Fashion Friday: Sunday Brunch Dress Shop

If given the choice, on any given day I would wear a dress.  There is just something about a dress that makes you feel like sitting up a little straighter and walking a little lighter.  A fabulous frock can do wonders for the figure, too…any figure.  The infamous sheath is an hourglass shape’s best friend, while a flirty full-skirted number transforms the mood of any pear shaped (or dewdrop as it is now called) gal.  A straight figure can work a waist-cincher with pure panache and a beautifully busty lady can transcend time with a tailored silhouette.  A dress can be pure magic.

For years, I’ve had a love-hate relationship with pants.  My legs are short, but my torso is long.  And while the birth of my children deeply enriched my life, it also enriched my hips.  That being said, I’m a firm believer that women should celebrate their unique giftings {much more on this later}.  We’re all made to be beautiful in our own skin, our own styles and our own shapes, which is something to celebrate.  Each time I feel myself nit-picking my imperfections, I throw on a dress.  Do not pass go, do not collect $200… head straight for a dress.  It forces me to embrace a healthier attitude on my personal perceptions and fully invest in the notion that if I take the time wear something that better serves to accentuate what a do like about myself, I’m respecting my individuality and my Creator.

While on a summer dress hunt recently, I gasped when glorious Google brought me to the front steps (virtually, of course) of the Sunday Brunch Dress Shop.  It was as if the heavens parted.  Sunday Brunch is a site purely devoted to dresses…the most magnificent, perfected curated dresses for every shape, every girl, every budget and every mood.  My love affair with Sunday Brunch deepened when I spied their motto {“Take time to slow down & dress up.”} and then read a bit more about the impetus for the shop:

“Dresses aren’t just for swooning over dark, brooding men or inheriting spooky mansions on windswept moors. They’re also for brunch on Sunday morning, going out with friends, or even going to work. They’re for slowing down and dressing up. They’re for elegance every day, for showing that the moment is special. Because every moment is part of our story.”

And not only is the site brilliantly stocked, but it’s accompanied by an equally fantastic blog.  If that weren’t enough to quicken my/your pulse, it also features inspiring works of art alongside a featured dress on their homepage, as well as in a gallery.  Bliss.

Dress by Burlapp, Artwork by Clare Elsaesser

I’m quite convinced now that a pop over to Sunday Brunch Dress Shop can cure whatever ails me.  It’s like watching Emeril Lagasse do what he does best…

“I’m feeling a bit coquettish today” BAM!

Keemia Audrey Dress

“How about some spice?” BAM!

Eva Franco Chanticleer Dress

“Picnic at the park?” BAM!

Burlapp This Carousel Life Dress

Yes indeed, Sunday Brunch Dress Shop is dress-lovers heaven...and I'll have what they're having!

Wedded Bliss

It all started over nine years ago with "The Look"...

Eight years ago today I married my best friend...truly the most caring and devoted man I know.  I'm over the moon about being his wife and the mother of our two kidlets.  We've had a very unusual life together, filled with the unexpected and abundant in spontaneous blessings.  And I look so forward to the adventures yet to be experienced!

Here's to wedded bliss!  Hip, hip, hooray!

Fashion Friday: Bibliophile Clutch

Today marks The Full Measure’s first “Fashion Friday” feature!  Since reading about French designer Olympia Le-Tan’s book clutches in the May issue of InStyle magazine, I’ve been intrigued by the concept of transforming a book into a fashion accessory.  I love to hunker down with a good book, therefore the idea of wearing my devotion sounded fascinating.

Audrey Hepburn certainly did her part to make clutching a book look chic in the 1957 film Funny Face…and now it seems other trendsetting Hollywood stars have rekindled the notion.  According to InStyle, Natalie Portman and Tilda Swinton have both been seen carrying book clutches to special events.  Olympia Le-Tan’s book clutches are painstakingly embroidered by hand to look like first edition covers of well-loved books.  The interiors are swathed in beautiful Liberty prints and only a limited edition of each title are made.  Dreaming of owning my very own Olympia Le-Tan creation, I began to wonder if I could transform a book into a clutch without the couture price tag.  And while it certainly wouldn’t have the extraordinary details of Le-Tan’s, it could still pay homage to the idea that smart can be synonymous with sexy when a book is clutched with style.

