YOUR MOTHER WAS RIGHT

   Tips for people living on their own in the Millennium.

   You thought you had it made. A decent job, a nice apartment, an adequate career wardrobe, a busy social life. On your own, complete with PC, tablet, Smartphone, large-screen TV, microwave, credit cards.
 
    So why is there lettuce rotting in your fridge, and nothing else to eat unless you order in? Why can you never find anything to wear, and wind up frantic and late for appointments because the outfit you took out from the closet has a stain you'd forgotten about? Why hasn't your best buddy called you lately? (So what if you forgot his birthday. Big deal!) And why do you never seem to have cash when Fluffy or Spot barfs on your floor and you have to rush him to the vet in a cab that only takes cash? And where ARE your keys, anyway?

     In the "bad old days" of traditional Moms, a mother raised a brood of children without daycare, ran a household, usually without help, commandeered the kitchen (3 meals a day, and no microwave or take-out food), served as wife, mother, chauffeur, social secretary, cook and laundress.

     If you think an insistent iPhone or demanding boss is stressful, try ignoring the urgent screams of "Mom!" a dozen times a day while arguing with the washer repairman and trying to keep the family pet from eating the houseplants.

     Well, how did Mom do it? By taking time to make sense of her busy life and separating the various components into manageable pieces.

      In this age of instant gratification and quick fixes, the worship of anything "new", and the constant need for a "perfect" life so we don't get "stressed", perhaps it's also time to re-examine some of the verities previous generations held as truths for a very long time. Maybe they had something we have forgotten, something that might ease the chaos of today's living, bringing a breath of orderliness to our lives.

     Haste makes waste.

    And that especially refers to wasted time, in my opinion. If you're going to do something, do it right. My mother used to say, "If you don't take the time to do it right the first time, when are you going to find the time to do it right the second time?" Being focused totally on the task at hand---putting things away where they belong, sorting through your paperwork, keeping up with your laundry---saves you time in the long run. Pick up and clean up as you go along. Make every moment count, instead of filling it with bits of TV, a few minutes wasted on the Internet looking up trivia you don't really care about, constantly checking on your Smartphone for text messages from someone you just saw, etc.

     Look before you leap.

     Plan ahead. Run your home life like you do your job. Make lists, keep calendars with notations of appointments, errands, bill-paying schedules, etc.  Keep a grocery list, where you write down items you need to buy, or items you are running out of. That way, you'll never reach for a tissue with a runny nose and discover you forgot to buy more! Set aside a day, perhaps every two weeks, when you know you'll do laundry and clean out the fridge. I also keep a list of people's birthdays and anniversaries. That way, I can send out cards or e-mails or greetings on the occasion.

     I'm old-fashioned and still keep written lists, as I did years ago, but my daughter tells me there are great apps for Smartphones for list-keeping, which can be shared among family members or significant others ---since, in modern households, often multiple adults will do the shopping, not just mom, as in the old days. So as not to have to write multiple lists or worry that 2 people will buy milk that day, she and her husband use “AnyList”, which allows them to load items onto the grocery list and cross off items if either of them purchases. The updates happen in real time, so even if they're both out and about, they can stay up to date on needs and purchases.

     (Not that I'm completely antediluvian! Though I have written lists, plus a physical bulletin board near my front door to pin up pending appointments, needs, occasions that I want to remember, I also have a file on my computer called, MY BULLETIN BOARD,  There I keep a current list of all subscriptions I have, date of expiration, and whether they are paid up or not. Also keep there a list of books and DVDs I've loaned out with date and "loanee"---nice to keep, especially if I eventually want the items back! Oh, and that physical bulletin board near my front door has a hook for my keys!)

 

     An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.

     A stitch in time saves nine.

     Your briefcase is about to rip at the handle? Take it to a shoemaker to repair or buy a new one BEFORE the stupid thing falls apart at the worst time. A loose button or hem that's starting to come undone? Fix it yourself if you can, or take it to a tailor. It will cost less than if the button goes missing and you have to buy a whole new expensive set, or the hem actually tears and the tailor charges you a fortune to fix it, if he can!

