tightwad, carry a small bottle of travel wash and rinse your things out in a sink if necessary.  Travel-size Febreeze is a God-send.

 

2.     I rarely pack shampoos/conditioners/lotions because hotels have these readily available.  If they don’t carry your brand, who cares?  You’ll be back to your tried-and-true products soon enough.  I once forgot to pack a toothbrush; hotels will gladly give you one just for the asking.  Same goes for razors, but not for restocking the mini-bar.   I learned that the hard way in Italy.

 

3.      This time of year, easy-breezy dresses are a must.  Rather than fold, roll and place them inside your suitcase.  This will leave you plenty of extra space for a couple of nice hats and a small accessory bag (mix and match your bling).

 

4.     When it comes to shoes, a couple of pair should do you.  Be sure to add a nice pair of heels in case you’re invited to a fabulous party.  I’m never invited to parties when I travel, but perhaps you’re more likeable than me. Or perhaps you just  give off a certain vibe.

 

5.     No need to pack a robe and slippers – your hotel will probably offer those, too.  Call ahead or check the hotel’s website before arriving in order to make sure. If not, take along one in the lightest of fabric, and substitute the slippers with the pair of flip-flops you’ve probably already packed.

 

6.     If you happen to be staying with friends, do take along travel-size essentials.  Nobody likes a mooch.  Don’t clutter the countertops with your toiletries, either.  Remain tidy if you want to be asked to return someday.

 

And while I’m on the subject, here’s a random sampling of other things you shouldn’t do when staying in someone else’s home:  complain, turn on the TV without asking, allow your hostess to clear your plate after dinner, point out the faults of your host’s home, not give them a gift at the end of the visit (preferably cash, if you’re staying with me), and nude napping.

So let’s move on to what not to do whilst staying in a hotel:  get drunk, get arrested, allow children to scream up and down the halls during ungodly hours of the morning, go out to the pool without a proper swimsuit cover-up, overindulge at the complimentary coffee bar (I’m guilty of this, so we'll take it case by case). Now that I think of it, these should also hold true if you’re staying with friends.

But the most important thing to remember is to never inundate your host or your hotel with every possession you own.  Lighten up when it comes to travel, Sweetie.  I think you’ll enjoy the trip so much more if you do.

Happy travels!

 

That's Amore

They resembled those couples you see on TV commercials, the ones that promote life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness all thanks to a little pill.  Should your quest for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness last longer than four hours, you should seek medical help immediately.  Of course, I had no choice but to take an immediate dislike to them.

It happened at a restaurant that Mr. Newman and I enjoy on a regular basis.  It promotes a special each week called ‘Amore Monday’ – three courses at incredibly discounted prices.  Our couple in question, however, took the term literally, for such displays of PDA I hadn’t seen since I cancelled our Cinemax subscription years ago.

They sat on the same side of the booth, and had she’d been any closer to him, she would have been behind him.  Roaming hands, repeated kisses – it was quite a show, but not in a good way.  I (almost) couldn’t finish my manicotti, and you can forget about me focusing on any sort of dinner conversation with my better half.  It had been a while since we’d been to dinner and a show, and even though it was a horror show, we couldn’t wait for the next act.

He whispered something in her ear, and she chuckled in between gulps of beer that she swigged straight out of the bottle.  Okay, so maybe they weren’t exact replicas of the happy couples in those commercials.

Their check arrived and a dispute with their waiter followed.  Perhaps what they ordered hadn’t actually been part of the ‘Amore Monday’ special.  Perhaps she only drank four beers but was charged for five.  Or maybe the restaurant charged them a ‘Get a Room Because You’re Grossing Out the Other Patrons Fee’ that’s not noted on the menu. 

I don’t know how the disagreement was settled because dessert arrived, and this place makes a butter cake that you would not believe, Gentle Reader.  It’s a pretty presentation, too, or it was until Mr. Newman helped himself to a bite, knocked it on its side, and smeared the fruit topping all over the plate. 

Anyway, by the time I’d regained my composure over blatant cake abuse, the couple had left.  I’m assuming together, but you never know about these things now, do you?

On the drive home, I pondered their story.  Could they have been celebrating an anniversary?  Could they have rekindled a spark that had disappeared for a while?  Were they bonding over a happy or tragic situation? 

My guess, though, is that they were simply hammered.

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

 

 

This Just In

Goodness gracious, how my heart sang upon reading the New York Post’s coverage of the recent Kardashian-West nuptials:

 

If only every news outlet gave it to us this straight and then shut up about it.

I confess, though, that I don’t watch much news, don’t read much news, and don’t really care that I might be perceived as a bit ignorant when topics of conversation turn to current events. Oh, did I mention that I used to work in broadcast news?   Quite frankly, the media inundates us from every angle, and I vowed a while back not to give them the satisfaction of my attention.  Most of what society perceives as news isn’t really newsworthy at all.  It’s time-wasting filler. 

Example 1:  It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that rain has consistently fallen in the Houston area for three days.  Parts of the city flood easily.  I know not to drive in it. I don’t need round-the-clock coverage.  Next.

