Holiday gift guide 2013 - Relax and enjoy

Did you notice that it's November and December is barreling towards us? If gifts have got you stumped, maybe I can help. Let's wrap your mind around a gift giving philosophy that may simplify your life - the philosophy of theme gifts. Now relax and enjoy...

Theme One:  Hell no, I will NOT embrace winter. Summer and sunlight, I beg you, come back!

This robe (and this one and this one) and Mira and Dita and Heidi finger flair

Fuck those gray winter days in the face by donning a sunny warm glamorous robe (all hail that confident yellow) and some fun bright nail polish (that you hope is being applied over a good base coat, which is a great addition to this gift). Worthy robes are hard to find - you might have better luck in person at stores. If the fab robe doesn't work out, this isn't a terrible substitute.

Theme One, Part Two:  Let's get beautiful

head bliss, face bliss, body bliss

You know those cold winter Saturdays or Sundays when it's just too cold to leave the house? Stay home and play with these lovely novelties. Who doesn't love at least the idea of a mini spa day, no wallet required. (Did it just occur to anyone else that it sounds like I'm writing for a women's magazine?) Add value to this gift by adding good warm knee socks.

Theme Two:  Stop bitchin about it

Subscription, to kitchen porn (online subscription equally desirable), AB book, apron to end all aprons

This is a unisex gift idea for anyone bitching about kitchen deficiencies. An almost identical gift could be made for a number of hobbies/complaints/whatsits. Add value to this gift by buying an item from that Alton Brown book. I really wonder what he recommends for digital meat thermometers. And this apron down there --- stop the electrons. Let's pause and covet. (I'll take one in Meadow and one in Ginger.)

Theme Three:  These A) yuppies don't need anything, or B) people sure love to walk, or C) people are nerds.

Doses of heaven in gift boxes:  Art Institute of Chicago, Chicago Botanic Garden

Memberships! Only an asshole wouldn't love a year-long membership to somewhere local and awesome. (OK, this particular theme may not be good for people-phobes, germ-phobes, and knee-pain sufferers.)

Theme Four:  I actually have been listening

My baby

You can shut up now. Here's the thing you felt was too expensive to throw your money at, but as my major gift to you, the cost makes sense, somehow. I may not love this but you sound like you really want it, so I'm totally covered if this is a bust. But in this case - these are the dopest sneakers and the dopest shall be had by thee, my dopest.

And thus concludes my 2013 gift-giving philosophy.

Peanut butter and lettuce sandwiches

The parents of our friends are always a little strange to be around, no? They had sex, and created your friend. You know this. How intimate! You feel a need to impress them so they trust you around their kid, yet you don't show off lest you be used to guilt trip their kids when you leave. "Well e.francis didn't think the math test was all that hard..."

Yet some parents are really special.

I've been struggling with what to call her since the day she got sick. She's not my friend's mom, although she is. She's not my friend, really. Let's call her a family friend. Let's call her Beatrix. She'd have liked that name.

Beatrix was a hippy in a small moderate town. She always made me call her Beatrix - even when I first met her back before my memory kicked in. She lived two blocks away for many years. She took us to fabric stores for hours and hours and hours. She had a sewing room. I saw her placenta once. She was always kind and smiling.

Mid-playtime she used to give us the choice of peanut butter and lettuce or cheese and lettuce sandwiches. I remember the first time I was faced with this question. What and what? But that's how she rolled. I always rolled with peanut butter while my sister and our friend favored cheese.

As an adult I still eat this sandwich (more the cheese version for some reason). I put salt and pepper in the middle of a very thick lettuce layer. Sometimes I use both peanut butter and cheese. Sometimes it's all-out gourmet.

I think of her every time, like tonight when I enjoyed this:

Beatrix died way too young this week. The day I found out I remember checking Google News and expecting a headline. A small part of me still expects a headline. Why isn't WGN covering this? Why not the Tribune? Beatrix has passed away, way too young, and that's just that?

That's just that.

Diane's dots

Diane Keaton oh so cleverly likes dots as well, I see. But one thing she doesn't seem to like is color. People who don't like color cannot be trusted. I'm watching you, Diane.

Diane Keaton on Pinterest

Diane's dots

832

I grew up in one house. It was, and remains, a great house. When I go back home it's still the home. Signs of how it crafted us are everywhere. Its foundation is my foundation. Its number was 832.

