Sharing A Day

This past Saturday, thousands of people stood in the rain to enter a church and synagogue to honor the wonderful man who was the minister of our church for our 30 years. The doors of the synagogue were graciously opened to the overflow crowd. I think that would have pleased the man who we all came to know in special ways and to whom we were saying a final goodbye.

Actually, it is my son's church and The Reverend Frank Forrester Church was his minister. But my husband and I, although not members, have always supported the work of All Souls Unitarian in New York. I know many of you will understand the kinship that a man of God can have with a congregation. This particular man held out arms long and wide. One of the stories shared on the church web site was of a little girl coming to church for the first time and being asked what she remembered. She replied it was "wizard" in the flowing red robe. And so he was to many, but not to himself. Forrest, as we all called him, just did his work the best way he knew how. But indeed he was a gifted teacher, counselor, and friend.

This coming Christmas I will miss the story that Forrest always worked into his sermon. It was amazing to me over the years how he found new and refreshing ways to tell it. One of his ancestors was the Frank Church who, as a newspaper editor, wrote the now famous letter, Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. It seems that belief is something that Forrest inherited.

After the service ended and the hymns were sung and tributes given, an elderly woman in a wheel chair was among the first to come up the center aisle. Bethine Church, Forrest's mother, blew kisses to the crowd with a lovely smile on her face. A beaming smile was also something Forrest had inherited. She had lost a son at 61, but she had gained the love and devotion of all those to whom he meant so much.

From this day, I share with you the simple but profound philosophy Forrest so often expounded: "Do what you can; want what you have; and be yourself." The rain was over when we left the church. My coat on the back of my chair had dried, but not the tears on my cheeks.

There is Nothing Like an "Old" Dame

All over the news: the coming out party of Ardi. I'm talking about the bones that scientists think belong to the oldest skeleton found so far. (No disrespect intended.) She's 4.4 million years old. And why is it that the last two great discoveries have been female? I suspect that these girls were left behind to do the dishes, take in the laundry, and pack the car. (I discount the Kenyan boy somebody tried to get into the act as being pretty old, too.)

Ardi has elbowed Lucy out of the way. She was the oldest before, and pretty good on her toes, I understand. A bit of All About Eve, perhaps. Now THAT's an age-old story, unfortunately.

I guess I'd like to know if either of these girls had discovered tea. Somewhere in that dig there has to be a couple of cups and a copy of Pride and Prejudice, don't you think? Stay tuned--there's still a lot of dirt to get through. We'd never suggest that gossip was born of a primal day, but who really knows? Let's hope they were only concerned with whose palm leaf hat was better or whose kid got to the stream the fastest. Generations may come and go, but we girls know what really matters--the small talk of everyday life. And of course the humor we can't live without--no matter how many years old we are.

Like this piece of levity on a Friday morning when I should be vacuuming.

Have a great weekend picking apples, finding just the right pumpkin, and sipping cider. Autumn rituals that never seem to change, thank goodness. And oh, welcome to the clan, Ardi.

A First Best Friend Story

Yesterday I met Trish Foley, a great friend and former colleague at Victoria, for lunch and an afternoon of theater. We had lunch at Orso, a place known for individual pizzas, and it reminded us both of our photo shoots when pizza was the cuisine of the day--and night. Chinese food got its licks in, too. This pizza is sliver thin and has lovely fresh basil atop.

The play was based on Ilene Beckerman's Love, Loss, and What I Wore. I think I spotted a couple of husbands in tow, but it was a girl's afternoon out, for sure. Mostly, it is funny and familiar--like all the stuff we carry around in our handbags. There were a few poignant moments based on stories contributed by women who were not in the book. Tyne Daly, a Tony award-winning actress, presented the little drawings of outfits from the book and told the author's story. Trish and I laughed along with everyone else at the related moments of costume disaster. Some of you may remember when we covered Ilene's unique art in Victoria. Maybe a few in the audience discovered her in our pages.

Before meeting Trish, I stopped to have a pair of glass frames adjusted. I may be a dainty lass about some things, but when it comes to eyeglasses--I might as well be King Kong. In my handbag, along with all the lipsticks, pens, and other things I was to hear about in a few hours, I had a proof of the cover of My First Best Friend. Trish's picture with her best friend, Celeste, is on the back cover--two young girls on a beach walk on Long Island. And I wanted to share it with her. The young woman who helped me is my favorite of the opticians who are there to either fit you with new glasses or keep the ones you have operational. She knows me well! I decided to show her what my specs have been focused on lately. And she mentioned that she had a first best friend story, too. Since I'm hoping to continue the dialogue on this marvelous subject with a web site, I was anxious to hear her story. It was one that stopped me in my tracks and ended up with us hugging each other.

My optician is from another country, coming here as a young child. Her parents were divorced when she and her sister were very, very young. The children were divided. Coming to America with her father, M., I shall call her, entered school. And on that first day, she met her first best friend--the sister she had lost when the parents separated. "When I heard my last name, I responded," she said, "and so did another girl in the class." Providence untied two sisters who have been inseparable since. They are both young moms and enjoy each others families so very much.

