Reunited With Bliss

In the summer of 1999, I was fifteen. I didn't own a car, I didn't have a banking account, my parents paid the bills and made the meals (although I enjoyed helping and baking on my own). I spent my time studying my schoolwork, going into town on trips with my Mom, reading and spending time with friends in the secluded and peaceful neighborhood where we lived in the country, blossoming with trees, farm pastures, birds, bees and soft breezes.

This particular summer was one I remember well. Life had been disconcertingly stressful the previous year and to be honest, it had been incredibly anxiety-ridden since my parents and I settled into a rural area of North Carolina in the early 90's. We were fresh off the proverbial boat from California, that far away exotic place that brought images of drug cartels, Hollywood degradation and New Age hippies into the minds of the locals. They made sure that we were aware of this, despite our conservative values and Christian faith. Worse, since my father is Mexican-American, it also meant several years tip-toeing around the landmines of post-1865 racism that seemed to literally surround our house. It was not until around that summer that all of these things began to slowly evaporate. I haven't a clue as to how. But I do know that this was when I began to relax and the person that I am today began to take shape. Silly at this sounds, I owe part of that to a magazine.

I was shopping with my mother in the grocery store sometime in late May/early June. We were waiting in line. I turned my head and saw a new magazine on the rack that I hadn't noticed before: "BLISS: Victoria". It caught my eye.

"What is so rare as a day in June?" the subscript implored of me. There was a lovely photo of a woman in a soft white dress of what looked like chiffon, holding the hand of a small girl. They were walking in some kind of lush green field bathed in bright sunshine, with pink and white roses pinned to the backs of their dresses. I picked it up and flipped through it a moment. I was a goner. I asked my mother if I could buy it and she nodded her approval.

Victoria Magazine ("Celebrating the Achievements of Women") was a guide to gracious living that I now realize was geared towards the woman of a certain age who had the means to buy Baccarat crystal and Etienne Aigner shoes. You could always count on an advertisement for wrinkle cream. It was also for the educated business woman with a Romantic sensibility who happened to love Europe, literature, decorating with antiques and cooking French cuisine. Despite my youth, this was what I identified with. This is who I aspired to become. Of course, the serious Donna Karen-New York-stockbroker aspect I could leave behind, but the breathtakingly beautiful photographs of New England landscapes, French country barns converted into homes and English estates was enough to draw my interest. There were ads for De Beers diamonds and high end furniture that all looked gorgeous. Even a winter-time ad for Folger's instant coffee looked like something out of a fairy tale. I quickly subscribed and looked forward each month to see how the editors would delight me next.

Then came September 2001. The economy nosedived, as did my parents' financial stability, as did everyone else's (my father works for an airline company - it would be our luck.) Victoria continued to publish until late 2003 and the content was becoming increasingly slim; less fanciful and attractive. There were fewer stories or photo-shoots set in Europe or Maine. Now they wanted their readers to get excited about a tiny boutique selling hand made soap in Phoenix, Arizona. The magazine declared bankruptcy, tersely apologized to its readers and promptly went silent. By now, I was in my early 20's, pursuing my English degree, working at a deli in town that I loathed and driving my mother's slightly dated car. I had a small bank account although there wasn't much in it. Life wasn't so relaxed anymore. I was much busier/stressed and had less time to think about gracious living or read Jane Austen novels under the pear tree in our front yard. Yet I still kept the magazines that I had read and looked over again and again during those years. When I was feeling down and disheartened about something, one of my ways of unwinding would be to put on some Tchaikovsky, make a cup of Earl Grey tea or hot chocolate and slowly flip through the 1999/2000 issues. This was when I was most happy in my girlhood and I wanted to smile and relive those moments. The faint scent from the paper perfume samples would stick to the pages and my hands; I could breathe them in while I turned the page and memories would float by. It meant a very, very great deal to me.