Example 2:  All things Kardashian.  Who are these people, and why won’t they and their ilk go away? 

Example 3:  A man running for office sought treatment for depression thirty years ago.  And this affects me how?

And don’t get me started on investigative reports that pop up during a ratings period.  If you buy into this propaganda, you’ll come to believe that any and all germs will immediately kill you, your suburb is filled with loose housewives, and that we should all start wearing helmets when walking to and from our cars (dangerous sun rays or angry birds, I’m not sure which one…).  I officially proclaim us as a nation of scaredy-cat, star struck drama queens. 

Back in my brief days as a journalist, a news director told me that my written copy came off as a little ‘upper crust’.  ‘Tone it down.  Pretend you’re writing for a seventh grader.’  I don’t know if that old rule still applies, but perhaps it’s one of the reasons our language skills have drastically declined. But that’s an entirely different post that I shall save for another time.

Anyway, Sweeties, I vote we end this madness now.  Who’s with me?  Stop Klicking (;) on links leading us to the latest in celebrity drivel.  Turn off the telly at 6 and 10 PM. Read a book.   Listen to an entertaining podcast while you’re driving. Turn on some good music (Dean Martin comes to mind), pour a glass of wine, and find someone interesting to talk to (they may very well live in your house, but you haven’t noticed because you’re too busy pressing your face to a screen absorbing the latest headlines).  Call a friend.  Sit and stare into space.  I don’t really care what you do provided it’s safe and legal.  My point is, let’s band together, get real, give our attention where it’s needed, and start enjoying ourselves.  It certainly won’t garner a reporter’s attention, but that’s a good thing, don’t you think?




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I Have a Kitchen Because It Came With the House

I don’t give a damn about broccoli, and I feel the same way about certain spatulas.  Only chumps sift flour, and if you think I’m spending one precious moment of my time carving rosebuds out of radishes, you’re setting yourself up for a lifetime of hurt.

Don’t get me wrong, Sweeties, for I do enjoy spending time in my kitchen, especially when I’m not cooking.  Truthfully though, I do like preparing meals, particularly if they’re a) relatively healthy, and b) extremely easy.  I used to tell everyone (and by everyone, I mean me, myself, and I) that I simply didn’t have time to learn all the fancy-schmancy nuances that come along with creating a stunning and satisfying meal.  That’s a lie, however, and I’ll own it.  I’ve got time, but I simply prefer to spend it in other ways (napping, devising effective-but-humane devices for warding off squirrels, etc.)

 

Mr. Newman and I have been on a juicing/smoothie kick lately.  Like a fine meatloaf, you can put anything in a smoothie and it will turn out okay.  The Mister is a little more particular than I, however.    My ‘Green Goodness’ concoction was met with a look of disgust I hope to never witness again, along with an inquiry about the deal I struck with the yard man following a full day of mowing.  Mr. Newman will rue the day he mocked my super food efforts, once he notices my line-free face, svelte figure, and shiny hair.  My energy shall be boundless, too.  At least that’s what the dirty hippie who gave me the recipe promised. 

Many evenings we work, which doesn’t allow us the opportunity to sit down together and enjoy a full meal.  Juicing is a great way to get that end-of-the-day, much-needed sustenance.  Have you ever tried to suck a sandwich through a straw?  It can’t be done.  Liquid meals are fast, and there isn’t much clean-up afterward.

I sometimes think society puts too much emphasis on food.  I can always find something to eat – just ask my neighbor, whose oranges mysteriously disappear from her tree on a regular basis.  I commend those who can whip up a seven-course meal at the drop of the hat.  I wish I had that sort of enthusiasm, but I don’t.   No one in my house is starving, so I suppose that it’s alright.

 

 

 

Green Goodness Smoothie:

½ cucumber

2 stalks celery

4 leaves of Kale

Parsley (to taste)

Lemon Juice (to taste)

One small apple

Blend until smooth (duh)

Teach 'Em What They Don't Know How

Sitting in a meeting with high school educators and community leaders the other day, the topic of life skills arose.  On one side, we had several who expressed dissatisfaction because too many young people, according to them, didn’t have any.  Some blamed the system, while others blamed parents.  I kept my mouth shut, for I really didn’t have a dog in this fight, and it was getting close to 5pm.  On a Monday.  Following a nice long weekend at the beach.  Remind me never to schedule a work thing the day I return from a vacation.  Anyway, getting back to the point of pointing fingers, I silently played for both teams on the issue.

As someone who’s worked in education now for almost twenty years (egad!), I’ve noticed a slight downward movement within classrooms.  There’s an awful lot of apathy amongst many educators, for myriad reasons, I’m sure:  the pressure of teaching to standardized tests, the fear of calling a kid out on bad behavior for fear of a lawsuit, the anxiety that comes with underfunded schools that have cut the arts in order to beef up security.  It’s a long list, and I empathize with the good teachers who are still out there swinging, trying to make a difference.  I say good teachers, because there are an awful lot of bad ones simply making time.  You’d think that the hoops one must jump through in order to land a job teaching would cut out the riff raff, but they don’t. 

