WINE and a little cheese (Patty)

Yes, I can definitely relate to the absolute natural high that you get as a young girl with a new outfit! In fact I can look back at almost every photo that exists of myself, and tell you how I felt about the clothes I had on that day!
This week's drama starts with Zeke. He is in the Architecture program at Tulane, and it is a very demanding situation. He is wavering on remaining in the program, his grades are fine but it is so time-consuming, ( 9AM til 12 midnight every day with a couple all-nighters thrown in...) that he can't do ANYTHING else. Zeke likes to socialize and work out and have downtime...what to advise? If only I was Asian, all the Asian kids I know persevere through the pain, no questions asked...but we are Irish, and need a little time to shoot the breeze! He might not even want to be an architect, and then he will have "wasted" his college years, according to him...then again, having a degree in something is very valuable these days, and it's just so cool to be in the Tulane School of Architecture! He has 2 more days to decide...
Madison is getting ready for her trip to New York with Sony. It's a big music convention for college kids. Emory sends the GM of the radio station, a student who has given sweat and blood, volunteering for years and years gets the prize, the all-expense paid trip to the CMJ (College Music Journal or something along those lines...) When that Senior found out Madison was also going on the trip, he was like "Who the heck is she??? How long has she been with Sony???" (Don't think he was too pleased when he found out she'd worked there 4 weeks...) She is the very lowest man on the totem pole, but someone has to be!!
Had a going-away party for John on Sunday. We went through 25 bottles of wine and there were maybe 35 people here...my neighbors can drink a lot! Good thing everyone was walking home...I was somewhat embarrassed to take the trash out...He is leaving on Tuesday for The Big Adventure, driving 30 hours to Laguna by way of everywhere...
And back here, it will just be me and Portia, preparing industriously for Halloween and her 17th birthday party. John is anxious for us to join him in January, 93% because he enjoys our company and 7% because I am a source of dinner, errands, and general shadow chores, everyone likes a wingman, and John will be wingless for 90 days. I've never been on more than a 6 hour drive in my entire life, but my new motto: Embrace change!

Patty

Fashionistavore = an animal that feeds on STYLE (Ruby)

You may not know that I have 30-odd hats, not actually ODD hats…but approximately that number…and I always want more. As far as I am concerned, a hat functions nicely in so many ways; I always think it helps keep the “steam” in…tames the lion in you (or me) by literally keeping a “lid on it” and it can be like a cave to hide in with the brim or visor pulled down low over the eyes, delineating personal space like a privacy fence. But, most importantly, the right hat makes anything look better…the very cherry on top.

My husband, shown here, was the first person I knew who regularly wore a "Fidel" or "Castro" style hat in the 1980’s and now that they are literally everywhere, in every color and texture imaginable, for women, men and babies, this particular style has become somewhat diluted for me…fallen a notch on my personal style-o-meter, by default, for having become a mainstream T-R-E-N-D. The irony is that in the fleeting world of fashion the precise thing that you might want for a look – for it to actually catch on, become popular – is the same thing that causes it to lose that special quality that makes it unique and sought after to begin with…which is why it’s fortunate that there is a new line of everything every season.

I was three years old when it started to matter to me what I wore. My perfectly pressed ensembles, genteel in their matchy-matchiness – thanks to my mother and her early patronage to tailored designers like Florence Eiseman - were my first venue for comprehending that all articles of clothing had a natural “mate”…that there was a “RIGHT” combination or the opposite of that…a mess…the anti-ensemble, which my younger sister’s clothing choices epitomized with merry abandonment and which I recoiled from as if it were a disability. I remember the day my mother unveiled my new lavender oufit: a white shirt with an embroidered lavender kitty on it, lavender shorts with small white dots and white ankle socks with lavender scalloped embroidered edging along the delicate cuff. I recall laying the outfit upon my bed just to gaze at it before ever putting it on as if to drink up all the magical air around it, and in my 3 year old mind I believed that if there was any goodness on the earth, it resided in two things:
• the color L-A-V-E-N-D-E-R
• the rules and regulations of matchy-matchy

And so began my personal pursuit – entirely wrapped up in emotion – of the right thing to wear, and not in a Garanimals way, but in a way that is intuitive and passionate, if not desperate at times…as in “no…this isn’t right, I don’t FEEL like this today…”, a common and direct cause of much hysteria among girls and women.

