Memorial Day (Cheesily) Remembered

After getting my parenting panties in the proverbial wad (and alliteration vortex, apparently) last week, I was in serious need of distraction. Sometimes a girl needs to escape her own head for a second, be it by leaving town, national holiday, or a glass of wine on the patio with her favorite armed services member.

As a believer in "Everything in moderation, including moderation" - stitch *that* on a pillow, Martha - I up and did all three, trotting off with the Pretty Family to San Antonio to see friends and family, then returning here to Austin to spend Memorial Day with my visiting bachelor brother (a handsome Naval aviator, for any single ladies out there). I wined, I dined, I slept in while the truly wonderful Anonymous Husband got up early with Master P. Yes.

Sometimes a day that isn't about you gives you exactly what you need. As my brother & I sat on the patio, ignoring the sweltering death Hell Texas heat & mosquitoes, we got to reminiscing about our late grandparents & appreciating their World War II service, amongst other things:

 
I only felt a smidge sorry for myself as I watched Master P toddle around & remembered once again that my grandparents aren't here to meet him. 

And, yes, then the inevitable Hallmark Moment du Fromage came when I happily recalled the important things they taught me that I get to pass along to my little guy. Frank Sinatra. The importance of family, even when family's not fun. The importance of Good Shoes (Grandmother, never "Grandma"); the importance of saving up to properly afford Good Shoes (Grandpa). School. Service.

Of course my grandparents weren't perfect, but yesterday today isn't the day to harp on that. Besides, I perfected my ability to icily ignore any problem on their watch, so in their honor my brother & I raised our glasses (spiked with a splash of Pink Elephant) anyways.

Fear not, dolls - we'll get back to the business of being Prettier Than Everyone Else tomorrow, complete with Our Lady of Perpetual Girl Crush, HRH Grace. Pinky swear. But for yesterday today, I simply remember.

You Only Do It Once - In Memoriam

"You only do it once," intoned my late grandpa time and again whenever I, nosy child that I was (am), asked about that whole getting married thing.*  

*And you saucy readers (my favorite kind) thought that title meant something naughty. 

One week ago today, on St. Patrick's Day no less, would have been my late grandparent's fifty-bazillionth anniversary.  Since I've been terribly busy expanding my, um, cultural & musical horizons going to too many concerts and staying up too late, I neglected to mention this at the time, but it has been weaving in and out of my thoughts over the last few weeks.  

Given the incredibly private people they were - Betty & Don Draper have nothing on them in the Keeping Up Appearances department - I won't dishonor them by delving into their private affairs here;  suffice it to say, theirs was not a perfect marriage. I often mused over why two people who were virtual strangers in some aspects remained married.  I also wondered how I was lucky enough to be related to & raised by two such exceptional, if exceptionally different, people.

However, whenever I am mentally meandering and remembering them, I go back to my grandfather's timeworn saying.  My grandparents came from a time, generation, and socio-economic stratum that perhaps expected different things in a partner - not necessarily better, I hasten to add, just different.  Grandpa would be wildly amused, for example, that I expect the AH to chip in with the household chores & be my best friend**.

** AND cook dinner sometimes & keep me in Good Jewelry, but I won't push my luck in case Grandpa is listening in via Heavenly WiFi.

When I'm sitting here, missing them, almost smelling his pipe tobacco and seeing her lurid blue eyeshadow in all of its Estee Lauder glory, I take comfort in remembering their marriage.  Not that I'd want to emulate parts of it; this Gen X child of divorced parents still doesn't wholeheartedly understand the dynamic.  But. The devotion, the integrity, the quiet love - that I can only hope and pray the AH & I achieve someday.

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On a lighter note, many thanks to those two lovelies and blog favorites, the Misses Bama Belle and Preppy Princess, for respectively honoring us (We utilize the random third person for such formal occasions) with blog awards.  I, ahem, We only wish we could adequately express how much we enjoy reading your each & every post.  Thank you.

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On a lighter, lighter note, pretty shoe post, complete with a photo, coming up next.  We'll liven things up here shortly.  Pinky swear!

Did You Smile First?

If you'll allow me, I'd like to briefly remove my Snark Hat - which in my mind resembles one of those magnificent Kentucky Derby hats I'd flat kill to wear, except that my Snark Hat is lined with, ya know, shark's teeth or something - and talk about a sweet memory of Social Graces (surely a Pretty concept, yes?) that came to me during my first Junior League meeting here last night.

Growing up, I was shy. Not painful, wallflower-level shy, but more the type to hide behind books and sarcasm. Actually, appallingly little has changed on that front, but nonetheless - I was not a natural with other people, although I secretly, desperately wanted to be. I now consider myself a Recovering Introvert*, who truly does enjoy getting to know people, but I'll admit I have to work at it still.
*Do you think there are AA-style meetings for people like me? Can you just picture it - we'd end up meeting at Barnes & Noble and sitting around silently avoiding eye contact as we stare into our boxed wine or whatever.

In stark contrast, my beloved late grandpa, who was a father to me, was one of the two kindest, outgoing, most warmhearted gentlemen I've ever had the privilege to know; yes, I married the other one as fast as reasonably possible. But back to the point - whenever Grandpa would see me struggle socially, he'd often ask, "Did you smile first?" This irritated me to no end at the time - other people were supposed to say hello and be friendly if they wanted to meet me, not the other way around. If they liked me, my reasoning went, they would make the effort.

So fast forward many years to last night, where I walked into a room full of strangers at the Junior League meeting. For those of you unfamiliar with this social construct, think back to that impossible girl in high school - she of the good grades, impressive looks, extracurricular activities left and right, who dated the quarterback AND managed to be genuinely nice to everyone. If you were this girl, congratulations, and please bear with me. For the rest of us - now imagine a room full of 500 Impossible Girls, who all belong to the same club (albeit a club that has fabulous philanthropic aims as its sole mission), and you begin to see the stress factor for Recovering Introverts like me. I go in with my very best armor - handbag, shoes, clothes, merlot - but it is enough to make the best of us nervous.

As I am now blissfully, 100%, happily so very not in high school anymore - despite my penchant for watching it over & over again on TV - I get it now. I very gratefully carry the lesson my grandpa gave me when I walk into a room, where I'm now usually able to squelch the voice in my head urging me to run back to the car and seek out someone to make eye contact with or say hello to. By no means am I that Impossible Girl who can gracefully introduce herself, remember your name, and manage not to monopolize the conversation/ answer in monosyllables /get quiche stuck in her teeth, but I can now say that I am comfortably trying. And enjoying it. I will absolutely forget your name the first few times we meet while I mumble to you incoherently, but in all likelihood (for example, unless your name is Paris), I honestly, 100% secretly believe that you are an Impossible Girl that I'd be lucky to call a friend.

Edited to add: last night's meeting went very well, by the way, and I met some very nice Impossible Girls who I hope to get to know. If I could only remember their names,that is.
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Enough of these Precious Moments and back to the Pretty grind . . . we have a personal fashion rut we need to discuss AND Britney is appearing on the VMAs again. Stay tuned.