Pink Ponchos With White Fringe Mean "I Love You"

You might assume that, as the fifth of six children, I may not have always been the recipient of special attention from my parents. However, my experience was quite the opposite. My parents always did little things to make me feel special.  For example, they attended every single teachers conference, awards ceremony, choir concert, and piano recital that I ever participated in the entire time I was growing up. In fact, it wasn’t until I had children of my own and attended their special events, that I realized there were kids that didn’t have parents who attended. As a child, it never would have occurred to me that my parents wouldn’t be there for me. Somehow they managed to balance the needs of six children in such a way that I never felt like I came 2^nd, 3^rd, or 4^th . We were each equally important and they made the time to prove that. I have many memories of their support and their presence but I also possess actual, tangible evidence of their care tucked safely away inside a large box where my mother lovingly packed some of my favorite childhood dolls and the beautiful clothes that she made for them.

In particular, I had two dolls names Crissy and Velvet who were special to me. If you were a girl of the 70’s, I’m sure these dolls need no introduction. Crissy was a tall brunette with a ponytail that went all the way to the ground. With a knob on her back, you could wind her hair up into a cute little bob, or you could push her belly button, pull her ponytail, and her hair would be extended back to its full length.  Crissy also had a butterfly string in her back that you could pull and she would rotate back and forth at the waist. (I don’t know the specific purpose of this action but can share with you that it was the cause of a very serious nightmare for me one night when I was about 7 years old!)  Her younger sister, Velvet (at least I assumed they were sisters), was a short blonde but she possessed the same magical qualities of hair growth.  These were not baby dolls – Crissy and Velvet were “grown dolls” meaning they didn’t get swaddled in baby blankets, or come with baby bottles and rattles as accessories. They were intended to be my peers and I could comb their hair, curl it, and dress them in ways that I myself would have liked to dress. 


I can clearly remember sitting on the couch in our living room and pouring over the JC Penney’s Christmas Catalog - dreaming about these dolls. I would get out the measuring stick so I fully understood how tall they were. I would debate with myself whether or not Crissy or Velvet would be the better “Santa request”.  And I would wonder about all the amazing hairstyles and fashions I could create if I only had one of these dolls.  Whether I received them both at the same time or separate times, I don’t recall.  But I do remember two very important things….

1. It is simply not possible for a 7 year old to style a doll's hair in magnificent updos like they would show on the TV commercials or in the catalog, and,
2. My mother created a fashion wardrobe for Crissy and Velvet that nobody could ever rival.

My dolls came to me fully equipped with the most beautiful and exquisite clothes that were all hand-made by my mother. They had cotton “popcorn” pajama sets, floral flannel bathrobes with matching felt slippers, long sundresses, formal gowns, polyester leisure suits, and pink corduroy flare pants with a matching poncho and white fringe.  As a person who has attempted sewing and also failed at sewing, I can especially appreciate the love and care that went into making these clothes. It is one thing to create something of a “normal” size but to create an entire wardrobe of such miniscule proportion must have required much planning and much hard work. I don’t remember ever seeing my mom work on these clothes so I know that she must have done so either while I was at school, or at night after I had gone to bed. Keep in mind, that she had five other children for whom she was equally responsible and she was busy attending to their needs and creating things for them to treasure as well; whether it was making prom dresses for my older sisters or painting wooden giraffes and rocking horses for my little brother. She must have been tired at times and there must have been times when she wished she could do something for herself - but instead, she laid out the patterns, cut the cloth, and sewed wonderful doll clothes. When my mom made these clothes, it wasn't with the intention of providing evidence of her love for me. It was just something she did just as she did a million other little things for me every day.

Of course, as a child, I didn’t know to appreciate it. But I do now and I was reminded of her hard work every time I pulled out the box that still holds Crissy, Velvet and their fabulous clothes for my own children to play with. Someday soon, my grand-daughter may also want to play with them. She won't know...so I will have to tell her about the love that went into every stitch. Though these dolls may seem out of place today and their clothes are crafted in the styles of the 1970's, the craftsmanship and love they represent have certainly stood the test of time.

So my thanks and gratitude to my mom are quite seriously delayed, but I want to thank her now for allowing me to have both Crissy AND Velvet, for taking time to make them such wonderful clothes, and most importantly, for showing me through those actions, how much I was loved and cared for.

"Is O'eirinn Me" - I am of Ireland

For the past week, I have had the extreme good fortune to travel through Ireland. Because of my work, I have opportunity for travel to many wonderful and exotic places. However, Ireland has been at the top of my wish list for years so I was thrilled to have the chance to finally visit. While I do have Irish ancestors, I had never before closely aligned myself with my Irish heritage. However, after visiting this week, I have fallen in love with this country and its people. And from this point forward, I will now always say "Is O'eirinn Me" which is translated as... "I am of Ireland."


