Summer Sundress

Mother Nature has been announcing the arrival of summer in the mid-Atlantic region of the United States with an intense heatwave.   All week long, temperatures have been in the 90s with extreme humidity, making it feel like 100 degrees Fahrenheit outside. Midday sunshine mixed with low pressure and so much moisture in the air has caused volatility in the atmosphere in the afternoons, resulting in pop-up thunderstorms every day around 4:00 p.m. All that rain is good for my garden, and also for the grass seed I planted where dirt was filled in following repairs a few weeks ago to my swimming pool piping. The wind and clouds reduce the temperature, too, making the evenings around here downright pleasant.

It’s not so good, however, when one is planning what to wear to work in the morning. Sultry. Steamy. Downright sticky. These are just some of the adjectives which came to mind almost every day this week as I tried to figure out how to dress for a 90-minute commute from my home in northwest Baltimore County to the Library of Congress in Washington D.C. by automobile, subway train and a lot of walking.

My answer to the relentless swelter on Thursday was a beautiful, blue sundress. The sheer polyester crepe, by She Scool, was a gift from my best friend’s mother last summer which arrived in a box of upscale textiles Joyce sent me when she realized she no longer wore them. I selected this romantic piece primarily for its inherent breeziness; the built-in bra and slip meant I needed no additional layers underneath. The sophisticated blues, purples and pinks with a touch of white seemed instantly refreshing.

I added a shimmery, open-weave Kroshetta sweater in a mauve knit by Papillion which was also a gift from Joyce last year. Finishing with blue faux-snakeskin sandals by City Streets and a bracelet and earrings of azure beads from Macy’s, I added only my grandmother’s heirloom necklace of enameled navy petals and silvered leaves to complete my "frosty" look.

Never mind the oppressive humidity and scorching heat. I was as cool as could be in my pretty blue sundress.

Cheers,

Lynell

Mini-Spa Day

What better way to celebrate a happy prognosis than with a sumptuous facial and mini-massage? My dear friends, Mary and Klaus, who have been through the proverbial wringer these past two years as Klaus battled esophageal cancer that effectively closed his throat and caused him incredible abdominal pain, have received the thrilling news after months of chemotherapy, radiation therapy and hyperbaric oxygen therapy that Klaus’s recent PET/CT scan is now showing "nothing of concern". Group sessions at a day-hospital and a new eating regimen courtesy of Baltimore nutritionist/herbalist Rebecca Snow have restored Klaus to such robust health that his oncology team is thrilled at the metamorphosis.

 

One of the side effects for Klaus of a restricted esophageal passage has been a constant, voracious and near-insatiable hunger, torturous and anxiety-inducing in its intensity, the body’s reaction, no doubt, to primal fear that sustenance would no longer be forthcoming. His initial meeting with the nutritionist a few weeks ago was a revelation. Ms. Snow suggested supplement-laden smoothies made from kale and other whole foods twice daily, accompanied by meals packed with powerhouse fruits, vegetables and legumes. After just a week on the new diet, Klaus saw his constant "roaring hunger" disappear, along with the associated distress. He has regained the weight he lost during the cancer treatments and his skin has resumed a healthy glow. Not only that, his jovial and witty personality has returned. The old Klaus is back!



Mary, left, Klaus, and I visit in their living room before driving
to our spa treatments a short distance away.

So the three of us celebrated Sunday by having facials and massages at the Steiner Institute of Esthetics (Steiner Institute), a "beauty school" hidden at the back of a sprawling office complex near the Baltimore-Washington International airport. Mary and Klaus are no strangers to this school and were eager to introduce me to their favorite estheticians. After filling out forms designed to reveal product allergies or skin issues, each of us was assigned to a student who led us into a vast communal area filled with massage tables covered in soft white sheets.

As a steam machine gently opened my pores, my esthetician, longtime nursing assistant, Kelly Thomas, quietly described the apricot masque and mango scrub she would be using on my face. Heavenly scents filled my nostrils as each step of the facial was applied, followed by a soothing massage of my neck, shoulders, arms and hands that left me feeling as though I had not a care in the world.

