Dress you up

Sitting in my living room with its 18 foot ceiling, every time I glance into my backyard I have a reoccurring thought. Because the window is 12 feet in height, it required a custom made drape. I love window treatments, and to add drama and invoke the colors of the desert, I choose a burnt orange fine Italian silk with flecks of yellow. I am determined to take it with me when I move. I'll make a dress from it, in true Tara style.

That thought gets me in a tailspin about dresses in general. A dress can take a life of it's own, it's as if she is wearing you. The closest I can come to think of as a similarity, is the clock that I hear behind me, in the kitchen. What must it be like to be the face of a clock, all that tick-tick-ticking behind you. To feel it, but not be able to stop it.

In 2002 when the height of fashion dictated plunging necklines and backlines, and shiny fabric, all of which are not my taste, I tried on a red silk dress. There was a bow on the left that needed to be removed, a minor adjustment, but I could take it to Evadney, my wonderful alterations lady, and presto. As I slipped her on, she gave a little shimmy, like someone who was waiting to dance. She was quick, and she was prepared, even in the dressing room. I knew I had the right underclothes, the right heels, both new and the single strand of Jackie O pearls. She was going to be positively certain of the effect she would have.

Whenever we walked into a party I felt her ticking. I felt her flirtations, she knew just how to laugh in a coquettish way. I don't know why she did it, except that she could. She never made a commitment of any kind; she just enjoyed the commotion, the whispers, the glares in the powder room.

Sometimes, if she concentrated just so, she could thwart me. She could be stiff where she ought to flow; she could catch where there was nothing to catch on. She could pull, or wrinkle, or shift. She could make me hesitate just for a second and make things less than perfect.


I wanted us to be one. For her to emphasize the way we move, subtly, hanging around me, like an aura. Sometimes I got distracted by her grace and other times I found myself cooperating with her whims. She knew I approved of her, that's why I bought her! She knows I've never had an unbecoming dress in my life!

When I put her on for the third time, it was a June evening. I put on perfume–Chanel, the pearls, the black suede peep-toes with the spindly heels, although I was surefooted in them, like a cat. I grabbed my small clutch bag and my pashmina, just in case the air got cool.

At the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, he was in the elevator. I noticed he was tall. He was vested in a tuxedo, and would be performing. As he shook my hand, I had a very unusual thought but pushed it away, since I wasn't interested in him. I could feel him staring; it felt like being next to a hot radiator.

After the concert, at Kendall's Brasserie she walked right in–the maitre d' gave her a nod as she went straight to a table in the back. She slid into the banquette. In the presence of the other three women, she commanded all the attention. He came in later with two men and removed his bow-tie with a smile.

He sank down beside me. A waiter immediately appeared, and asked to take the order. No one had looked at their menus yet.


"You look perfectly elegant," he said.

“Thank you.”

I didn't want to order a cocktail, but she likes them. She likes the graceful martini glasses, with the smoky olives lurking in their depths, or the tiny onions. "Like eyeballs!" She hinted once, and I agreed.

I gave in that night and rather than drink my usual club soda, I ordered a glass of champagne along with an appetizer of escargot.

She did all the talking. She was going to do this, she was going to do that, he listened quietly drinking his coffee.

A sense of levity dominated the scene, and he made us laugh.

He looked away, absent for a moment, then took a deep breath. "I think I will sing something new," he said. And he began to sing Broadway tunes.

There was a lot of applause.


I clapped, she just looked at him.

Outside the restaurant, there are two cars for seven people, as addresses were shuffled about, we discover that both he and I live in the same city. He offers to drive me home, smiling, and clearly smitten, "Ah, that takes care of that.”

On the ride home both she and I notice he is talkative. I was tired, and she could have gone on and on. But it was late.

Back in the closet she went, hung up nicely, on her padded hanger. She was pleased to have been worn, and to have had such a lovely evening. The other dresses want to hear the news. Then they all started talking. Maybe it was meant as a tease, or maybe it was just envy. They laid it on thick. I think maybe she exaggerated just how much she had done and what I could do for her. The other dresses just hang and wait but there not sure what for.

June Swoon

 

Most people love autumn in New York, but to me June is the most beautiful and pleasurable month. Winter boots get replaced with summer sandals, wool skirts go back in the closet and are traded for billowy crisp cotton pique and everywhere you turn women are no longer in black but instead are garbed in bright blossoms that you find in a garden.

Vacations are on everyone's mind. And fifteen years ago, I met a wonderful lady with a dog and a cat who invited me to stay at her home to take care of her animals while she went to Nantucket. The commute from New Jersey to Manhattan was long but feasible through public transportation. The idea of country living appealed to me since my mode of transportation would be a train. Her home was located in Glen Ridge, a small and charming affluent borough in Essex County, New Jersey, in a large 18th century farm house.

I had my choice of four bedrooms to sleep in, (five if you include the in-law apartment over the garage across the road),but choose the quaint and rustic guest room in the attic, since it was not anyone's personal domain, at least that's what I thought.