But then a few years later in 2008 when I was preparing to get married and move out of my parents' home, my father accidentally threw those 99/00/01 magazines out. The plastic bag where I had distractedly stored them one day in the hubbub of packing my things to move had been set in another room and in the process of spring cleaning, they had been tossed. I was sad, but too preoccupied at the moment to think of anything other than my new husband, my new life and my new (very stressful) full time job. My favorite calming pastime was no more. I still had the selection from '02/'03, but something about them just wasn't the same. For the last five years, I would remember those magazines now and again, but would then quickly dismiss those memories as being a product of my youth. I needed to grow up a bit and move on. Life was rolling along and I needed to gallop along with it, not get lost in reveries of what was, in all honesty, the product of a late 20th century economy that would and will never return. Victoria actually returned to publication in 2007, but I was now too cynical and angry to read it. Their budget was obviously diminutive in size and it showed in the new style. It wasn't the same. Besides, pastries from Provence and delicate linens? Only the unabashedly wealthy could enjoy those now.

Fast forward to this past week. My husband and I are planning on moving this summer if all goes well. A few days ago, as I was playing around with decorating ideas from those '02/'03 issues I still keep, I decided on a whim to see if I could locate back issues of Victoria online. Imagine my shock when I found the exact ones I had been missing on Etsy. Just like that. No fanfare or anything. There were just there. For $3.50 each. I did not hesitate, picked up my credit card (because my bank account is now that of a working adult) and ordered them. A few months are missing from the collection, but I don't care. Perhaps I'll find them again in the future. But I just got the package yesterday and I am beyond thrilled. It's comforting to see those pages again with images and text that were etched in my memory so vividly for so long.

I have been reunited with bliss. It may be silly, whimsical or maybe just nostalgic. But it means so much to me. It's almost as if a part of me returned home. What I thought was gone forever has come back. And this time, I'll be keeping them in a safe spot.

I'm not so cynical anymore. Things that one may nowadays associate with snobbery or elitism (in other words, things that are simply quality or feminine) are no longer looked down upon by me. There's nothing wrong in wanting to make tea-scented cookies. It's a cookie. It is not a product of Imperialism/Colonialism or any other ism. It smells/tastes nice. Big deal! Anyone can make them, you know. Pretty things are pretty things. I may not be wallowing in expensive china or clothing, but it's fun to look at them and get ideas on how to decorate a dining room or what new blooms to plant in a garden. I'm at a point in my life where I want to unwind and appreciate each day as it comes.

In all of this, I thank the Lord for that magazine. No, it's not corny. It helped me to establish my identity and I don't mean as an upper-class woman who shops for a living. What I mean is it helped to solidify my interests and hobbies. Besides writing, teaching and editing, my other career is that of a homemaker. Victoria inspired me in my future in that role. I'm glad He gave me the chance to notice the magazine rack that day as a fifteen year old. At twenty nine, I have come a long way in work, academics and as a happily married gal, but inside, I haven't changed a bit. I'm still an innocent girl who loves innocent things and enjoys the small pleasures that life on earth affords us all. I have no intention of ever changing. Thank you, Lord. You brought a smile to a girl's heart once again. :-)

What did I tell ya?

Read this: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-22722999

I'm not the only one comparing Gatsby to the Great Recession.

I gave in and saw "Gatsby"

I cried once (not at the luxurious shirts, but the right background music at the right time). Laughed about three times (thanks, Toby). I reveled in the clear-air-&-sunshine-after-a-spring-rain incandescence of the cinematography, as if Luhrmann were trying to show us what the atmosphere looked like before pollution. *That* was worth the price of admission. However, as with all of Luhrmann's tilt-a-whirl films, you have about 3 seconds to visually take in the texture of a scene that should require about 10 at least. Most of the  story is squished into 2 hours and portions of the plot that would have been sumptuous to watch are simply told in a brief flashback. You don't really get a great deal of visual detail to linger on when it matters. For instance, Nick and Jordan are supposedly having tea in one scene...but we never see what's on the plates or where the cups are. The camera focuses on their faces. And the scene lasts all of about 30 seconds. Again: Gatsby recalls his youth growing up poor in the midwest and in another ubiquitous flashback we see another 3 second shot of a wagon/hovel in the middle of the plains - then it's gone and fades into something else entirely. More detail...please? I'm even having a difficult time remembering what I saw because it sped by so quickly.

