Sunday, February 25, 2024

Out door coffee

 Following a meeting, someone said, who is up for coffee? That would be me and three friends--quickly deciding  on 'Timbers' - We found a small round table for four just outside the shop. What a delightful moment for everyone. Reminding us all about the European lifestyle of taking time to visit with friends during a busy day, before heading for home. Being energized by the fresh air, watching the outdoor scenes; we were fortunate to have a shy, somewhat fearful to approach, dog, stop by. Our friend, Belinda, immediately got up from her chair and went inside to purchase a couple of small hot dogs. She placed them on the cement a away from us and the grateful dog had her fill. We discovered later, she was a neighborhood street dog; her sister had been captured and placed in a shelter, this beautiful dog was having no part of that!     

Thursday, February 15, 2024

What I Want to Become.....

 Samuel Johnson, when he died, embodied that old humanist ideal. He had become a person of taste, of judgment and a person of culture. I realy admire him; an essayist, playwrite, poet, one of the greatest critics of all time. I, in turn, have become a top high fashion runway and print model, a published author, and writer. Have I become a person of taste? yes. I admire those I deem admirable in works of art, in sculpture, paintings, and authors. Judgement? Yes. I have the ability to make considered decisions.  A person of culture? I have not become a total person of culture. The person I know to be totally cultured  was my mother, may she rest in peace, she embodied the cultured life. She was always kind, she visited the sick and the housebound, spoke more than one language, she was formally educated, dressed beautifully, entertained with style and possessed impeccable manners.  She was an inspiration and admired by all who knew her.    

Thursday, February 8, 2024

Memories That Last a Lifetime

Pamela Stella made such a list that included 'went to school and walked back'. One of my most vivid memories and in all kinds of weather; I remember walking up Main street in the snow and wondering if the water that always settled in the corner lot where I would turn to go on to school, had frozen over, so I could do an impromptu iceskating show wearing my snowboots, which in reality, would be sliding from one side to the other. Several times I almost missed the bell. And after a heavy snow, I remember, Mr Hobbs, guiding his horse, who was pulling a V shapped hand made wooden plow, clearing the sidewalk, moving  the snow off to eithr side.  Let me know about your memory that has lasted a lifetime.... 

Thursday, February 1, 2024

Cataract surgery is a breeze (most of the time)+

 For those of you that are thinking about having eye surgery but are apprehensive, or scared, like I was. don't be, please. I talked to so many people that had it done and all gave an easy thumbs up. My sister, and brother-in-law both have had it, and talked about how wonderful it is to see true colors again, it is magical and amazing to read signes, admire farm animals in their pastures on our drives. and it is all true. Had my left eye done first - everything was perfect and was realy looking forward to having my right eye done. so 30 January, be there time: 6:45, saw Dr. at 8:00, proceeder done, come back at 2:30 to be checked. Wait a minute. I have a sharp pain in my eye and there feels like some thing is in it or loose or s o m e t h i n g!!! I am telling this to the Dr. whom I totally trust, and he goes, 'Oh. I forgot to tell you, you had a small leision on your eye, so I removed it, I didn't charge for it. (never mind) I forgot to tell you, I'm sorry, so there is a scratch you are feeling;' he quickly went after a med, and placed a drop in my eye, and I was to continue puting my perscription drops in 3 thimes a day. Well, my eye was blood shot today, so called and said Whats' up with that? He said besides your drops 3 times a day, use your regular drops for dry eye.......3 PM in the afternoon and I am feeling mellow, My eye sight is glorious, and my eye is almost cleared up.  So every eye is different. I am telling you this tale, so go ahead and "Just do It'  You will not regret it. Happy days.....


  

Thursday, January 25, 2024

 Camile Thomas asked me to do a photoshoot, and booked Lisa Martensen to do my make-up. It has been a while since I retired from couture fashion shows and fashion photography--we were exausted after 3 hours; had forgotten how much energy I needed, in keeping focus, to 'get the shot'! I was very pleased with the outcome and will use a couple of the photos for my new book: 'In the Wake of Broken Hearts' 

Wednesday, December 14, 2022

When are girlfriends of famous boys stop looking at camera, sticking their tongues out??!! 'Daily Mail' called it a sweet post. Are ;you nuts??

Listen up, everybody.... that stupid gesture is OVER, gone, soooo last year, so never in!

Stop it - or you will all hear these remarks. 