Alas, I was forbidden to take any photos at the school out of privacy concerns for the other clients, but I can attest to the quality of the service I received from my esthetician, who will graduate in October. Mary and Klaus are equally enamored of their respective skin-care students, vowing to attend the graduation ceremony of Klaus’s beloved esthetician in two weeks’ time, and to follow her to her first paying job as a graduate.



Maressa with her husband, Tommy, and sons, Jack, and Nick

At a time of extreme distress around any cancer diagnosis, we tend to pull back into our nuclear family units, so traumatic is life’s disruption by a monster that strikes so indiscriminately.  The beast is currently attacking my dear cousin Diana’s daughter-in-law, Maressa, who is valiantly battling glioblastoma multiforme (GBM), a rare form of brain cancer.  Maressa just began a clinical trial yesterday in which she has a 50-50 chance of being given a newly designed drug called Rindopepimut.  Or maybe a placebo.  The near constant doctor appointments and medical regimens were an overwhelming burden on Mary and Klaus, so Mary reached out.  Regular readers of my blog might recall that, for two months last fall, I picked Klaus up every Tuesday on my way to work at the Library of Congress and dropped him off at his hyperbaric oxygen therapy treatments. Other friends either dropped Klaus off or picked him up on alternate days. In this small way, many hands came together to help Mary and Klaus deal with the exhausting toll that caregiving exacts on a patient and his loved ones. It made me feel good to help, Mary got some much-needed relief, and Klaus had somebody new to talk to on his daily commutes to therapy. Talk about win-win!

A friend of Tommy and Maressa's,
professional photographer
Christine Plamann, captured
this incredibly romantic image

My cousin’s son, Tommy, and his wife, Maressa, are also reaching out. They are a young couple, with two adorable sons not yet in grade school. Having such an aggressive brain cancer strike Maressa at such a tender stage in all their lives seems especially cruel. It is truly fortunate that both Tommy and Maressa have a large support system of friends and relatives in their native Milwaukee who have stepped forward to help with transportation, meals and babysitting. But there is more to do.

Maressa has just completed her first round of chemo and radiation treatments and was very lucky to be accepted into a clinical trial pertaining to this particular cancer. And there is another therapy, available only in Germany, which would require Maressa to stay in Cologne for the four-month duration of the treatment. Tommy and Maressa’s friends and family have started a fund to help raise money for Maressa’s mounting medical expenses, including the dendritic cell therapy in Germany if it should come to that.  We are hoping it won't.

Interestingly, Mary and Klaus have spent a lot of time in Germany and have contacts in that country. Mary was one of my first friends to volunteer to translate for Tommy and Maressa, place want-ads in the newspaper there for a place to rent, and otherwise help find a place for Maressa to stay if she ends up having to go to Germany for treatment. Fascinating how fighting the instinct to keep all the turmoil and tension close to the chest and instead reaching out for help brings humanity together in such beautiful ways, crossing family lines, state lines, time zones and even continents.

Maressa battles her cancer with
grace and beauty 

If you would like to make a donation to help Tommy and Maressa with their medical bills, you can do so at this site (teammaressa). I made a donation, and it felt really good.



My dream is for Tommy and Maressa to one day go out for facials and massages to celebrate the remission of Maressa’s cancer, just as Mary and Klaus and I did on Sunday afternoon.  It was a perfect way to celebrate a happy prognosis. I want Tommy and Maressa to experience this quiet luxury, too.

Cheers,

Lynell

Summer Solstice Soiree

Ah, yes. The first day of summer. And what better way to celebrate the solstice than by attending a quarterly gathering of tremendously imaginative people who come together four times a year as the seasons change to present their latest projects and subject their work to critique and suggestions from their peers. The assembly isn’t limited to any particular medium, art form or subject, though the group was originally started by architects in Baltimore, Maryland, who sought a venue outside their own offices to present their latest designs; a place to bounce ideas off of like-minded artisans. The core members, who maintain a Facebook page and a website coordinated by communications professional Cheryl Tussing, make the get-together available to anyone who wants to present their work (baltimoredesignsoiree.org).