     The same is true for your health. Seeing a doctor BEFORE you're flat on your back is the sensible thing to do.

      A place for everything and everything in its place.

      You don't have to be a neat nut. But make a conscious effort to de-clutter and put things away whenever you have a moment. (Double-up on time. Empty the dishwasher while the water is boiling for the spaghetti. Dust the living room furniture during a TV commercial.) And make sure everything has its own place. Again, this is to your advantage, though you might not think of it that way. But picture how much more time you would waste if you had to stop and search for individual items whenever you needed them!    

     Garbage in, garbage out.

     What I really mean by that is, Stop buying "stuff" you really don't need! Get rid of stuff. Be coldblooded about closets, books, files, etc. Learn to throw out, at the same time resist impulse buying. It just adds to the clutter.

      And finally:

     Well begun is half done.

      When you're setting up your various lists, don't forget one important step---prioritize! Plan to do the most pressing things first, if you do nothing else. Don't be afraid to put off the less important things, guilt-free! Give yourself the luxury of goofing off once you've accomplished at least one vital thing on your list.

     Take control of your life. Make a start. You can do it!

   

NOTE:

Some of the entries in this blog came from a book idea my daughter and I worked out fourteen years ago and then abandoned. Thanks, Julia!

     

     

LOVE AND ROMANCE

This being the month of St. Valentine, I thought it would be nice to talk about love and romance. Since I am a writer of Historical Romances, I find the topic endlessly fascinating. I much prefer to write the interaction of my hero and heroine leading up to the sex scene, than the actual scene of their coupling. So many qualities are involved in their interactions---thoughfulness, kindness, a certain empathy. I want my characters to CARE about each other before they go to bed together.

So this blog entry is not going to be about sex, but about the many facets of love.

Quite often, reading "dating" columns in the newspaper, I'm struck by the shallowness of the men and women involved. "Oh," she will say,"I couldn't possibly date him seriously. Not someone who doesn't even like the Rolling Stones!" "If she can't come to football games with me, why should I keep seeing her?" he might say. That's self-absorption and narcissism of the first order! Can you only date your clone, for Heaven's sake?

Even more dismaying than that sort of superficial judgment is what it says about the maturity of the people involved. Since when does your partner have to fill EVERY nook and cranny of your life? And if he/she doesn't, you're disappointed and dump them? I sat through a lot of baseball games and cowboy/war movies with my husband, because I didn't mind, and he wanted my company. But I didn't drag him to too many foreign films (my cup of tea), because I preferred to share them with girlfriends who loved them as much as I did. (Your lover should be your friend---one of your best friends---but not your ONLY friend!)

And we had enough shared interests---and cultivated more through the years---to satisfy us both. Travel, opera, good theatre, dancing. And the raising of our four children together was a partnership that strengthened the bond of love between us.

Thoughtfulness, of course, is one of the cornerstones of love. And in such short supply in this day and age of ME FIRST. This past Valentine's Day, I heard more than one female complain about not getting flowers or candy or something for the occasion. And being furious at HIM! But I didn't hear anything about what SHE had done for him! We never cared that much about the occasion---sometimes there would be a gift,sometimes just a silly card. But just something to show we cared, even if it wasn't a "special" occasion.. One of my favorite gifts from my husband for Valentine's Day wasn't candy or flowers or dinner out. It came several years into my writing career. He gave me a huge unabridged dictionary. I cried. He couldn't have more clearly expressed his pride in my career with any other gift.

And I had fun with a silly "gift" when he was studying for the bar exam. I was going to my parents with the children for the week, while his "study buddy" came every day for them to go over their books. Before I left, I wrote about a dozen silly notes ("How are you doing?", "Get back to work!", "Love you a bunch---now study!". I left them all over the apartment. Three handkerchiefs down in his clothing drawer, taped on the fifth ice cream pop he'd take from the freezer, slipped into the heel of a pair of shoes, etc. And he knew that I loved him and cared.