Molly, the dalmatian, was sweet, but not the sharpest of dogs. The cat on the other hand, let me know what she thought of me and of my intrusion by leaving her stool in the middle of the bed where I slept.

After that, I closed the attic door and banned the cat from “my room” yet she managed to make her desires known. Far from subtle, she would climb around on human eating surfaces, either the kitchen table or the kitchen counter-top. Even when I invited my friend Mary Ann over to join me for a Shakespearean festival, in the middle of our meal, the cat jumped right onto the dining room table, swishing its tail gaily and ever so nonchalantly depositing its hair on our plates as she sashayed by.

That cat and I never became friends but managed to tolerate one another for the next two weeks. 

Because the lady of the house was generous and trusting she handed me the keys to her van. So on the weekends off I went on side trips touring the tri-state area with Molly. The hissing cat, left behind.

My first stop was Princeton to tour the campus, after taking photos and a visit to the Library for lunch, I went to a Italian restaurant, nestled on a quaint block, where salamis dangled in the window, and sat at a table for two, with Molly nestled at my feet and ordered the lemon penne.

Going out to lunch or dinner has never been my idea of entertainment, however going to an event; and having an experience, such as seeing a play, opera, dance, art exhibition, hearing music or learning something new, now that holds my attention, followed by a meal where there is stimulating discussion, is a break from the ordinary and in my book, a formula for success.

One thing I do after I enjoy a restaurant meal is to emulate the recipe at home, like a test kitchen, to see how close I can get to replicating the dish. I surprise myself with my knock-offs, both good and bad.

This past weekend temperatures soared again so I brightened my dinner with my lemony Princeton recipe and offer it to you as a light summer starter.

1 cup Penne Pasta
2 tablespoons Olive Oil
3 cloves Minced Garlic
½ cup Green Onions (white & Green Parts)
3 Tablespoons Freshly Squeezed Lemon Juice
½ cup Freshly Grated Parmesan Cheese
Freshly Ground Black Pepper
Salt To Taste
Extra Fresh Parmesan For Serving

Preparation Instructions

1. Cook the pasta according to the package directions.

2. Drain the pasta, set aside, then use the pot to make the sauce.

3. Heat the olive oil and add garlic to cook for 15 to 20 seconds. Add green onions and sauté until just tender.

4. Put in the lemon juice and then take the pan off the heat.

5. Add in half the Parmesan cheese and half the pepper, followed by half the pasta.

6. Stir well.

7. Add in the rest of the pasta, cheese, and pepper as well as salt if desired.

8. Mix well again and serve immediately, adjust seasonings to taste. Serve on a bed of greens or romaine for color.

The ingredients in this recipe can be adjusted to whatever you have on hand, such as the addition of tomatoes, artichokes or mushrooms. Make sure you load up on the garlic otherwise your meal will sit there with no bark and no bite. And that would be a doggone shame.

A toe-tapping moment

As a single woman I had an extensive list of places where to go for entertainment on either a shoe-string or zero budget, one favorite place I could count on to lift my spirits and see crowds yet do whenever the urge hit was a fun trip to the record store to visit with my friends.

In the film Almost Famous there is even a quote about how loneliness can be captured through music. Although the film is about rock music, which is not my taste I went to see it because it combined writing and music. As a coming of age story it's about a kid who is hired by Rolling Stone magazine to write about a rock band.

Being a supporter of indie labels and music stores, I enjoyed browsing the stacks of new and second hand music side by side. And there was something magical about being in a record shop late at night, as if all the best music only comes out after dark. 

One of my favorite past-times was store hopping on World Record Store Day, in early April, when patrons, punters and groupies are encouraged to support their local music dealers. It was a good opportunity to discuss groups – and share tip-offs with listeners about music that hadn't been discovered yet, most of which I came to me by way of KPFK, or the lounges at the clubs; the Dresden room, Largo and Spaceland.

A great hang-out was Tower Records, on the Sunset Strip, although parking could be a problem, their music space was divided into large sections for rock, international, jazz, classical, urban and world music, and each section has its own information desk where the staff tended to be quite knowledgeable. And on more than one occasion I'd run into someone I knew or hadn't seen for awhile, and for Los Angeles that's a rare occurance, but the power in music unites.

One thing that was and still is close to me is french music, I loved the high-end street record shops in Paris where live sessions are part of the summertime concert series and being outside of France, I still enjoy listening to french music. A trip to the international section of a record store isn't complete without it, it's something I can't explain, it's main virtue is its eclectic quality: with really cool pop numbers, and the intrigue in the language, all that pursing of the lips, and the intonation of the nasalized vowels.

Whenever I'm in a city, like San Francisco or Portland that caters to the unique, putting on a headset is a must do event that feels like a festivity, along with so many other wonderful things, I hope this experience doesn't become strictly automated, reducing the need for humans to interact share and fade into oblivion. 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m-AWfhTzxEU