Going along with my "death of American culture" kick from last time, this swift way of story telling felt as if were mirroring an Internet/texting culture. Disposable bytes of data that are not necessarily saved. It'sherethenit'sgone. One saves letters, birthday cards, love notes -  like we did in the early 90's, remember? But one doesn't save texts. Or emails (in print form, anyway). Maybe I'm an old fogey before my time, but I like digesting films like I do a good meal - slowly, one piece at a time.

It was all quite a triumph to observe, even if most of it was computer-generated. The acting was fair, that was all. In sum, I found it quite easy to become emotionally involved in what was transpiring, even if it did flash by. That, my friends, is good movie-making.

The 3 second shot.

...What Gatsby?

West Egg - This one still from the film sums it all up.

I read Fitzgerald's novel many years ago, as an undergrad. I remember little of it, I admit. I leaned towards the Romantics and 19th century Victorian literature in college (and now) more than 20th century American, so the fictional world of West Egg deteriorated in my memory rapidly after I set down the book. The Art Deco aesthetics of the 1920's are a particular favorite of mine and I truly adore the jazz artists of that decade than perhaps any other, but little else can grab my attention about that era. I have always perceived those ten years as a dizzying, frenetic high speed train oblivious to its future wreck.

So in that spirit (ha!), here are my ideas on Baz Luhrmann's film, which I may or may not see this coming week:

• The Soundtrack: Music plays a big part of my life, both in the classical and modern vein. I drive to music, write to music, and I rely on it for so many daydreams and ideas. I detest and despise most Top 40 songs, save for a very select few, mostly for moral and artistic reasons. So I wasn't too thrilled with the music for this adaptation, as much as I knew what my reaction would be. Luhrmann doesn't exactly specialize in period accuracy (or does he? See below). It's mostly filled with a lot of (c)rap artists and chicks like Lana Del Ray, with whom I have a love-hate relationship (long story short: I like her retro style, not her music). Her song "Young and Beautiful" is tear-inducing, until she starts adding in lyrics that make absolutely no sense: "channeling angels in the new age now..." Huh? Jack White's "Love is Blindness" has a hypnotic killer opening that effuses cool and slow-motion visuals in the mind's eye...until he starts screaming into the mic. Once I realized that this was probably a song about suicide, I turned it off. However! We do have Emeli Sande singing Beyonce's"Crazy in Love" set to a 1920's jazz sound that immediately caught my attention as a delicious fusion between 2003 and 1923. I learned how to dance the original Charleston last year; wiggling and shimming around to this was good fun, but it lasted all of 3 or 4 minutes. I admit changing the lyric from "Got me hoping you'll page me" to "Got me hoping you'll phone me right now" would have helped if you wanted to give it an historically correct retro flair, but one can't have everything.

•  The Product Placement: Go to the Gatsby film website and click on "Guide To Style". Not only did the art directors and costume designers delve into the Brooks Brothers' 1920's archives for creating the mens' costumes for the film, but they also used Tiffany & Co. original designs for jewelry, et al. Now you can buy the same Daisy Buchanan jewels and Nick Carraway sweaters at both establishments. It seems The Plaza hotel in New York is also jumping on the band wagon with extravagant 20's-inspired food, drinks, rooms, menus, desserts and on and on.

•  In Sum: I could wax poetic on how I see the film's popularity as analogous to our current Great Depression Part Deux: nothing teaches you more about the present than a bit of history. Fitzgerald's fictional concoction of drunken desolation sans morality is glamorous to look at. It's excessive, expensive, chic and cool. But I also think it's like looking at an early 20th century version of our current generation. 

I have little hope for today's youth (I am 29 years old saying this). They drink themselves into alcoholism by their 18th year and are inundated by a post-modern nihilism that saturates the media (music, film, television, the Internet), which they constantly engage in; it is a philosophy that is so bereft of purpose and joy that the current rate of suicides in people of high school and college age comes as little surprise to me. I see it in the "who gives a ___?" attitudes of the young people I encounter on a daily basis, which truly saddens me.