Over the last couple of weeks I have been enjoying, with my husband and kids, a show called The Day Before – a Fashion & Style documentary sub-series that is part of the Full Frontal Fashion series on the Sundance Channel. For our family, the equivalent of “Movie-Night” is that we are all huddled around some Fashion show on television (Project Runway-esque)…possibly with Popcorn to enhance the down-to-earthiness of our pastime. The first one that I watched was about Marc Jacobs, who I just loved, and although I have always imagined top Fashion Designers as the elite, Deity-like purveyors of the Keat’s adage: “beauty is truth, truth beauty”…(that is all ye know on earth and all ye need to know), I found him enchantingly human, a nice guy who seeks feedback and support like all of us and who shows a seriously vulnerable side of his mega-designer persona as he questions the “correctness” of the choices he makes while developing his latest line of clothing. Most charming, though, so far in the series for me, has been the episode that featured the preparation of the 2009 Fall Debut of Proenza Schouler which, until I saw the human version of this super-power, still thought this name referred to one woman with a very robust first name: PROENZA!! Realizing that “Proenza” and “Schouler” are the respective maiden names of the mothers of designers Lazaro Hernandez and Jack McCullough, I was charmed by the very real slice-of-apple-pie-and-Mom feeling they seem to exude and intrigued by their unintimidating, almost impish-boyishness while being awed by their great design and industry savvy. After meeting at the Parson’s School of Design as Fashion Design students, Jack and Lazaro ended up becoming a real-life team after wowing audiences with their final collaborative project and thus the launch of their own label, Proenza Schouler. And they continue to impress as fresh, young faces in the uber-competitive world of fashion. Their new line of slouchy jackets and coats with layer upon layer of shapely lapels and hip-skimming skirts looks comfortable but with a sophisticated twist that seems to come from the juxtaposed angles of it all.

Meanwhile, the thrill of fashion for me is that I get to see the resurgence of attitudes via textures, colors and/or patterns that I have fallen in love with at an earlier time – come back with a new splash, a new translation and a tweak, like recycled sentiments that continue to evolve in style and wisdom with every assertion, every season. Or, perchance, we get to see something we have never seen before, possibly more exciting. In the end, it all comes back to the mantra that seemed to be echoing throughout The Day Before series which simply asks: “Is it wearable?” And the judges on this particular show certainly seem to know how to assess this. Would we all wear these “wearable” items? Not necessarily, but “everyday” clothing can be an off-shoot of the attitudes of high fashion…a sort of dumbed-down, easier to walk in, easier to zip up version. Thankfully.

Some of the looks that seem to be everywhere right now that I am enjoying are the following:
Fringe Boots – many to choose from, but Minnetonka gets points for being the tried and true, authentic brand; GARGANTUAN heels – a short woman’s best friend…kind of; Military jackets keep coming back with evermore style and, in some cases, decidedly feminine touches; very high and slouchy boots – at least to the knee, some with peek-a-boo toes; harem pants, which take a little more getting used to for me because of the very low, drooping crotch but, admittedly, I do own a very cool pair of black ones; very dramatic jackets and coats with interesting angled closures, giant collars and lapels, big-bold-statement outerwear; a new twist on “half-gloves” as seen on Sarah Jessica Parker in last year’s Sex and the City movie where the fingers are in tact but the part of the glove that covers the hand is not all there (I am still partial to the “Hobo” gloves that are missing the ends of all the fingers…because of the practicality of being able to perform tasks while staying relatively warm and I have created my own for years by snipping of the tips of inexpensive gloves);
luckily for me, horizontal stripes are back with a vengeance; and finally, the art of makeup is as pronounced as ever with crimson lips a rev-it-up easy accessory – again – and deep, dark, sultry eyes with extensively lined lids are equally popular in magazines and on the streets. And body art – as seen at fashion Week in New York (Rodarte / Black Magic) – is an interesting twist - time consuming but pain-free - on the fairly recent surge of tattooing, as an example of that place where art and fashion link up with lifestyle and its own momentum.