The first step was to select a book.  Several years ago I had purchased a stack of vintage books to decorate a pair of curio cabinets.  I’m sad to say the books were merely chosen for their looks rather than their content (I’m a believer in the “don’t judge a book by its cover” philosophy when it comes to friends and food).  There happened to be one book in the stack on gardening aptly titled Gardening: A Complete Guide to Garden Making, written by horticulturalist Montague Free and published in 1937.  It had a lovely worn appearance and neutral color, with a sweet illustration on the cover.  The first few pages were beautiful, too.  While it pained me to sacrifice the important content of the book, I did so in the name of fashion.

Second, I gathered supplies for the experiment.  Armed with a detailed tutorial for “How to Make a Secret Hollow Book” from the blog How to Do Stuff (who’s disclaimer states “some things described on this site are potentially dangerous/illegal” making me slightly nervous, but not deterred), I assembled Elmer’s paper craft glue, a ruler, mechanical pencil, paintbrush, small bowl and x-acto knife.

Since I wanted to save the first few pages of the book, I opened to the table of contents and began the process.  I then mixed a little bit of water with the glue in a small bowl (to thin the glue a tad) and brushed it liberally on the sides.  With the first few pages still separated from the rest of the book, I placed a thin piece of cardboard between the two sections (to serve as a spacer).  Next, I placed a couple of heavy boxes of plates (that come out on seasonal rotation) on top of the book and waited 30 minutes for the glue to dry.  I also placed a piece of tissue paper under the book to catch any errant drips.

After the glue dried, I used a pencil and ruler to mark half-inch margins around the four sides of my chosen top page.

Using the ruler once more, I then cut along the inside of the four lines with an x-acto knife.  I was able to cut out a few pages at a time and assembled them in a pile to use for later projects.

Once I carved to my desired depth (about ¾ through the book), I used a hairdryer on a cool setting to blow away any little paper particles clinging to the cut edges and then brushed glue on the interior edges.  I also erased visible pencil marks and used the last remaining glue to put a second coat on the exterior sides.  Placing the cardboard spacer between the carved section and the pages I wanted to save once more, I stacked the plates atop the book and let the glue dry overnight.

In the morning, I removed the stacks of plates and the cardboard spacer.  All interior and exterior edges were completely dry, solid and ready for the final step: lining the interior with fabric.  I selected a coordinating Alexander Henry bird print and then sized a ¼-yard piece to the interior.  I marked the size with a chalk pencil and sewed corners, also turning raw edges in.  Figuring all purpose tacky glue might work better at bonding the fabric to the paper, I applied it instead of the paper craft glue to the interior of the book and then pressed the fabric into place.

And within a matter of minutes…voila!  A book clutch of my very own.  I’m so glad I retained the first few pages.  They were just too pretty to discard and look wonderful with the fabric.  The size is perfect for a few essentials and when closed, looks as if I’m simply a hopeless romantic dreaming of the perfect English garden.

In preparation for the next opportunity to don my newest accessory, I rushed to my closet to whip up an ensemble.  On a lovely day – perhaps while perusing the farmer’s market downtown – I’ll pair it with a striped Kate Spade dress, vintage Rebecca Taylor espadrilles, Tom Ford cat eye sunglasses and my favorite summer cloche, handmade by Pinkham Millinery in Portland.

I hope to exude a studiously-chic vibe…with a little extra change jangling in my pockets.

Marveling at Motherhood

I’m so sorry I’ve been remise in writing this past month!  There are seasons, be they short or long, where routines shift.  In my case this has been a season I’ve now titled, “Adventures in Parenting: Time Spent is Never Wasted.”  My children are both at ages where they seem to need constant attention.  Lately, I keep a super-close watch on my two-year-old to keep her out of trouble (she finds it, too) and I’ve spent quite a bit of time watching my six-year-old swing a bat during baseball games.  I watch my two-year-old’s eyes grow large with wonder as she presses her nose against the glass at a jewelry store, and I watch my six-year-old sound his way through a difficult word while reading a sentence in a book.  I watch my two-year-old walk up to an elderly lady at a restaurant just to say hi and offer a smile, and I watch my six-year-old help his dad in the yard.  I watch my children fight and roll around in the mud as if stain-fighting detergent grew on trees.  I watch their minds change as much as their moods.  I watch them sleep.  I watch them laugh.  I watch them grow.  I try ever so hard to be sure they feel loved and give them my attention.  And while I enjoy it, I’m sometimes exhausted.