All too often today, self-interest takes over. How can you have a relationship when you're only thinking of yourself? I am constantly struck by a sight I see when I'm going to work at my department store job, selling wedding dresses. A young couple, seeming to have a warm relationship, approaches the revolving door. (In my day, the gentleman knew to go through first, pushing the door so his female companion, behind him, wouldn't have to. Now, all too often, the guy lets HER go through, then scoots in behind her in the same space and lets her do all the pushing!

And one of the more astonishing things I experienced at my last job (also selling wedding dresses) was a young woman who wanted a particular dress. We had it in ivory, but to get it in white, which she really wanted, would mean the dress would come in AFTER her wedding date. So she pulled out her cell phone and called her groom and postponed the wedding for a month. And he agreed! When I expressed shock to a co-worker, she said, "What's the big deal if she wants the dress of her dreams?" When I said I thought it was an insult to choose a dress over her groom, she was genuinely bewildered. "But it was so SELFISH of her!" I said. And she replied, "Not if it 's the dress of her dreams!", as if a damn dress was the most important thing about the wedding and SHE was the only person who mattered.

A few odd final notes about love and romance;;;

Some years ago, my then-husband and I were at a very formal affair at the Plaza Hotel. Dr. Ruth Westheimer, the noted sex expert, admired my evening gown. "Very romantic," she said. "That's because I'm a romance writer," I responded. She asked about my pen name. "I have a few," I said, and told her Ena Halliday, Louisa Rawlings and Sylvia Halliday. She seemed at a loss for a moment, then brightened. "Well!" she exclaimed. "As long as your husband knows who he is getting into bed with!"

Another long-ago memory, maybe more sexy than romantic. When I began to write, I was trying to sell my first book. (Marielle, now reprinted by Diversion books : Marielle ). I sent it to a lawyer friend with publishing connections. He sent it on to an editor. Her reply (which I was clearly NOT intended to see!) stated that, though she found the book well-written, it involved a heroine who had been raped by the villain. (That was allowed in those days.) Consequently, she was frigid to the hero for much of the book. The editor thought someone would want to buy it (and someone did---Pocket Books launched their Tapestry line with Marielle, by Ena Halliday)., but she was passing on it because it wouldn't be a best-seller. "And," she added, "we both know that heroines of best-sellers are relentlessly orgasmic!"

I chuckled for days, and made sure that my next heroine fit the bill!

Finally, a REALLY distant memory! When I was in college, most greeting cards were of the Hallmark "sweet " and cloying variety. But there was a small company just starting out that was youthful, daring and funny. I sent this card to my then boyfriend (later my husband) on Valentine's Day.

There was a cartoonish drawing of an Old Master painting of Venus and Adonis. (Venus is the Roman goddess of love, Aphrodite is her Greek counterpart,)

The verse inside read:

Ponder yonder Aphrodite,
Ran around without her nightie.
The ways of love are ever old.
I too, for you, would risk a cold.

YUM!

Okay, I know I said this new entry would be called HAPPY BIRD DAY TO US, in honor of my goofy mother (see entry JUST FOR FUN), who always came into the dining-room bearing the turkey and singing, "Happy Bird Day To Us" to the tune of the birthday song.(And check an earlier entry, SURPRISE! to see how my mother made a Thanksgiving centerpiece out of our Thanksgiving squash!)

But since Thanksgiving is well past, and Christmas and New Year are nearly upon us (and I'm still unpacking, so my writing time is limited), I thought I'd combine the three holidays and talk about food in general.

Spent this past Thanksgiving in Pennsylvania with all four of my children and their spouses, plus a gaggle of grandchildren. As a labor of love, I spent two hours shelling three pounds of chestnuts for my special stuffing---chestnuts, cornbread and white raisins. Definitely a yum! (Am ending this blog entry with the picture my son---the host of the day with his lovely wife---took of me as I was working. Sweatshirt was a gift from a fairly recent gentleman friend---not sure if he was being funny or if I had pissed him off!)

I've long-since learned that the most important ingredient in cooking IS love. When my marriage was falling apart, some years ago, and we gathered for what turned out to be the last Thanksgiving for the  intact family, the meal was just not very tasty. I guess my heart wasn't in it. The following year, with the separation complete, and my children gathering at one son's house, I was invited to come a week early and do the whole meal. That year, because I was at peace with what had happened, and surrounded by all those I held most dear, every dish in comparison was wonderful, though it was practically the same menu. (And I had two delightful helpers in the young daughters of the woman that son had just married---11 and 12, I think. They had never cooked, but they took to it like naturals, insisting that we make "just one more pie, Grandma!" We wound up with SIX pies that year!)

