Safe House in New Orleans

We drive slowly. Lining both sides of the street are homes coming undone at the seams and parked cars, many just rusting hulks, wrecked and stripped. Women sitting on porches eye the neighborhood’s activities and note our passing. Kids walk aimlessly down the street. It is a hot and humid Saturday afternoon.

A Pig in the Front Seat and Other Stories from New Orleans

Recently, I visited New Orleans with my friend Diana who had been urging me to make the trip for a while. She was eager to introduce me to some of the work and people there. This city hits you smack in the face.  It is a city of tragedy and crisis, of resiliency and redemption. It is a city of music where just about everyone can beat a rhythm or create a song. It is a city of down-and-outers and those who make miracles. Not for those who like tidiness, it is a messy city of splintered wood and unkept promises, of dreams and good works.

What’s Going on Here, Anyway?

I have just returned from a cross country jaunt to western Massachusetts for a weekend of wonder with my friend Erica. We saw nature bursting from its winter hibernation at the insistence of an early heat wave, gangs of students, from the many colleges that populate the landscape, shaking off their winter blahs, dancers performing spring rites, and art everywhere. It was also a weekend of thought. Here’s why.

 

Size Matters. Heat Rules.

It was the first day of the first heat wave of the season. I’d been working all morning, bent over my computer in the relative cool of my study. I was stiff from sitting so concentrated that I had hardly moved, other than my fingers, in hours. I’d had enough. I needed a break. Glancing over at the phone, I hoped that my friend Diana would call to entice me to go with her on a spur-of-the-moment trek over to Santa Cruz. There on the coast, usually, even on the hottest days, you can find respite in the cool westerly wind off Monterey Bay. I could already feel the breeze.

Twitter Me? What’s on your Mind? What are you Doing Now?

OK, I’m sorry. I don’t get. Maybe if I were a celebrity with groupies I would. But, I’m not. I really don’t care that you’re “getting on the plane right now” or that you’re “using side-by-side bathtubs on your slide” or that your “buddy picked up your Starbucks” or that you are “up early doing your email” or or or. It’s not that the person who’s up early to do his email isn’t wonderful. It’s not that I am mean spirited and don’t care about people. It’s just that I’m not interested in knowing that’s someone’s doing his email or putting bathtubs on slides. The endless stream of random thoughts and comments spewing across the virtual worlds of my computer and mobile are disturbances of attention and let’s face it. I don’t need any help. Losing attention is something I can do quite nicely all by myself.

Yves Saint Laurent: Style at the De Young Museum

My dearest Yves,

 

Your designs changed the way women dressed for good. Until you came along, no woman would be seen walking on a city street in a trouser suit, not to mention wearing one to work. At a time when a woman would be barred from entering a swank New York City restaurant because she was wearing one, as Nan Kempner was when wearing one of yours, you, as a courtier, gave women permission to do it and we ran with it. That was 1965.

Lunch at The French Laundry

Any foodie will tell you that Thomas Keller’s The French Laundry in Yountville, California is a must do restaurant. As such the demand for reservations is always high. Getting one for the day and at the time desired requires technique, dedication and luck. My friend, Leslie, the magician, has these traits and more. Twice now she has garnered reservations for our group, the most recent being for lunch this past Saturday.

 

When I think of french laundry I think pristine, meticulous, immaculate, impeccable, and stylish because anything French has to be just so, n’est pas?

 

Christmas in Chile – Electric Blue Wasp

During our annual end-of-year pilgrimage to Chile we always “go somewhere” between Christmas and the New Year. Somewhere can be anywhere in Chile outside of the capital, Santiago. We have gone west to the coast, north to the desert, east to the mountains, as well as down to the Patagonian plains at the southern most tip of the continent. This year we chose to go to the lakes that snuggle up against La Cordillera and its string of volcanos about 500 air miles southeast of Santiago.

 

 

Usually up before dawn on Christmas morning to catch an early morning flight to wherever, this year we decided to sleep in and not leave until late morning. That was just fine because by 1PM we were landing at Osorno. There, two small buses met us and another fifteen or so travelers for the hour long drive to Puyehue and the Termas. The Termas de Puyehue is a large, all inclusive hotel with natural thermal pools and a selection of spa services. There is also hiking, mountains biking, horseback riding, and boating. Best of all there is something called “just hanging out.”

 

Thanksgiving Week in Boston

Thanksgiving week found my husband, Antun, and I back in our old stomping grounds, Cambridge and Boston, Massachusetts.  Yes, we were a bit mad to have made the trip at this time of the year.  The Friday morning of our departure, the temperature at the San Francisco airport was a balmy 60 degrees and by evening on our arrival to Logan airport in Boston it was a frigid 25.

Women Unite Against Stupid Fashion (Thank you Michelle Obama)

This morning (December 6, 2008) Teri Agins wrote in the Wall Street Journal about fashion designers looking to Ms Obama for design inspiration for middle-aged women. As I read it I was hopeful, amused and chagrined. Clothes shopping has not been fun for quite awhile.  The vagaries of the “It” look, the “It” bag, and the emaciated celebrity have taken their toll. No matter how fit I am I am not going to change my proportions, coloring, and height. And, I’ll never give up my love of fashion and creating my own style.