Last month, I also watched my mother become a caregiver again.  Both her children are grown with families of their own, and she and my father greatly enjoy retirement.  But when her mother (my grandmother) was scheduled for emergency open-heart surgery with one day’s notice, Mom’s routine changed dramatically.  She became the parent to her mother.  While my grandmother needed constant attention on her improvement, Mom faithfully put her life on hold to watch and care.  There were nights at the hospital where she refused sleep just to watch her mother sleep.  I know she had to sacrifice her comforts during that time, but I also know how much it meant to my grandmother that she was shown love.  My mother was also able to see a new side of her father while he learned to be more self-sufficient.  Without prompting he began to run errands and fold the laundry, as well as express his gratitude for my mother and aunt’s assistance with genuine feeling.  Something my mother did not expect, but greatly appreciated.

Lesson learned: time spent with loved ones + routine shift = unforeseen blessings.

This lesson is quite apropos considering the joyous celebrations of both Easter and Mother’s Day these past months.  Both occasions were beautifully simple for us this year…opportunities to be present and praiseful.  They will most likely set the tone for all other holidays this year, as our routine shift seems to have made my husband and me more spontaneous, if merely in an effort to retain some semblance of sanity.  Just when I was feeling especially exhausted by the joys/challenges of motherhood, my son and I shared a very special moment together as the sun faded on Easter evening.  We spent Easter weekend at the Oregon Coast with family and friends and had to make a five hour trek home on Sunday evening.  The kids were worn out from the day’s activities and my daughter went straight to bed when we arrived home.  Once she was settled and my husband’s head hit the pillow he was fast asleep, too.  My son padded into our room though and snuggled with me to read one of my favorite children’s books, The Country Bunny and the Little Gold Shoes.

I’m a sucker for children’s stories.  And it doesn’t matter what time of the month it is, I sniffle through certain scenes in the Disney movie Cars and brush full tears from my cheeks at the end of the book Corduroy.  This beautiful story is no exception – in fact, it has become the rule.

The Country Bunny and the Little Gold Shoes was written by DuBose Heyward for his daughter in 1939.  He also wrote Porgy from which George Gershwin formed his famous opera Porgy and Bess.  (The beautiful ballad “Summertime” from Porgy and Bess is a staple piece for me at symphony and concert engagements, and I am in deep admiration of Mr. Heyward’s lyrical prowess.)  Illustrator Marjorie Flack fashioned the most glorious images around Mr. Heyward’s tale of Cottontail and her journey to becoming an Easter Bunny.

In the story, Cottontail – a plain brown country bunny with “a little cotton-ball of a tail” – set her sights on becoming one of five Easter Bunnies, for they were the kindest, swiftest and wisest bunnies.  As she grew, she was repeatedly told by the big white bunnies in fine houses and swift Jack Rabbits with long legs to mind her true place in the world.  She kept the dream in her heart, but time marched forward and she became a wife and mother to 21 babies.  At one point she stopped dreaming of becoming an Easter Bunny.  Her growing children were in need of her full attention and she taught them how to mind the house.  Each was given a special task and learned to do their task with precision. 

One day, word spread to Cottontail and her family that one of the five long-time Easter Bunnies had grown too slow and there was to be a new bunny selected to take his place.  Cottontail proved to be the perfect candidate for the position as she displayed her ability to be kind in how she ran her household, swift in how she rounded up her 21 children and wise in how she taught them to master each of their responsibilities.  She was therefore elected the newest Easter Bunnny and left the country on Easter Eve to fulfill her responsibilities while her children tended to the house – after all, she had taught them to be self-sufficient.  That evening she proved to be not only kind, swift and wise, but also brave.  She was given a pair of gold shoes to complete a very difficult task, which she did with courage.  As the sun rose on Easter morning and with her egg deliveries done, she returned home to find everything in place just as it should be and all 21 bunnies asleep in their little beds.  The tiny pair of gold shoes hung in a special place on the wall from a special hook – a reminder of her accomplishment.