Dad, " Honey, why are you sticking your tongue out? I've never seen you do that.'  

Mom," Look Honey, here is a picture of me and your dad".

Daughter, "Why are you sticking your tongue out? You always told us not to do that."

I could go on and on. I'm sure you get the picture. 

12/14/2022 

 

Saturday, May 15, 2021

 

 

                                   My Sisters, My Mother, Myself

 

                                                     By Helen Martin

 

       I remember how everyone looked back then—like a photographic image, the way we looked is imprinted in my mind. Dark hair always falling around our faces; sometimes, held back with bobby pins or plastic barrettes. Mostly we wore dresses when we played; light cotton dresses with flower designs—the fabric fluttering and moving around our knees, tanned legs and arms always in motion…dancing, running, jumping rope in sturdy shoes with dark socks or white sandals with straps that buckled.

      Pretty clothes – dressing up – one of the best things about growing up.  I remember my young life in sequences, separated by my next outfit. 

      What I was wearing interwoven through the drama of growing up in the midst of a vibrant, noisy, complicated, Italian family clan, an almost surreal performance of full-tilt three act plays every day; scenes at times resembled a Greek Tragedy marching across our stage, in another sequence, a hilarious rollicking comedy of errors, played out by characters so diverse that the only common thread these bigger than life thespians shared was their ancestry.

     The sweet memories dwell deep in my heart; dresses and outfits to wear to church, to play in, to wear to school—dressing in your good play clothes to go to the lake because later after swimming all day, there would be an out-door movie where I would sit with my family on benches my sisters had saved, placing blankets and towels there early in the day. I remember squirming and shifting impatiently waiting for dusk to come as it came creeping much too slowing across the lake, waiting till it was dark enough to start the movie.

      Styles and materials from that far-away place come cascading down through the years, causing me to smile, turn around, and look. I remember yellow pedal pushers, halter tops, pinafores trimmed in rick rack, eyelet fabric, smocking, colorful embroidery on white linen dresses, lavender shorts, black patent leather shoes and too soon; ballerina slippers for my teens.

     Dancing bodies bring a remembering smile of a barefoot ballerina poised and waiting for her entrance. The Conductor gestures: the dancer, moving to the music of the great orchestra glides over the cool grass, to be joined by two or three, sometimes four, similarly graceful ballerinas. Dancing for their adoring public until the last possible moment, until it is almost dark; they will have just enough time to collect the overturned bushel baskets, no longer needed as make-up vanities.

    The leaves that fly off and scatter are not given another glance. Treasures, when the game started, are nothing but discarded pieces of fantom memories. The leaf carefully chosen for lipstick is lost, check color, eye-shadow and the large leaf used for powder have played their last show. The curtain falls and the scene changes.

     Later still, or not, I don’t remember, but I remember the dress: a black and white check dress with a black velvet bolero. Our mysterious Uncle Phillip, my mother’s uncle really, would appear through-out our lives coming in unannounced all the way from the east coast, always loaded down with presents. I don’t remember the occasion for the grand present, possibly my birthday, every birthday was celebrated in our house with cake and ice cream, presents and cards but not every birthday constituted a ‘party’, just the ones mom decided should; “So American” she would admonish.

     I remember the moment in the black and white check dress—standing on the walk in the back yard of my house, that moment in that dress was so vivid: I must have run out side, stood there entranced with my new dress, just looking down at it. I don’t remember the rest of the day or how long I got to keep it on before I had to change into my everyday clothes. “Mommy”, please let me wear it a little longer. “No”, she said, with her hand on her hips, standing there in full apron, festooned with straight pins and snatches of thread, she had rescued from the floor and counter tops. I remember I got to wear it to school on special days; to church, of course.

     I loved the dress with the black velvet bolero—I felt so grown up. My mother, an extraordinary beauty, charming and elegant had recently finished sewing matching dresses with boleros for my two older sisters. Kathy and Rosie were like movie stars to me; sashaying around so free and beautiful, flashing smiles and laughing at most of life. Everyone wanted to be around them. Popular and passionate, they strode through their high school years like princesses, carrying their books and clutch purses, charm bracelets dangling on their wrists, their polished saddle shoes shinning, leaving a trail of boys in their wake.     

     I was so shy, they barley acknowledged me at all; calling me ‘Honey’ and teasing me whenever they stopped long enough to scrutinize me. I worshiped them.