With that kind of pressure, it’s no wonder teachers can’t schedule a lesson or two on good manners.  You know, to reinforce what’s being taught at home?

Oh, yeah, that’s right – so little of it is taught at home these days, according to others attending the meeting. I agreed with them on several – not all – points.

We have, unfortunately lost the art of thank you notes.  Looking an adult in the eye and speaking to her is long gone, too, as is the good old-fashioned handshake.  Sure, every young person I know can show me how to close the apps on my phone properly, but ask them to set the table and they’re lost.   They can communicate up a storm via text, but try to talk to them one-on-one and see where that might get you.

Other complaints from the meeting included the following:

Give a kid $20 for a $12.99 item, and he can’t make change without a calculator (neither can I, I thought)

They’re too busy looking at their phones to interact with anyone (I do that on occasion, but only when surrounded by idiots and thumping bores)

They can’t eyeball measurements for recipes (that’s why God gave us measuring cups, lady).

They can’t figure the circumference of a room (Mister, is this really keeping you awake at night? Really?)

Their music is too loud (my parents voiced the same complaint against me in the 80’s …this is a generational thing, and had absolutely nothing to do with the topic at hand.  This was merely some yahoo desperate to throw in, unaware that I had a pile of laundry and a glass of wine to get home to.  Jerk.)

Sure, I’d like to see young people better behaved, and I’m happy to report that I personally know a number of young people who do understand the importance of saying and doing the right thing. They may not know how to make change or convert measurements, but those sorts of things don’t matter in my world.  Sure, their mannerly efforts may not be implemented with the greatest finesse, but at least they’re trying.  Some of them have fantastic support from their homes and their schools, while others do not.  I truly believe it’s a crapshoot as to who will make it and who won’t.  The ones who are making it seem to share a couple of common traits, though:   the right attitude and the desire to succeed. 

Perhaps if we recognized them a little more, and turned a blind eye to the others, things might actually turn out okay for us all.  Additionally, if we offered better examples of courtesy and how to host snazzy, classy parties, we might not have to say to them, “This is how you do it.”  They’re smart, these young people, and incredibly savvy.  They’d figure it out, eventually, I’m sure.

Pieces of the Story

 

Christmas, some years back:

“I hope you like it,” my sister said, “even though it’s probably just a box of crap”.

 

Practically every time I visit my husband’s grandmother:

“Take it, honey.  It’s just crap nobody wants.”

 

Today:

I boldly confess that I will, indeed, take all of your crap, but only if the crap in question is a box of vintage costume jewelry.  That’s what I received in the above scenarios, and that’s what I like – old accessories with a story to them.  Granted, I don’t know the story behind every piece I’ve acquired over the years.  Much of my collection comes from garage sales, thrift stores, and a wonderful clothing swap party that my friend Marian hosts from time to time (http://www.marianbell.com/). 

This past weekend’s swap party proved highly successful for me.  Not only did I score enough clothing to keep me out of the stores this summer, I met a wonderful woman named Monica who specializes in my favorite pastime.

Monica’s jewelry was not up for swapping, however.  She sells it on behalf of others.  Her clientele includes folks who’ve lost Grandma and would like for Grandma’s jewelry to go to a good home.  They also include people who are simply downsizing their jewelry boxes.  Old pieces.  Interesting pieces.  Pieces full of personality.  Pieces you just don’t find anymore.

I had my eye on this:

 

And on this:

 

Knowing that old costume accessories can sell for a pretty penny, I hesitantly asked her price.  I almost fell over –in a good way- when she told me.

“I’m not really looking to make money here.  I just want to find people who’ll be good to these items.  I merely need a little to cover gas to these sorts of events and such.”

I handed her the cash, and as she wrapped them lovingly and placed them in a bag, she informed me that the necklace and the bracelet were owned by the same woman.  “Her name was Laura,” Monica said, “would you like to know more about her?”

“Indeed I would!” I proclaimed as I sat down at her table.

“I actually knew Laura quite well.  She passed away a couple of months ago, and I miss her.  She was like a grandmother to me.”

“How so?”  I asked.

“We used to do tequila shots together.”

Now, I don’t know about you, dear reader, but I never did tequila shots with either of my grandmothers.  Nonetheless, Laura sounded like my kind of gal.  In addition to her affinity for tequila, Laura was also a school teacher (I was, too, and totally get her need to imbibe from time to time), she tended to favor books over people on occassion (me, too), and knew how to play the ukulele.

“You’re kidding!”  I cried, “I’m learning to play the ukulele!”

“I think Laura had a hand in you finding her things,” smiled Monica.

I agreed and took my leave of her, Laura’s jewelry secured in my purse. 

That evening, as I put the pieces away in my jewelry box, I took a good look at what I’ve got.  Someday, when I’m too old to fasten a necklace or simply too worn out to care, I’m going to start passing this stuff along.  Many of those on the receiving end may view it as crap, but hopefully others will fancy it, particularly if they know the story that will go along with it.