The story’s simplicity delivers a wallop of a message.  That Easter evening, I needed a little push to put more faith in motherhood.  For so many mothers with a dream, trying to “be it all” can be downright draining and the reward often seems hidden from sight.  But just like in the story, the reward becomes clearly evident if we first put the time into teaching our children to tend to life.  Which takes dedication, patience and many wonderful watchful hours, days, months and years.  Snuggled up with my son and the story, I felt at peace, but all the more motivated to invest in my children.  All the watching and waiting is never for nothing and always for the best.

Gianni Penati

February 15, 1965 issue of Vogue

Domestic Bliss

Just a quick little post today to share about my new friend Janell's gorgeous online magazine, House of Fifty!  Janell is a fellow Oregonian with an immensely beautiful blog, Isabella & Max Rooms, where she gifts super-duper helpful design advice, inspiration and insight about fashioning a chic home.  The premiere issue of House of Fifty hit the web yesterday...and is a true triumph!

It has sumptuous photos, fantastic articles and practical how-to...the trifecta of magazine content.  Domestic bliss!  Read and enjoy!!

Cooking to Live Well

If I were a single woman with a high-profile career living in New York City, I can guarantee one thing: my kitchen cabinets would actually store shoes rather than dishes…or food.  The cold, hard truth is that cooking and I have had a rocky relationship since college, and it became all the more dysfunctional when I became a wife and a mother.  It became downright destructive when we moved to the country because there were far fewer opportunities to “take out” or fake a headache to get out of making dinner.  And for heaven’s sake, I’m plopped right in the heart of God’s country, surrounded by organic farms and capable farmers, as well as nutrient rich soil and a little patch to grow things.  I have food-whisperers for friends, too.  Rather than botch a batch of cupcakes to take to my son’s classroom in celebration of his birthday, I prefer to save myself the embarrassment and ask a favor from my friend Cindy, a true baking wiz with a very successful cake business to prove it.  Last year, I called my friend Kristen (another baking wiz) to ask just what the heck to do with the five large zucchinis I plucked from my garden, for I certainly didn’t have a clue.  She traded me recipes for wardrobe advice; I was more than happy to deflect from my culinary shortcomings with a discussion on choosing the right cashmere cardigan.  And I am convinced my friend Lindsay shares the same DNA as Martha Stewart – she is divinely domestic and can whip up a gourmet meal as if it were a little Sunday stroll. 

In true resolution form, I vowed to mend my relationship with cooking this past January.  I simply couldn’t justify one more dinner disappointment or box of macaroni and cheese.  Now don’t get me wrong, I care very much about what I feed my family and I want my children to grow up on balanced meals.  I’m also a huge supporter of the organic movement, especially since I have a front row seat to the production of so many certified organic farms in my area.  Plus, I find great enjoyment in growing produce in my own garden.  I simply lack the confidence to aspire to greatness in cooking.  If I have learned one thing in my career as a performer, it would be this: if one lacks the confidence to aspire, opportunities to ever reach aspirations will simply cease to exist.  Over the past ten years, I’d officially labeled myself domestically disabled and laughed it off...until now.  I don’t want to further stifle opportunities for my aspirations to grow.

Last Sunday was a turning point.  My entire family has been struggling with the flu over the past week.  While sprawled on the couch in Cleopatra fashion, feeling just awful and trying to keep my children from sneezing on absolutely every surface of the house, I switched on the television.  British chef Jamie Oliver was premiering the second season of his reality show, “Jamie’s Food Revolution”.

(Jamie’s life-changing cookbook of the same name.)

It was fabulous…really and truly meaningful television.  I admire his vision and can understand his struggle, as well as empathize with the struggles of those he’s trying to educate.  So many people lack the confidence to cook well, and many lack knowledge about preparing meals with fresh ingredients.  Suddenly the show was a lightening rod: could I indeed learn to prepare delicious and healthy meals for my family without it turning into a flaming drama and me crying in the corner?!