Final Bird Day story---son who took picture of me is a professional photographer, and sometimes gets carried away! When he went to Thanksgiving at the house of one of his brothers a few years ago, he took pictures of the occasion and sent them to me. I don't know what it says about his appetite, but there were more pictures of the cooked bird than there were of the guests and the family! "Please!" I begged him. "Next time, EDIT!"

On to Christmas meals. One marvelous memory is from very long ago, when I was first married. My husband, drafted into the Army for two years, was stationed in Germany, where I joined him. We had rented a room (shared bathroom and kitchen) in a lovely old town house in Bad Nauheim, which was a beautiful hospital town untouched by the war. We had become great friends with our landlady, her two little children, and her mother, a delightfully lively senior citizen. In the past, the family---mostly doctors---had been quite wealthy, and the town house, still owned by a doctor relative, with one floor rented out to OUR landlady, was a beauty, with polished wood floors, vintage furniture and views overlooking a lush park.

Then, after only 4 or 5 months, my husband was transferred to Darmstadt, a dismal city, still partially in rubble from the war. Our rented rooms were in a cinder-block house built by a stone-cutter, who had spent nine years in a Russian prison camp AFTER the war, and had finally come home to his wife and son to make a sparse life for himself. The only heat we had for two rooms was from a coal stove, also for cooking, which certainly was a challenge for a bride just learning to cook! My lemon meringue pies were regularly speckled with black soot, because I never remembered to put in more coal (to make the stove hotter to brown the meringue) until AFTER I had put in the pie! (One quirky note---the house was on the outskirts of the city, in Darmstadt-Eberstadt. On the hill behind the house, which I could see every day, was Frankenstein's castle!)

Anyway, come Christmas, our Bad Nauheim friends had invited us back for the holiday. The grandmother greeted us at the door in a family heirloom, a magnificent gown (probably dating from the turn of the Twentieth Century), purple silk velvet with a Victorian high collar and bodice of real gold lace. A large key hug at her waist. She took the presents we had brought, unlocked a door to one of the spare rooms, and disappeared inside.

Then we repaired to the parlor, where we spent the evening eating piles of home-baked cookies, drinking good German schnapps and playing silly games like pickup sticks and tiddly-winks. At midnight, the grandmother came in with a candle. Tiptoeing, we followed her to the door of the spare room. With great fanfare, she unlocked it and we went inside.

What a wonder! The windows were wide open to the cold night air, but that was because, they told the children, the Christ Child had to come into the room and decorate the tree. The huge Christmas tree was hung with silver tinsel, live candles, and lit sparklers! It was breathtaking!

Each of us had a separate little table, with our presents piled on it, and more dishes of cookies. After we opened our presents, and ate more cookies, the family went off to church for an hour. When they returned, the traditional supper they served was marvelous after all the sweets we had eaten! Salty herring salad, plain boiled potatoes, and bitter dark bread. I can still taste how delicious it was after all those cookies!

One more Christmas story. For many years, one of my dearest friends gave a Christmas Eve party at her home. Her large extended family came from other states and also from Puerto Rico. Every year she chose a different ethnic theme. So we had an Italian Christmas, a Chinese Christmas, a Greek Christmas, etc. One year, as we sat around waiting for midnight to open the presents, the conversation turned to what  theme we should choose for the following year. Being Jewish (and a pretty good cook), I said, as a joke, "How about a Jewish Christmas?" Much to my surprise, everybody LOVED the idea! So the next year, we had matzo ball soup, chopped liver, potato kugel, and roasted chicken, among other dishes. Very successful.