Finally, a great website for getting to be the all-powerful implementer of a personalized look is Polyvore.com; while magazine sales are down recently, this online real-time, potentially trend tracking fashion “magazine” of sorts – which managed to triple its traffic over the last year - is generated by the folks who visit, populate and use the site. At Polyvore, among other things, you are able to not only put together outfits but also design an entire layout, essentially an essence board, which could include anything from background designs to furniture to nature scapes, etc., that can be incorporated to compliment your look. You can make as many of these “sets” as you desire and publish them on the site itself for other Polyvore-ites to enjoy or share on social networks like Facebook and Twitter with a simple click. Here is a look of my first published set and I’ll be going back for more, no doubt…the perfect outlet for the fashionista-vore in all of us!

RubyONE by rubygamble featuring Missoni accessories

Items in this set:
Coat with full skirt, 2,165 GBP
Bell Flower Screen Tank, $13
Chloë Sevigny For Opening Ceremony Suede Buckle-strap Sandal Boot, $375
GIVENCHY - CHAINS AND BEADS NECKLACE, 1.652 EUR
MAURIZIO PECORARO - LARGE BEADED BRACELET, 464 EUR

...

Ruby

Ever hooked up with a Saj? (Patty)

I want a deportment badge! A shiny red gem in my lapel that would let everyone know that I am holding up my end of this mothering thing...
We just returned from Laguna Beach. As you know, John is moving there next week and Portia and I will follow in January. It's a fun town, lots of art galleries and surf shops, and the inevitable Surf Art Gallery. There are yoga studios and organic restaurants, The Chakra Shack and an inordinate amount of bead shops. There are handsome young blonde surfer boys walking through town barefoot, and 40-something surfer men who are kind of cool looking but a little pitiful, like weren't they supposed to "move on" at some point? The main activity seems to be entertainment, which is right up my alley! It's got a laid-back atmosphere, lots of people making eye contact and saying hello, fun stores like Pretty Trash and Sniff and Bark...a number of places to eat breakfast, like my new favorite, Madison Square Gardens, which was a general store/restaurant hybrid that had at least 40 working fountains for sale, a festive atmosphere although it was embarassing to Portia because I can't pass a wind chime without giving it a little push, and after the first 10 she was very much hoping I would "get OVER it"...I heard a sentence I'd never heard before at coffee one morning, one employee said to the other, "Have you ever hooked up with a Saj?" and in context, I quickly surmised we were talking zodiacally...I ran home and asked John what sign he was, a piece of info that I hadn't asked in 25 years but suddenly seemed like it might be good to know! (He's a Cap, by the way)...
It's a plateau community, lots of houses on the "hills" which to me seem more like huge mountains, and most places have a view of the Pacific.
We rented a furnished house and got Portia all set for Laguna Beach High School...it's very surreal. Life is funny sometimes...I will just wear my invisible badge and make it all work out!

Patty

A note to my Mom for being brave enough to give birth to ME (Ruby)

Fifty-two years ago tonight, my mother went into labor with me and I have heard the story so many times; it is a cold and lonely version of what should have been wonderful in every way except for the obvious discomfort of pushing a baby out of your body. And I have never remembered to say "thanks for that..."

How impolite.