Monday night would be the test.  I am a compulsive reader, prone to tabbing, dog-earing and ripping out bits of useful information from books and magazines.  It just so happened that I saved a little two-page spread from Real Simple magazine on how to transform a store-bought rotisserie chicken into various delights.  Earlier in the day, I ventured forth to the grocery store to buy the usual suspects to fight what ailed us:  Gatorade, lemon-lime soda, saltine crackers, Nyquil and a rotisserie chicken, for good measure.  That night I was determined to make us “real” chicken noodle soup, simply because I just couldn’t bear the thought of eating it from a can one more day.  Armed with the article, I was able to use a carton of organic chicken broth from the fridge, baby carrots from the kid’s snacks, a bag of frozen cheese tortellini (which we always seem to have on hand) and shredded bits of the rotisserie chicken to make a semi-homemade chicken [pseudo]noodle soup.  A little parsley was also sprinkled on top.  Then the heavens parted and the angels sang as every member of the family ate the soup contented.  They actually smiled at the end of the meal and said, “Good job, Mom.”  (In my very young daughter’s case, it was more of a, “Yummy!”)  In eight years of marriage and six as a mother, that was a first.  I admit that with pride and more than a twinge of sadness.  It made me that much more determined to patch things up with cooking.

Back in January, my resolution not only involved learning to cook, but to cook with an eye toward a preservative-free lifestyle.  I’ve since been investigating various schools of thought regarding healthy meals, and the question is whether or not to be vegetarian, vegan, raw, or just completely organic…or none of the above.  But before deciding for my family, I made myself the test subject, and I started with a raw diet.  Why not begin at square one, right?  In an effort to compensate for my holiday treat indulgences the month before, I opted for a raw juice “cleanse” by Cooler Cleanse to preface the new diet.  It was brutal: six prepared raw juices each day for three days straight, flown overnight from New York to preserve their freshness.  Despite its brutality, it worked like magic.  I felt cleaner and lighter, and the juices were truly delicious.  But I was ready to eat my hand by the third day.  Mother cannot live on juice alone.  Fruit and vegetables in their purest form proved to be the perfect introduction to a raw diet, though.  Thankfully, there were many more raw recipes than I figured floating out the food world.  I happened upon a wonderful raw hummus recipe by Cecilia Benjumea from Raw Glow and it has now become my desperate snack go-to for the moments when I really need something filling during gaps in the day.

(Pretzel thins aren’t a truly raw option, but I’ve reintegrated them into my snacking

because I just couldn’t take another carrot stick.)

(I like to serve it on my favorite little French farmgirl dish from County Cork Collectibles!)

While the raw lifestyle may have worked for me, I ultimately concluded that it was too singular.  Just as our kitchen cabinets truly need to be filled with dishes and food rather than shoes, eating well needed to be about nourishing my entire family and showing them how much I care about them.  I love the basic principles of the raw diet though and plan to incorporate as many fresh ingredients into our meals and snacks as possible.  (I’ll sneak in a green smoothie weekly, too!)  Additionally, since we’re blessed to have our own certified organic livestock and free-ranging chickens, I feel a responsibility to utilize as many of the locally grown/organic produce and products available to us in our small community.  But quite simply, I just want to strive for honest meals that continue to bring out more smiles and contribute to healthy, happy tummies.  Will it be perfect?  No, and I accept that.  Relationships worth having are the ones that take a little extra work, though.

What's Your Story?

I have a thing for biographies.  I just can’t get enough.  Books, movies, television specials, historical documentaries…anything that unrolls the story of a person’s life, like a long rug in an even longer hallway.  There is something so inspiring about a life’s twists and turns, victories and failures, lessons learned and legacies bestowed, no matter how great or how small those phases may have been, and no matter how insignificant or significant a person may feel their life’s journey is or was.  To me, every story has significance.  And the beauty is that every person has a story to tell…it’s a common foothold for the human race.

It reminds me of occasions where my husband and I have met other couples for the first time, either at a dinner party or event.  Inevitably – after introductions, handshakes and first sentences – someone will ask, “And how did you two meet?”  I love that moment, but not necessarily for the chance to share my own story.  Instead to watch how a person’s eyes dance when they unroll a little bit of their story and retrace footsteps.  It’s a vulnerable position to be the storyteller, but as I’ve learned about vulnerability over the years, can be a great comfort to others.  It illuminates what is good and true and real.