You can imagine how fast my heart was beating. While I wish I had found this story while I was still collecting memories of first best friends, I was reminded, yet again, of the power of love and connection. Like Victoria, My First Best Friend, was a labor of love for me, in more ways than one. If you have a story, wait until the web site or blog for the book goes up. I'd adore hearing about the special power of friendship in your lives.

Paris in September

Is it possible that I still have an editor's timetable implanted in my brain? Is this why I am veering toward Paris in these sentimental September days? One of my favorite issues of Victoria was A Woman's Private Paris. I knew that many of my readers had never been or would never be able to go to Paris, but I wanted to share the magic of that special place through a woman's eyes. Interestingly, two of my favorite issues happened during the last year I edited Victoria. The other, was In Love with Shakespeare's England. If I had stayed on, I would have lobbied that that issue become the basis for a book.

I loved both of these issues because they had the work and enthusiasm of the editors who worked on them--Trish Foley for England--and Susan George and Eliette Markhbein for Paris. Also, the incomparable Mary Forsell brought her knowledge of literature to the quotes in the Paris issue. I signed Mary up at once to do the quotations I included in my new book, My First Best Friend. Her ear for voices from women's literature is impeccable.

And so, yesterday, after a visit to my dentist, I virtually walked across the street to the Paris Theater. It is a treasure in New York--at the tip of Central Park and across the street from the Plaza Hotel (moan, the Palm Court is now gone). When my long time dentist, Dr. Bill Munton, moved to 61st Street and Fifth Avenue, I knew it was a danger zone. At least my husband felt that way. It is also a hop and skip from Bergdorf Goodman, where I go to look at lovely new and old furnishings on the 7th floor.

The Paris is beautifully maintained and even has a mezzanine which takes me back to my old movie-going days. Showing was Coco Before Chanel with the enchanting Audrey Tautou. The theater was packed with young women eating and drinking their way through a good but not great film. I'll let you all judge for yourselves if your interests take you to a movie house near you or watch it in the future on DVD. What excited me, almost more than the film I was watching, were the previews for The Young Victoria. I shall be first in line for that one. I'll find my aisle seat at the Paris, if I am in New York and not in Ames at the time.

And so during an early autumn day, I was engulfed in Paris, in more ways than one. I even stopped at Bergdorf's and got a spritz of a lovely French perfume on my wrist. Was that the reason I did the impossible--get a cab on Fifth Avenue at the beginning of a good rain? Maybe so. A woman's private Paris day in New York.

Shopping Made By Hand in Paris

As promised, here are some of the entries that Pia Jane Bijkerk shares with us in her new book. These caught my eye and interest for a variety of reasons.

Marie Louise De Monterey: Find a hand-stitched 1920's evening slip among the vintage clothes that Maria has assembled in her shop in one of the oldest sections of Paris. French fashion from past decades is the stock and trade of this shop and you just might run into an actress searching for a frock to wear to the Cannes Film Festival. Children's clothes also catch Maria's eye, as they will yours. Pia reports that stock changes seasonally and one of the photos in the book shows shoes lined up below the fashions.

Pep's: I was delighted to follow Pia's reasoning for including an umbrella repair shop amongst her shops. "But this is Paris where repairs, alterations, craftsmanship, and restoration services have never ceased to be appreciated." No tossing broken umbrellas aside. Take the rain protector on life support to Pep's in Paris's oldest arcade. You'll enter through a wooden doorway to discover a "semi-enclosed alleyway, lovingly maintained and clad in overgrown ivy." Do not bother to break an umbrella as the ticket to admission at Pep's, you can purchase a new one from a nice selection. But if your antique parasol is showing signs of wear, you'll find the perfect place for a repair here.

Alexia Hollinger: Fabric handbags from vintage textiles is the stock you'll find in this shop, now 13 years old. When Alexia began, she was bucking the long French tradition of leather handbags. But her creativity and craftsmanship has won converts. A vintage silk scarf will be transformed to an enchanting bag by Alexia. She also creates from new fabrics, chosen with the same eye. I suspect if you visit this shop, you'll leave with a bag that suits you.

La Droguerie: Craft enthusiasts will go wild with the supplies stocked here. And even if you're not looking for beads or ribbons extraordinaire, you'll enjoy the wonderful ambiance of the shop, which was once a butcher's shop. Yarn skeins now hang from the old butcher's hooks. Feathers, twine, and spools of every kind of thread imaginable can be found in profusion.

Le Bonheur Des Dames: Here you'll find one of the biggest embroidery boutiques in France with so many kits, you're sure to find one you can't wait to tear into. The setting is contemporary with sunlight flooding into the shop. Pia says: "The company has been producing its range of products for more than thirty years." The instructions for projects come in English and many other languages. I suspect this is a citadel for embroiderers from all over the world.

