I'm so lucky

In the summer of 2002 I got an invite to attend a book signing, it was being held at Sur La Table, in Pasadena and it coincided with Julia Child's 90th birthday, in the city where she was born. Although it is one of my favorite stores, and I too was born in the city, undergoing difficulties I declined and never looked back. Not until last weekend did I begin to wonder what would it have been like to have met the fluted voice of la Grand Dame de la cuisine.


I finally got around to seeing the film, Julie and Julia. The combination alone knocked my socks off; Meryl Streep, Amy Adams, Paris in the late 1940's, early 1950's and French cuisine. It can't get much better than that, except that I would have loved to be alive and in Paris during that era.


I loved watching the story go back and forth between the two women from different generations.


Julie Powell, wanted to write, but was stuck in a dead end secretarial job, and felt she hadn't accomplished anything with her life. By cooking all of Julia's recipes she comes to life as cooking becomes her salvation.


Julia who had been a secretary marries late and living in France, with her diplomat husband, wonders how to spend her days. She tries hat making, bridge, and then cooking lessons at Cordon Bleu. There she discovers her true passion.


This sunny story is not only a satisfying throw back to another time, but as we go back and forth between these stories of two women learning to cook that find success, you can't help but think of how lives are intertwined.


The story of two middle age woman cooking, while sympathetic, loving husbands support them both, may not sound that exciting but it's premise goes far beyond the ordinary, it's actually a tender love story about how much a woman can accomplish and her dreams come true because she is loved.


Someday, I'm going to try Julia Child's Beef Bourguignon. But for now, I have a nice piece of Dover sole awaiting me, which I will cook in gobs of butter creating sole meunieré, while thinking of Julia.


Bon Appetit.

What Was I Thinking?

I love clothes, always have, always will. My fashion education began before I stepped foot in school, by counting the number of dresses hanging in my closet; I had 17 and went to my father stating how important it was that I have 20, in my mind of rudimentary mathematics I knew adding to my closet was a must.


Fashion pars with my love of furniture and housewares but if I had to choose one, fashion would be the winner hands down. One of my current woes is that for the first time in my life I have no place to wear nice clothes, the kind that make you stand different, walk different, feel different.


In the last decade, I went from ABS evening gowns and strappy Charles David high heels while rubbing elbows with Placido Domingo at the opera, to saucy Nanette Lepore suits to lunch at the Four Seasons. When that ended, I had another incarnation donning Marc Jacobs sheath dresses for restaurant publicity events and Betsey Johnson cocktail dresses for the Master Chorale concerts. Then came desert life beating to another drum; the rhythm of Anthropologie tee-shirts and Hudson jeans paired with boots for a romp at Trader Joe's, a dash at the post office. I have had so many lives rolled into one.


For years my wardrobe held several categories; play, week-end wear, professional, and dressy, but now casual is the largest contender. Currently the only person who comments on my style or taste other than my husband is my friendly checker, Carol at the supermarket. Today's cultural fashions intermingle play with comfort and I see public displays of track suits, gym-wear, torn up jeans and even pajamas–all unsightly and geared for those without an aesthetic eye. Their mother's probably never told them once they step out their door– look presentable.


My style fits perfectly into the Parisian way of life; where a woman can be a canvas and what she has on reflects her mood, her outlook. Fashion is an art, and reveals our priorities, our aspirations, our liberalism or our conservatism. It goes a long way satisfying emotional or complex emotional needs and clothes can be used to gauge our conscious or unconscious feelings about our environment sending off messages. Character Miranda Priestly played by Meryl Streep in the Devil Wears Prada stings with a retort to her assistant, Andy played by Anne Hathaway after she snickers that fashion is inconsequential. Although Andy believes she is exempt from fashion, wearing a cerulean blue sweater she in fact is wearing a sweater that was selected for her by fashion-industry people that surround her. The effect of fashion filters down to everyone and the power of image plays into her as well as all of our lives.


Despite my love of fashion, I have never been a keeper. As a minimalist I turn my nose up to the trends and buy designer labels gladly recycling them to a consignment shop. Masses of clutter even fine clothes stuffed in a closet make me physically ill. And I will gladly take quality over quantity any day. I choose looks which are universally classic and anything that is effortlessly chic enjoying the neutral hue of gray mixed with beige, and for spring blend orange with pink and like the combination of black and white but only if white is on the bottom because the other way is a “waiter look”. I admire those whose style never dates or those who are/were unafraid of fashion and test its limits, such as Audrey Hepburn, Jane Birkin, Coco Chanel, Audrey Tautou, Victoria Beckham, and Jackie Kennedy...just to name a few.


In my love of fashion I have made two gigantic blunders that I laugh over now but at the time caused me to hyper-ventilate. Living in Germany I visited Portugal and walked into a lovely empty boutique. That should have been a sign! Eyeballing an all white handbag collection I was enthralled with a white leather shoulder strap drawstring bag piped in tan trim by Andre Courreges, inventor of the mini-skirt. I mentally converted Escudos into Marks but forgot to transfer it into Dollars to estimate the cost. I simply handed the sales clerk my Visa and weeks later my knees went weak when I realized my designer handbag was $280.00!


With a distinct admiration for French couture that autumn on a birthday trip to Paris, I was determined to buy myself a Cartier tank watch. Exasperated by the sum and the stubborn salesman that wouldn't negotiate instead I walked into Agnes B. and bought myself a few affordable separates. I popped into several other boutiques but nothing caught my eye until I was smitten with a black dress in a store window, inside I marveled at it, touching it, it's design concept created movement and dimension from a single piece of cloth, its linear and geometric shape came from the drape and flow of the fabric, it was truly an innovative piece of art and space-age inspired. All of these ideas played into my head as I tried it on, fitting like a glove out triggered, “I'll take it!” Getting caught in the fascination I neglected to do my math. My Issey Miyake dress cost a staggering $450.00.


Dressing up is great fun. We need to get back into it to create a difference between a sparkly occasion, and an ordinary day. By not applying this principle people are confused and no longer understand boundaries of what is appropriate to wear to a BBQ, a cocktail party, a funeral or a professional interview. Marked differences in attire be it the occasion, season or the hour as a guide will make you feel comfortable, denotes respect and makes a statement.


One last word for the fashion traveler- don't leave home without a calculator!