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June was a difficult month around my house. Things happened that turned my best laid plans upside down and I’m still playing catch-up. One of the things I’ve been playing catch-up with are the member posts here on BlogHer. Here’s a selection of must-read posts from June that you might have missed the first time around, just like I did.
Donna Freedman reflected on taking her daughter to an Ani concert and why that concert t-shirt means so much to her.
Five years ago Abby donated a bunch of clothes to a charity thrift shop. She gave me first pick, though, and I took the T-shirts. I thought it was because, having recently left a bad long-term marriage, I wanted to keep positive messages nearby. I now know that wasn’t the real reason.
For as long as I can remember, my mother has had her sewing machine table and chair. The cushion comes off the chair and there's a storage space there where she kept her button box. I remember spending hours as a kid sifting through those buttons. It was a memory I had all but forgotten about until I read RosieGirlDreams’ post on the beauty of buttons.
As my girls and I spilled each bag out on the living room floor, we thumbed through all the unique buttons. So many to pause and wonder at. Oh, the stories. Matter of fact, history. In the form of these teeny circular pieces that have held generations of clothes together. Big wooden buttons. Teeny metal ones. Wild buttons.
Raise your hand if your mother ever looked at something you were sporting and said something along the lines of, “I guess they are OK for you, but I wouldn’t be caught dead with them!” Feelingbeachie's mother did and a manicure changed her tune.
When she was in New York last month, I took her for a manicure. True to form, I selected a lively shade of turquoise from Essie’s 2010 resort collection (Turquoise & Caicos). Of course, my mom rolled her eyes at my selection, as she picked a pinkish muted beige shade. Like mother, like daughter, I made my dislike for her color known.
Once the manicurists began to apply the polish, my nails catch the attention of the other patrons due to their uniqueness. My mom’s nails totally blended into her Floridian tan hands.
Do you ever do that thing where you suddenly realize that you are a having a Moment? One of those everyday times that somehow looms larger and into crisp focus simply because you’ve decided to pay attention to it? Catch the Kids had one of those on the ferry home.
The people around me were marked only by their ordinariness. A dark-haired man, overweight and sullen, listening to his iPod. Careful not to make eye-contact with anyone. A student? Heading home after not-so-successful exams? Two European ladies talking loudly in heavy accents. They laugh with the heartiness of old friends. When did they meet? And where have they been?
And in June we celebrated fathers. Pamela Jeanne shared the story of her father, the prom king.
The spring of 1981, though, shaped an enduring memory for me. When no boy invited me to the senior prom, my father conferred with my mother and came up with a plan. My braces newly removed, my colt-like figure still acquiring grace, he knew my ego could bruise like a peach.
Here’s to concert t-shirts, buttons, family and taking the time to notice that you are making memories.
Contributing Editor Sassymonkey also blogs at Sassymonkey and Sassymonkey Reads.