Lune: Having a son with a voluminous collection of vintage ties, I was attracted to Lune. Sometimes he thins out his collection and offers orphans up to a friend who crafts from ties. Lune does it in spades with some stunning results. Oh, the belts! You might be inspired to raid a tie rack in your family to try your hand at designing in the manner of Lune. Madame Jendly makes all manner of enticing things from hats to necklaces from old ties that still have beauty. Pia calls the place "a candyland." And it seems from looking at the photos in the book and visiting the web site, she's spot on. And the boutique is not hidden in a closet--rather it's dazzling with an array of chandeliers and fairy lights.

Thanks for shopping with me, and if you'd like to share your choices from Pia's book or your own experience, please do.

Feathering My Nest

Last Christmas season I had two delightful guests for tea--Emily Sutton and her friend and fellow artist, Mark Hearld. I first read about Emily's work in World of Interiors. (Oh, the power of magazines.) Having promised myself that the shelves and tabletops in my homes were laden to capacity, I vowed not to add anything else...well, at least for the moment. It was a good resolution, but it didn't last long when I saw Emily's incredible birds of Britain. I was able to purchase the very last one that the gallery had available.

Emily is Anglo-American. Her mom is from New Jersey. She has not been out of art school for very long, but her work literally flies out of the galleries where she has shown. Her latest show, which ended in June, was at Godfrey & Watt in York, near where Emily lives. Inspired by the decoys she saw when on a visit to The American Folk Art Museum in New York, she set to work to create her masterpieces, which are three dimensional and incorporate both painting and stitchery. It was the latter that just blew me away.

After my first purchase, I added an English robin on a branch. It was my luck that Alex at Godfrey & Watt had chosen my robin for the only Christmas card that the gallery produced. I ordered bundles and got to work sending out my robin with good cheer in my heart. As you can see, an English robin is distinctive and not a carbon copy of the ones we see bobbing around in our backyards.

Both Emily and Mark are interested in collections--and so I was thrilled to think that they would visit me when my Christmas tree was up and trimmed to the brim with the ornaments I've collected over the years. Many memories from my Victoria days. All the while I was decorating, which was about a two-day affair, I kept thinking how happy I was to share some favorite things with my visitors from England. But, at about five in the morning on the day of their arrival, the tree decided it had enough of standing in my living room and began to lean forward. I heard a little noise and suspected that resident cat had found an object of her affection. When I investigated, I found a Christmas tree within minutes of hitting the deck. My husband and I worked as fast as we could to save the ornaments. I didn't lose anything very precious.

However, my family prohibited me from trying to redo the tree and trust it's wayward ways. So when Emily and Mark arrived, the promised display had become an array of lights and Emily's two birds perched quite nicely on several strong branches.

It looked quite nice, actually. We had a lovely time. Enjoy Emily's birds online. I can assure you that her work is incomparable.

My love of bird art has also taken me to Screech Owl Design. They make jolly cards. (Did I catch a bit of the Brit from Emily and Mark?) One of my favorites is of a robin perched on a spout. There is another very friendly one of a heron on an elegant chair. When you order from Screech Owl, George sends a personal thank you. Imagine that?

Fuddy Duddy?

Just when you thought I was totally immersed in the 19th Century, I offer this: A visit to Mary Rose Young.

Before you get dazzled by her creativity--wonderfully zany at times--I want to explain the title of this entry. Once, now it seems in the long ago, a so-called expert was hired to review Victoria. She came up with this term--it was "fuddy duddy."

I guess you can imagine that while I can now sit back and smile at this judgment, I was baffled and maybe a bit combative at the time. In an attempt to earn her fee, I suspect, this is one of the proofs she presented: A comparison of covers. One that she approved of from a competitor's magazine was of a Victorian basket with a very arranged assembly of flowers--Victoria's cover that month pictured a bicycle basket filled with fresh-cut lilacs. Fuddy duddy? Hmm...

Well, to shake any dust off the drapes, enjoy with me the work of Mary Rose Young. I first found her work at a shop in New York. She loves roses, her own special kind. And I love roses whether on bushes, in gardens, hanging over country picket fences--I just love roses. (I think I will add that to my list of fuddy duddy things I love.) Granted, Mary Rose's pottery is not everyone's taste, even consummate rose fanciers. Dear Ann Levine from our staff gave me one of her giant cup and saucer creations. It's on my table as I write. I've never filled it with any liquid, I must admit, but I drink from it's sheer energy and spirit.

Victoria did feature Mary Rose Young's work and home. Her work is artistic and a bit pricey, but worth every penny. And it doesn't cost a thing to visit her site and enjoy. She sells online as well as in retail stores here and in her native England.

Why should it surprise that an Englishwoman would go wild over roses--truly.

When Chas Glaser left our staff to become a cowboy (really!), we sent him off with a party at The Cowgirl Hall of Fame in New York and gave him a Mary Rose Young teapot with a ceramic rose atop, just so he wouldn't forget us. (By the way, Chas has returned to the East and he spent last Christmas Day at our apartment with his two incredibly handsome and well-mannered sons. He's back at his pre-Victoria profession--actor and model.)

I'm thinking of writing The Fuddy Duddy Handbook. What think?