Nowadays seeing 832 fills me with warm, comforting feelings. The number almost has a smell. I love finding it randomly, like in hotel hallways and receipt subtotals and on digital clockfaces. 

In a world that (I can't verify but) I think is getting more stressful by the millisecond, 832 makes me happy. It's so simple and silly. It's nonsense.

I'll take it.

Fair finds

I'm not allowed to buy any more mugs. There's no room for more. Spending 30 bucks on a mug that I love from a craft fair is not allowed. But what if I were to break a few mugs. Accidentally. Then I might as well replace them with one that I love, right?

So here's my new strategy - at craft fairs, of which I frequent, if I love a shop I will take their card and add their website to a new folder on my Bookmark bar, the "ShopFair" folder. 

Behold: 

Thanks, Amazon, but I can handle my global wishlist by myself, thankyouverymuch.

This way I can remember the places that make my heart sing. When my nephew's birthday comes around I can remember those superhero masks. I can buy matching earrings to go with my birch bracelet. I can remember those rad leggings for friend X. When the time comes to buy myself or my loved ones something crafty, there's a starting point less intimidating than the entirety of Etsy. And if someone asks me what I might want for a gift, I can provide them with links of vetted shops, guaranteed to carry things I love that they can personally select from. Genius, I know.

masks, earrings, leggings, RGB

Now if I could only find that damn business card from that brilliant potter at the Penn State Arts Fest. I guess it will take a little longer to perfect my new protocol :(

Timeless comfy glamour

After quite the hiatus from SATC clothing raves, I'm ready to reengage. Topic - robes.

Carrie wears 2 or 3 robes (sometimes more than once!) that give me funny feelings. Just looking at their silky texture, their light, breezy sway, their inspirational patterns and colors, makes me want to traipse around in a clean apartment and see where the day takes me. Maybe I'll make toast and read a magazine from that pile. Maybe I'll paint my nails while watching When Harry Met Sally on a cool Fall day. Maybe I'll open that new bottle of wine and call a long distance friend. Maybe I'll organize my stationary. The perfect robe is the perfect start to any home bound activity. 

Your day or night can truly begin by slipping your clean body into a luxurious robe, the elegant cousin of the muumuu. Silk or modal, organic cotton or satin (nah, not satin), make it smooth and thin. Terry cloth not permitted! Make it flowery or abstract. Make it colorful in an obnoxious way that you have a sick affinity for. Make it kimono-style. Make is one size bigger than you need. Go barefoot, put on fun socks, or wear those heels you love but never have an occasion for. Just don't dress it down with granny slippers. This is not your granny's robe (unless your granny is Simon Doonan, you lucky little bitch).

After a reasonable amount of searching I realize a good robe is not so easy to come by unless you're willing to lay down some dough. Sure you can get one in scratchy, second rate satin. But the good kind, the slippery, luxe, feels so damn good against your skin kind... just think of it as an investment in timeless comfy glamour and endless possibilities. The cost per wear should whittle down to nothing. 

What I could find on Etsy. I'd love any of these -- but how dumb would it be to have to dry clean your robe, which I assume is necessary for silk? The one on the right is jersey and hooded.... mama like.

Airport friends

I was 21 when I went on my very first plane ride. It was Syracuse to Seattle via Jet Blue. As a kid with lots of siblings and an entire extended family living in one state, flying was completely out of the question. Vacations meant piling in the bench-front American-made car and heading to the beach. I always had a window seat in the back and was the resident pillow for my sleepy siblings. Someone had to stay awake and TALK TO YOUR FATHER SO HE DOESN'T DRIVE OFF THE ROAD AND KILL US ALL!!

Once, just once, my brother flew on a vacation sponsored by his friend's parents. They went to the Grand Canyon. The rest of us were so amazed, like he was turning into a unicorn in front of our eyes.

Fast forward 2 decades and now I don't just fly, I have flight routines. I park in the same places. I use the same queues. I eat the same organic tofu burritos (PHL) and sandwiches/tortas (MDW/ORD). I know where the filtered water bottle fillers are. I have favorite bathroom stalls.

Going along with being a kid who never flew is being a kid who learned that pinching pennies is the only way of life. Can I start you off with anything to drink? No thank you. Water is fine.

For my adult, employed, childless self, water is not fine.

Behold my airport best friends:

Malbec, Spicy Tanqueray Bloody Mary, and House Margarita (on the rocks with salt).

I imagine my (future) adult, employed, child-toting self will just order double.