I think this is reflected well in Luhrmann's film especially. Part of this is his choice of gutter music from the likes of Jay-Z, Kanye West, Will.i.am (sorry, dude, your name is William) to capture the youth demographic, which is one thing I really dislike. This is because with that one exception I spoke of above, setting modern day rap music to a film set in the 20's is ridiculous. This was the era of musical giants of the Jazz age. They were *real* musicians. It's a slap in the face to not at least include some period pieces of music in the film to give a nod to authenticity.

The decade of the 20's was the calm before the storm that hit in the 30's. In 2013, we are already in our own financial tempest. It all comes together in one way or another.

I'll enjoy the costumes and other visuals if I see the film (and the acting, naturally), but that's about it. Let's hope for the best! Maybe Luhrmann will be smart enough to thrown in some Bix Biederbecke or Jelly Roll Morton to the soundtrack.

Shakespeare and Science

O Gentle Readers,

I've been gone a month, but oh what a busy one it was. Blogging had to get tossed on the back burner for a while as hubby Dave and I were busy remembering lines and stage blocking for the Abbey Players' production of Shakespeare's "As You Like It". It was marvelous good fun and a gorgeous production! We'll definitely be back on track to be in more plays now that Grad school is out of the way and our schedules are cemented, more or less. The female members of our troupe went ga-ga over our costumes, which were either spot-on Elizabethan or whimsical and fairy-like. We owe it all to AnnaMarie Gatto, our multi-talented Belmont Abbey seamstress. See below. ;-)

"Am an attendant Lady, one that will do to swell a progress, start a scene or two, advise the Prince." - With apologies to T.S. Eliot. ;)

The set, which is a based on the stage at the Globe Theater in London. This is will be our permanent set for all future Abbey Player Shakespeare productions. Dig it.

However, aside from flitting around and curtsying in pretty dresses, I was also working with my fine editorial team to get out the early Winter 2013 issue of BAC's Crossroads Magazine, our alumni publication. I'm the Interim Editor for this academic year, which I was (and am) most happy to take on! I had missed flexing my professional writing muscles, with nary a cramp in my fingers. Here's the online issue if you wish to take a look! Our main feature for this season is on the science departments (Math, Chemistry, etc.) at the college, along with highlights of the last year.

So there you have it! Lots more happening this summer, but it should prove to be peaceful at best. Another post shall come soon enough, so stay tuned, as always! :-)

It's been a while...so here's part of Season 1, Episode 3 of "How to be Britsh at Home"

So sorry! I'll be back on my regular blogging schedule very shortly. For now, here's the latest Anglophile news:

1. Many kudos to Anglotopia for posting a major listing of all British-themed stores in the US. I found one selling UK food about 30 minutes from my house. Bless you, Jonathan Thomas!

2. New London neighborhood-themed chocolate bars. I never visited any of these parts of London when I visited there back in 2011, mostly because of a lack of time, but I wish I had! Perhaps next time.

And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming:

I'll cut to the chase. I've listed all the ways I keep happy in America whilst yearning and lusting after England. Here's some more ways to pacify oneself!

1. Learn to dance the in old English style. Try Contra Dancing: this is a hybrid of English Country Dancing (think Austen) and country American Square Dancing. Maybe a bit of Irish thrown in for good measure. This is particularly popular in the South East United States and it keeps you fit and trim along with keeping a smile plastered to your face while you dance. ;-) Look up your own chapter/Contra dance community in your area. Mine is here.

2. When all else fails, revert back to your 5 year old self and play pretend. This will be easier if you live somewhere that has a countryside that, in the right kind of weather/lighting, can look like Britain.. I live in North Carolina, which has plenty of forests, farms and rolling foothills to stand in as a backdrop to one's flights of fancy about the Isles. Find a nice spot on a back road somewhere, breathe in, play some Celtic tunes in your car. Live in your imagination for a while and stay there until you're ready to come out. No, I'm not insane. I'm a writer. Our breed must utilize our imaginations in order to keep our craft fresh...and to stay, well, sane. ;-)

So there you have it. I'll post some more silliness and somber sayings later on. Cheers for now!

My hubby on the Tely!

My husband, who teaches Catholic Theology, was on our local news program this morning talking about the Pope's resignation. I'm proud of him, of course! :-) Give it a looksie!