She was taken into an operating room where there were other women screaming in agony in their various stages of birthing. They were all lying on metal gurneys. Without any cushioning. Without any blankets. Without their husbands. Without gentle encouragement from anyone. Cold, hard gurneys and them.

My mother was freezing, but shaking more from the pain than the cold. She asked the nurse on duty if she could sit up and the nurse’s kind words were: “Shut up and just have a good pain!”

Nice.

When I think about the way things are these days, with birthing rooms, privacy, our husbands in the room with us, blankets that are warmed and draped carefully over us, pillows, loving care on so many levels, I cannot imagine anyone having to endure the icy cold metal harshness that my Mom put up with. And the distraction of all those other women crying out in pain all around her is unimaginable…and unnecessary.

Oh well.

After she had me, she saw me only for a moment and then “they” took me away for 3 days and would not allow her to see me even once because according to them I “wasn’t eating enough”…she reasoned with them that I would probably eat if I was with my mother, but they rejected her plea.

On the 4th day, she’d had it and somehow stepped it up a notch as the POWERFUL ONE and demanded that they get me ready to go home. They said “but you need to have a day of dangling your feet…before you can think about going home.”

Dangle? Not.

We left, escaped together…I ate just fine and have been the PERFECT DAUGHTER ever since…HA!

So, Mom, thanks for being brave enough to finally say “piss-on-this-Nurse-Nancy” and bring me home. Good job!

Ruby

Back to the GRIND (Ruby)

Every day I have been meaning to write, to update my life in this space…but simply haven’t, no excuses, no perfect “dog-ate-my-homework” story…not that writing to you in the blogosphere is a “homework assignment”...in any case, this is a place I try to be, consistently-ish, but sometimes I find myself other places. Inexplicably.

School started. For the most part, with the exception of last night, you might not guess this by observing my children. There is not yet an overriding, anguished huddling over textbooks at night, but rather a predictable amount of time - between the 3 youngest kids (10, 12, 15) - at their computers recreationally, skateboarding, biking, scootering, hanging out with friends, watching the Simpsons, etc. For us, this is essentially what the summer also looked like. Which is nice because I feel like the first couple of weeks back at school have not upset the apple-cart, which is one of my goals as a Mom…in a general way. Even though I believe truly that changes are healthy and can be invigorating, I am never ready to embrace change that feels more like electric shock therapy.

I sense that there are kids who are already SLAVING away with the grind of homework. This makes me sad…year after year. I have listened to parents and teachers talk about homework in intellectual terms and I can nod my head in token agreement over why, in theory, we would all want our kids to have the opportunity to “practice” what they are learning, to take it all into their own hands, to exert and assert their various skill-sets, say it in their own words, spit it all back out, integrate it, share it, remember it.

But in my head, I hear the words: Bull-shit.

I want my kids to finish up their school-business at school, a novel idea, I know. Keep them in school for an hour longer or extend the classes measurably, let them learn and re-learn…in an environment where the experts are all around them. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: when I went to a strict all-girl’s school in London in the late ‘60’s – something right out of a Dickens-style setting, all cold grey brick, scratchy brown tweed uniforms against bare legs, horrifyingly scary and controlling teachers in long black capes that flowed behind them like the wings of bats, wide open windows in the classrooms in January to KEEP US AWAKE and detentions that were handed out to the many unsuspecting, less-than-perfect children who were continuously shocked to find out that this or that had just qualified them as “disobedient” – I was happy to apply myself because the expectations for the school, itself, to uphold standards as well as for the girls to reciprocate with hard work and respect was the whole point. And a completely viable one. We started school at 8:30 am and we finished at 4:00pm. We went home tired, educated, and without any homework, essentially…other than an occasional miniscule task that would not make or break the outcome of our “grade”. A huge part of our success during school hours was based on our “deportment”; our posture, how we sat (knees touching, legs at right angles), walked and carried ourselves, how graciously we listened, that we remembered not to interrupt, not talk out of turn, not forget to wash our hands before lunch…all of this mattered enormously. If you did it right, you got a deportment badge…a slim red jewel-tone pin that caught the light nicely against our chocolate colored uniform sweaters. A badge that could be worn with pride because it meant you were holding up your part of the deal in the challenge called “growing up”, and becoming an accountable person, while learning!