New Year's Eve. For many years, my husband and I had a New Year's Day open house. As we sent out our Christmas cards, we included to a large group of friends (probably about 75-100) an invitation to drop in on New Year's Day from noon to 8:00. Since we usually went out New Year's Eve (that's a story for another entry!), everything had to be done in advance. Finger food. A large smoked turnkey, conveniently cut into small pieces, with toothpicks. Smoked ham, done the same way. Lots of cheese chunks. Stuffed mushrooms, piled on trays and ready to be popped into the oven as guests arrived. Same for small squares of noodle puddings---one with spinach, one with cottage cheese and sugar. Big bowl of fruit salad. Brownies made in advance. Drinks confined to wine, vodka with orange juice or tomato juice. Easiest parties we ever gave!

Assorted food notes and recollections:

Because we had four children, and I didn't want to become a short-order cook, catering to every individual taste, we had the "One-Taste Rule." Each child was expected to taste everything at every meal, even if they washed it down with water at once. It was a Family Rule. (See blog entry IT'S MY HOUSE AND I'M BIGGER THAN YOU ARE.) The plus factors were that I could cook just one meal for everyone, try new dishes, and the kids developed pretty broad eating habits at an early age. ("Ooh! Beef Bourguignonne!")

Another offbeat memory---had given a very elegant dinner party, with a wonderful galatine of leg of lamb, stuffed with ham and pistachio nuts, followed by a dessert that is one of my culinary specialties---chocolate-dipped pears. At the last minute, one of my dearest friends came down with pneumonia and she and her husband couldn't attend because she was sick in bed. After our guests left and my husband and I had cleaned up and put on our pajamas, we suddenly wondered how she was doing. We called. Was she still awake? Yes, she said. Were they hungry?: Absolutely! Still in our PJs, we packed up a meal for both of them, drove to their house and presented it to her in bed. At 2:00 A.M.! She still talks about that crazy evening! (She still remembers the main course as French cassoulet, another of my specialties, but I remember it as the lamb.)

Chocolate pears or not, I am, according to my children, an alien. Basically, I don't much like chocolate, peanut butter, pizza or ice cream. Small correction---except when I was pregnant. Ice cream was my rabbit test! Usually, when we went to Friendly's or some place like it, and my crew ordered banana splits or assorted ice cream concoctions, I would have an English muffin and coffee. Once in a great while, I might ask for the teeniest scoop of vanilla ice cream with marshmallow or caramel on top. It was usually all I could manage. But if I scraped the bowl and wanted more, I KNEW I was pregnant. And I always was! During my final pregnancy, I spent nine months eating chocolate-chip mint ice cream daily. Came home from the hospital and my older kids dished out a plate for me, as they had done for months. I took one taste and pushed it away. "I don't like ice cream!" I said.

The children's favorite foods were "zerks" (desserts), as in "What's for zerk, Mom?", "peenadelly" (sound it out), and "La Rosa", otherwise known as "Mom's Mac". They also liked chocolate mousse, but teased me unmercifully about the name. If they said, "What's for zerk?" and I answered "Chocolate mousse," I would then have to endure lots of smart-alecky comments about the moose's antlers, whiskers, etc. But I finally fixed them. Made the mousse in an oval mold, turned it out onto a flat plate, added marshmallow eyes with raisin pupils and a cherry nose, and used chocolate wafer cookies for antlers. When the usual snarky comments came at my announcement that zerk was chocolate mousse---"And does it have antlers. Mom?"---I plunked down the platter with a triumphant cry of "Yes!!"

A few kitchen hints---

1. Did you know that there are male and female eggplants? You want to choose the male eggplants if you can---fewer seeds. Go to the stem end of the vegetable. If the "scar" is a circle, it's a male. If it's a line, it's a female.

2. You can freeze lots of herbs. Dill especially takes to freezing. Just wash it, shake off the excess water, wrap it tightly in foil and pop it into a plastic bag. When you need finely diced dill for a recipe (I have a wonderful dill sauce that goes over a salmon mousse), you don't have to defrost it. Just unwrap the foil from the top and finely dice as much as the recipe calls for. I've noticed that the dill flavor is enhanced from the freezing.