One of my most cherished memories as a teenager was the month my paternal grandmother came to live with our family.  She had taken a bad spill and needed full-time care, so my father moved her into our house (and my room) until she recovered.  While my sister and I were none-to-pleased about having to bunk together, Grandma Ada was extremely entertaining.  And I mean with a capital “E”…she was nothing short of gregarious, even in her fragile state.  My sister and I still chuckle at the time she opened up the newspaper to an ad containing a photo of a scantily clad policeman. (I never did find out why there was such an ad in the newspaper…and come to think of it, I never checked to see what kind of newspaper it really was either…hmm.)  She promptly yelled out, “He can arrest me any day!”  All three of us burst out laughing on the spot.  Did I mention she was gregarious?  One Sunday, my father had the brilliant idea to sit Grandma Ada down on the living room couch and have her share her life’s story.  He set up a tape recorder and we circled around her, listening intently.  And her eyes danced the entire time.  She unfolded her life bit-by-bit, like a furoshiki cloth.  When she felt she had said all she needed to say, we were left with the most precious gift: her story in her words, unfettered by time or circumstance.  Perhaps it then I first marveled at a life’s story.  It certainly made me appreciate her and all she had experienced.  As it turns out, Grandma never did fully recover from her spill and she died shortly thereafter.  That time spent with her is now all the more precious, as is the documentation of her life.

When I first started designing totes for my little wearables business, Ma Chère Finery, I happened upon a letter to a pair of sisters from December 31, 1901 in a quaint antiques store in the Pearl District of Downtown Portland.  Four meticulously handwritten pages were bundled with an accompanying tattered envelope, addressed to Annie and Blanche in Poland, Maine.  I must have stood in the shop marveling at this letter for half-an-hour.  I then purchased it and took it home to treasure.  It served as a window to the lives of Annie and Blanche, as well as their friend Laura, the writer.  In the letter, Laura apologized for not writing sooner to acknowledge the lovely photographs the girls had sent her at Christmastime.  She proceeded to tell them about her fond memories of them in school and how she hoped to visit them soon, closing with, “I remain – as ever – your sincere friend.”  I pondered for some time what to do with this beautiful letter.  Should I frame it?  (And I still might.) But then it hit me: what if I were to create a tote design around images of the letter and envelope?  Eureka!  Then others could share in the little story of Annie and Blanche as they went about their daily lives.  I scanned the letter and envelope and printed the images onto fabric.  Together, along with a photograph of four women dated 1901 that I imagine would have been something similar to those referred to by Laura in her letter, I appliquéd them onto reproduction grain sack fabric and fashioned it all into a tote. 

It was the very first item I sold on Etsy, to a lovely woman in Dublin, Ireland.  And now each time I recreate the design for a new customer, I think about the significance of Annie and Blanche and the life they lived.

That particular tote also sparked commissioned projects, to commemorate the lives of loved ones.  My favorite was a request from my maternal grandmother to create a tote for her sister-in-law, my Great Aunt Eve, on the occasion of her 80th Birthday.  It was a surprise, too…even better!  After some sleuthing, Grandma emerged from Eve’s house with a fistful of fabulous photos.  Two were particularly meaningful and therefore used in the design of tote.  The first was a photo of Eve’s father as a chauffer in 1918 driving to pick up a new bride and groom in Portland, Oregon, and the second was of Eve alongside her mother and two brothers one lovely afternoon.  Grandma also asked that I include a “touch of Italy” somewhere in the design.  Eve’s parents had emigrated from a small town in Southern Italy and were very proud of their Italian heritage.  I created a little ribbon medallion festooned with a crest from the Province of Cosenza and three vintage glass buttons from the 1920s.  I greatly wish I could have attended the birthday celebration where Great Aunt Eve opened her surprise gift.  Mom and Grandma tell me it was quite a bash!  According to my mom, once Eve pulled the bag from its wrapping and had a moment to examine it, she began recalling the memories that surrounded the tote's featured photos to the loved ones around her…exactly the response I had hoped for! 

It was truly a treat to create that custom tote for Great Aunt Eve, a woman I’ve respected all my life.  And in so many ways, it made me feel that much closer to her…like I’d been invited into her story, to see the world as she saw it as a little girl.  From her story – as well as Grandma Ada’s and what I imagine of the sisters from Poland, Maine – emerged a legacy.  A lasting legacy of love, shared experiences and lessons learned.  Facets of a life well lived, and if I do say so myself, the makings of an incredible biography.