I never learned more than I did at that school; the curriculum was robust and the expectations for not just scraping by but for being fully engaged and immersed were a given. Not everyone wore a deportment badge, but there was nothing elitist or exclusive about aspiring to receive one; we were all on the same page, wanting the same outcomes, wanting the same education…where a perfect French accent mattered, perfect grammar mattered, perfect spelling mattered, math was to be done in pen & ink because it mattered that we knew what we were writing down versus scrubbing sleepily with an eraser at the lame attempts of our number 2 pencils.

Home was where I went when I had done my day as a student. I would draw, eat, watch T.V., play the piano, play with my siblings, be with my Mother, get ready for the next day with excitement and with a feeling of being perfectly refreshed.

As you know, a couple of my kids have special needs within the school environment; Louki has a unique school situation to accomodate his severe non-verbal autism. I am really excited for him this year because his Case Manager is not fearful or hesitant regarding Louki’s moods or abilities. He’s in the choir this year, in a theater class, working with a 1:1 aide at a part time volunteer job…as the first rung in the ladder towards his adult life. It is all complex for him but I so embrace the interest in leaping versus baby-stepping into new areas on the part of his new staff this year.

Ollie, too, has a special situation and I’ll be meeting with his teachers first thing in the morning; I asked that we meet asap to discuss the repercussions of his Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I care for him like he’s made out of glass sometimes, making sure his breakfast is his “dream breakfast”, that he gets a cup of warm cocoa every morning (Ovaltine, actually, because it has a better nutritional profile) that I lay out his clothes to avoid the stress of having him needing to hunt for socks, etc., on his own; I hope so desperately for him to walk away from this house each morning with his spirit in tact. He’s 10 but he’s my baby and he so easily spins out of control when he is in a particularly turbulent place, as he is now.

The one thing he wanted to do when he got home from school today was to lie with me on his bed for one full hour of the Simpsons. Uninterrupted. I bought his favorite bagels and a bottle of chocolate milk for a treat and we started the show. His arms and legs flailed in accordance with patterns and numbers, exacting certain rituals he needs to repeat almost non-stop as part of his OCD; the whole thing is a colossal invasion and he expends inordinate energy trying to tame the mammoth drive to ritualize and repeat, rehearse…restrain, start again…with more urgency each time….

It helps my children to have free time; they are not perfect children, they don’t always use their time “perfectly”, they are not profoundly academic or athletic but they all have a thirst for things that interest them, they are resourceful and they rely on a feeling of coziness and freedom in our home. They are relatively peaceful and creative and their afternoons and lives are not choreographed by me, in part because there are too many of them for me to afford all the things I might let them nibble on extracurricularly, but also in part because I think that much of the brilliance of childhood comes from leaving kids to their own means, to the impromptu spirit within. We were all stellar participants in the moment-by-moment unfolding of our days and lives, when I was growing up. We didn’t have to be sucked into the undertow of extracurricular mayhem. We could play and wander and wonder, and wriggle our way out of boredom, much of the time.

Last night was more disruptive than any other since school started because Bowie was confused by his 7th grade math homework; we argued about what we each thought the answers should be, we squabbled over the “right” technique, we disagreed about whether the assignment had been done neatly enough, whether the effort made had been appropriate. For me, this is an ugly way to spend my time with my kids and I dream of an alternative like what I had in London at Bowie’s age.

Either way, we’ll plug along and do our best within the homework culture that is so very popular here, but I will never disapprove of the dreamy far-away look in a child’s eyes – at home - that tells me he or she is on a journey of his/her own making.

Ruby