3. Pie crusts---it's a messy nuisance to roll out a crust on a board with flour, etc. But because I didn't have a rolling pin or a board as a bride in Germany, I learned to roll out the crust between two sheets of wax paper crisscrossed. The paper is 12" wide, so you get a crust that is 12" in diameter. What could be simpler? It just fits a 9" pie plate! And I used a glass, not a rolling pin, to roll it out. Still do. More manageable than a large rolling pin.

And finally, I'm a good cook. (I actually sat down with a friend to write a cookbook many years ago. After a time, we found it boring and then I discovered romances. And that's how I got started on my writing career!) Complete story to follow at some point! But I do share recipes. E-mail me, if you are interested. My e-mail is Syl4brides@aol.com

Enjoy the photo!

A QUICK NOTE

Am working on a new blog entry---about food, naturally! (Shelled three pounds of chestnuts for my special Thanksgiving stuffing at the house of one of my sons---have no thumbnails left!)

As a teaser----the new entry will be called HAPPY BIRD DAY TO US, in honor of my goofy mother (see entry JUST FOR FUN), who always came into the dining-room bearing the turkey and singing, "Happy Bird Day To Us" at the top of her voice!

FRAZZLED? ME?

You bet your ass!

I'm usually pretty unflappable, but I will be unexpectedly moving in a week to a different apartment.   My landlord wants to convert my small duplex into studio apartments, and he has offered me a place he also owns just down the street. But because of months of draggy negotiations (No, don't move, Yes, move), I'm suddenly being rushed. Frazzle is because of the last-minute decision by landlord and the need to organize 17 years of accumulated "stuff"! .

I'll probably not be writing a September blog column---will need to catch my breath first! Sorry about that! And October is busy---I'll be promoting my latest book, MY LADY GLORIANA, giving a talk at our local Romance Writers' meeting, and doing a book signing at a local Romance Conference later in the month.

But I'll be collecting lots of juicy "moving" stories---and rants!---for future blog entries.

Wonder of wonders! A ray of sunshine has just appeared to brighten my funk. My publisher has just informed me that, though MLG isn't officially due out until November, it's already available in e-book and paperback format. Do check it out.


https://ganxy.com/i/106043

IS THAT WHAT YOU'RE WEARING?

It's still summer, and too hot for me to feel like being a scold. So let's talk about clothes.

I believe I've mentioned that I sell wedding dresses at Macy's. But I also studied for a fashion career, and spent many years sewing my own clothes. And, as a writer of historical romances, I like to say that, when my characters undress for the big love scene, the clothes they take off are historically accurate!

Thus, I'm always fascinated with how people dress today.

In my day, it was easy. We didn't have to stand in front of the closet, suffer, and wonder what to wear. There were rules.

For example, hems were standard length, the same for everyone, gradually shortening year by year from the drastically dropped hems of Dior's New Look in 1947. (You could look at a woman's skirt and know that she hadn't had the hem shortened to keep up with the fashion.) And fashions were often seasonal and time-sensitive. (White shoes from Memorial Day to Labor Day. Evening wear after 5:00 P.M.) And pantie girdles with a narrow skirt. Because---and we actually said this---"Nice girls don't jiggle!"

And when we traveled? We wore suits, stockings, heels, hats, gloves. Same for when we went out for the evening, to theatre, dinner, etc. I remember wearing stockings and heels when I went shopping!

We even had what we called the "Rule of Ten". You counted what you were wearing---patterned stockings, jewelry, distinctive eyeglasses included. If they added up to more than 10, you took something off. Less was more.

We didn't have to suffer over the "What shall I wear?" conundrum.

Interesting sidebar: Because we wore tight belts and pantie girdles, training our bodies to pull in at the waist, women's measurements were different from today. The optimum measurements then (in the '50s) were 34/24/34. (I know because I sewed, and had to buy patterns.) Today, after decades of no girdles, hipster pants, etc. the same bust measurement is sized thus: 34/26/38.

But today? No rules. Anything and everything goes. And, so often, people don't know what to wear. So they don't mind looking like slobs---with bulging bare midriffs, scruffy bare toes, sloppy looks. And the Rule of Ten? Ha! Add five more colors, accessories, etc. and see how that works! (Overkill, in my book!) And the need to fit in, by wearing clothes with labels. If you're insecure with how you dress, a label says, "Oh, but I MUST be fashionable! I'm wearing a Calvin (or Polo, or whatever)!"