Ireland seemed to touch a place deep within me and I feel it resonating inside myself like the beat of the celtic drum. Like anyone who has newly fallen in love, I likely wouldn't be able to explain to you the beauty and the spirit of my new love. But I will try. As we traveled, everywhere I looked was a feast for the eyes. Whether it was the vibrancy and urban energy of the city of Dublin, or the quiet, fertile green fields and quaint villages of the Shannon countryside, I didn't want to even blink my eyes for fear of missing a sight. I've also come to love the sounds of Ireland -the lovely lilt of the Irish accent, the mournful sound of the Irish flute, and the joyful noise of many voices joined in song at the local pub. The food has been amazing, the Guinness has flowed freely, and the people have welcomed me as though I were one of their own. However, it is the spirit of Ireland that will now hold my heart forever. There is such rich history here, both real and imaginary folklore, that gives this country a character and passion for life like no other.


This Saturday will be St Patrick's Day. For those in Ireland, this celebration is much different than the US. For the Irish, this is a religious day and is spent very quietly attending church and spending the day with family and friends. I will have a new appreciation this year for St Patrick's Day and plan to celebrate my own Irish heritage and my newfound love. 


I am of Ireland.


Have a very safe and happy St. Patrick's Day!!

My Secret (Or Not So Secret) Obsession...

We all have obsessions. Those things that for whatever reason, known or unknown, simply resonate with us and make us happy. For me, that obsession is purses.


I have purses that represent every aspect of my life and my personality. I have the structured, black leather bag that came with its own name and its own protective cover, that represents my corporate work personality. Hanging on the crook of my elbow with my hand ever so slightly elevated at an angle, this purse gives me the confidence to fit into my own structured world. I also have the completely unstructured hippy bag that is not bound by organizer pockets and zippers, it has no form and no timeline, and represents the carefree spirit that I would like to have. I have the teeny tiny wristlet that tells the world that I don't need to carry anything when I leave the house except for my lipstick and my cell phone. And, of course, I have the Ginourmous MacGyver bag that is filled with anything I might need to meet any challenge that comes my way. Unexpected rainstorm? I have an umbrella! Broke the heel on my shoe? I have a spare pair of flats! Sudden famine? Don't worry, I have crackers! Each purse is unique with its own personality and each purse represents a little bit about who I am...or maybe who I would like to be.


Just as important as the purse, is what it holds inside. I'm not going to lie - there is no better nirvana for me than doing the "purse transfer". I LOVE taking everything out of one purse and organizing it into another purse (which is likely why I rarely carry any purse for longer than one week at a time).  This is my time to clean out my handbag, organizing my life into compartments that are easily accessible. I love knowing where everything is in my handbag. I clean out the old receipts from my wallet and organize the dollars (if there happen to be any!)  I re-evaluate the lipstick options, weighing whether or not this is a brown week, pink week, red week, or just clear gloss. I immediately place my cell phone in its protective pocket, reassured that at a moment's notice, I could whip it out like something from a Clint Eastwood" Dirty Harry" movie. I always carry an antique floral handkerchief. I guess I like the romanticism of being able to wipe away any sadness with something beautiful that has wiped away so many tears in its lifetime. I carry a small bag filled with good luck charms - little trinkets that have absolutely no value and no meaning to anyone else in this world, but to me, they are important enough to carry with my every single day. Though all my appointments, meetings and important reminders are held in my blackberry, I also carry a calendar because sometimes you just need to hold the paper and look at the bigger picture and take a moment to pencil in a future plan or dream - otherwise, they never seem to become reality. With all my essentials appropriately placed in my treasured vessel, I am ready to face whatever comes my way.


I don't remember the first purse that I ever had, but I am certain that my passion for purses began when I was very young. I have a photo of myselfas a little girl playing on our swingset in the backyard, with my bright yellow patent leather handbag hanging over my shoulder. In fact, when I think back to any age or any stage in my life, I can equate it to the purse I might have been carrying at the time. I remember the tiny white wicker basket bag that I had in kindergarten and so many of the wonderful hand-me-downs from my sisters through the years. And when I became of a certain age, I began accumulating purses on my own.


At one point, years ago, for some reason I decided that maybe there was something slightly shameful in my somewhat overwhelming purse collection so I decided to put myself on a strict diet and resolved to allow myself only one new purse each year. I nominated Mollie as the gatekeeper who would be the voice of reason when my resistance was low. Not an easy task for an 8- year old but Mollie has never been known to turn away from a challenge and she took her responsibility seriously. I cannot count how many times she must have said to me when I was contemplating a purse, "Really, Mom? This one? Then you will be done for the year - are you sure this is THE ONE?" I would chew the inside of my lip as I debated each purses' merits and eventually would slowly back away, shaking, but feeling the confidence of my resistance.


Mollie would be the only one who could say for certain, but I think I stuck to my resolution that year. However, at the beginning of the next year, I received a birthday card from my sister. On the front was a picture of a little girl who had no fewer than five purses on each of her arms, her face and her smile were full of joy, and the photo was captioned "You can never have too many purses".  And my sister wrote on the bottom, "And life is too short...to not have too many purses."


From that point, I released myself from the bondage of my resolution. Over the years, my purse inventory has occasionally grown and then diminished as I donate them to make room or because they no longer fit an aspect of who I am. But I refuse to feel shame about my love for purses and I will likely remain purse obsessed until the day I day. And I hope when that day comes, someone who reads this will remember and they will bury me with my purse. Because with my purse by my side, I can face whatever comes next.