I sometimes want to stop a woman I see on the street and ask, "Honey, don't you ever LOOK IN  A MIRROR?" I lived in the East Village for 15 years, and often walked behind a very slender young woman in black tights and huge black Army boots. "Young woman," I would often be tempted to ask, "why do you want to look like a spider?"

And tattoos? Lots of luck, honey, when you're 60 and your sagging skin makes that rose look like a drooping waterfall!

When I was a young pre-teen and early teen, we wanted to look like "ladies". I remember (when I was 12 or 13, I think) that I had a white ruffle-sleeved peasant blouse. My mother had 2 red velvet roses, which she allowed me to wear to school. I put one under one ruffle of a sleeve, and the other behind my ear. I must have looked absurd, trying to be mature, but at least I looked ladylike. I find it appalling that too many of the young preteens today think it's great to look like hookers!

Having dealt with many brides who come in with pictures of their dream dresses, I wish more women would take the time to look in a mirror! (I want to say to my brides, when they show me a picture, "That model is a size 2, flat-chested giraffe---and photo-shopped, besides!") And the secret to good dressing is 1) Fooling the eye, and 2) Good underwear! Try to be realistic about your shape, and dress so that you draw attention to your best feature, not your worst.

Example: I once had a bridesmaid who wanted to choose a black satin A-line strapless dress with a decorative white satin V up the center back from the hem. Except that she had the largest kazoo I'd seen in a long time. A shelf---you could set a tea-tray on it! "Honey," I wanted to say, "why would you choose an arrow pointing to your worst feature?" (I didn't, of course. I simply chose a chiffon dress---didn't shine as it draped over her bum, with glitter in the front that drew attention to her quite lovely face.)

I can't stress this enough. If you want to look your best, be cold-blooded. Look in a mirror. Don't see what you WANT to see, but what you actually see. Assess your best features---good shoulders, a nicely defined waistline, etc. And your worst---droopy shoulders, too narrow or too wide hips. And think in terms of drawing the eye away from the worst and toward the best.

Shoulders too broad? Don't wear spaghetti straps that isolate that feature. Wear off-shoulder, halter or strapless sweetheart that calls attention to your great shoulders. Bust line too broad and overpowering? Wear an A-line skirt that balances your hip width to your bust width and an off-the-shoulder top that creates an X and calls attention to your good waist line. It's all about proportion and balance.

But it starts with LOOKING IN A MIRROR!

Oh, dear. I seem to have scolded after all. So I'll end with a funny story from my past, to prove that I'm not afraid to make fun of myself when it comes to dressing!

I was 12. Going off to summer camp, where I had gone for three years. Thus, all my bunk-mates were old summer friends. I was scrawny, thin. As for bust-line? Forget about it! I was two raisins on an ironing board. In the fashion of that time, I wore undershirts---basically white tank tops.

However, every weekend we had a "social" with the boys' camp. Usually wore sweaters. I had a pale blue sweater that year, and I knew the undershirt would show through. I begged my mother to let me have a bra, just to wear for the socials. She agreed, and bought me a white cotton bra (probably in the smallest size!). I couldn't wait to get up to camp and show it off!

Alas! All my camp-mates had blossomed in the preceding year, and every one of them wore ONLY bras! What to do? Exactly what any 12-year-old would do. I buried my undershirts in my cubby and wore the bra for two months straight! I would occasionally wash it in secret, and hang it outside to dry. But as the summer wore on and the nights in the mountains grew cold, the bra wouldn't dry. I wore it anyway---wet and clammy against my skin.

By the time I got home, that poor garment was a miserable shade of gray.

God bless my mother (see JUST FOR FUN in a previous post); she never said a word. The bra was washed, then casually replaced with half-a dozen new bras.

Just a quick update

My home chapter of the Romance Writers of America, RWA/NYC, has just published an excerpt  from my upcoming new book. Check it out!  

http://rwanycblogginginthebigapple.blogspot.com/2015/07/we-love-history-tour-my-lady-gloriana.html?m=1