My Vidalia onion dip with paprika-spiked
crudites was a big hit with the guests

The location varies, too. On the Autumnal equinox two Septembers ago, when I hosted the soiree at my rustic farmhouse in rural Baltimore County, I "presented" a new walk-in closet I designed and converted from a spare bedroom (Closet Conversion). Over the years the soiree has featured such diverse talent as a designer of gorgeous hair accessories (http://DeaDreads.etsy.com) and the Baltimore Rock Opera Society (http://baltimorerockopera.org) in addition, of course, to a core collection of architects and graphic designers whose latest works never fail to thrill and inspire.

This past Friday night’s summer solstice soiree was hosted by Jesse Turner, a purveyor of lighting design, interior planning and construction management whose main focus is building incredibly intricate scale models of architectural projects big and small, retail and corporate, residential and recreational. In the historic Meadow Mill section of Baltimore City, Jesse’s Lighting, Interior Design & Construction Management company (http://lidcm.com) is nestled in a corner of an old grainery, its twin metal silos still gracing one end of the stone building.

Sharing the vast warehouse space are three separate woodworking entrepreneurs, all friends of Jesse’s from the days, thirty years ago, when he, too owned a woodworking company, and a potter whose functional and decorative clay works could be seen neatly arrayed on shelves as we entered through the building’s loading dock and walked through the cavernous space to LIDCM headquarters at the back.

Jesse Turner describes his passion for architectural model-
making before leading visitors on a tour of his studio

The first day of summer was hot, hot, hot, and this was an ancient building with no air conditioning. I had offered to assist Jesse in setting up and serving light refreshments, typically offered by whomever is hosting the event. Choosing my attire as much for coolness as for fashion, I had selected a cotton sarong with a high-low hemline in a dramatic batik of ochre loops on a deep red and black ground with golden embroidery outlining the sweeping coils.

With its halter-style ties at the neck and smartly smocked bodice, the simple summer dress, by Advance Apparels, was a cool counterpoint to the sultry evening temperature. I was lucky to have found the shift at my local farmers market a few weeks prior.  Paired with low-heeled sandals by Limited Collection that I picked up in Ireland last summer and fun costume jewelry intended to commemorate the halfway point in the year of the snake, I was ready to transform a corner of this rough hewn space into a venue suitable for a gathering of artisans and appetizers.


This 1/16th scale model of a shopping
center in Ohio features lifelike buildings
which are lighted from within

A large piece of sturdy foam core laid across two industrial-strength saw-horses formed a "table" on which I set a platter of raw crudités I had treated with smoked paprika, lime zest and other spices, surrounding a bowl of dip made with fresh Vidalia onions I had caramelized the evening before. Beside the crisp veggies I set a hollowed bread bowl filled with homemade spinach dip, around which I piled cubes from a garlic-encrusted loaf. After filling a tub with ice to chill wine and beer, I busied myself arranging chairs in front of a large computer screen on which some of the artists would be presenting their work.


Urban planner Craig Purcell displayed
his colorful abstract paintings

With glasses of wine and plates of food in hand, more than twenty people gathered around the host as he introduced himself and described his love of model-making. Jesse gave the visitors a short tour of his studio, which featured his latest work, a 1/16^th scale model of Liberty Town Shopping Center, freshly back from its star turn at the International Council of Shopping Centers (ICSC) annual convention in Las Vegas, where it garnered comments from clients and attendees alike as "best model at the show".

Harrison Demchick read
from his novel

Once a circuit of the design space was concluded, Jesse’s guests took their seats in front of the computer’s monitor, and other artists who had signed up to present projects took their turns. One of Jesse’s employees, the talented Jen Herchenroeder, showed a collection of her illustrations and graphic art, followed by architect Craig Purcell, who presented abstract paintings he takes great delight in creating after long days spent within the gridded confines of urban planning. A budding author, Harrison Demchick, read aloud from his latest book, The Listeners, published by Bancroft Press, after which Ed Mormile displayed images of photographs and artwork he offers for sale on his website www.HumbleSpectrum.com. Designer Kevin Fitzgerald rounded out the evening with an inspired lamp design, a prototype of which he had recently received from China.

Kevin Fitzgerald showed
off his bamboo lamp

There is no shortage of amazing creativity in this world, and I am humbled by the talent and vision demonstrated at each turn of the seasons right here in my own little corner of the planet. The solstice soiree was an exciting way to celebrate the first day of summer 2013.

Cheers,

Lynell

Jungle Jazz

I can’t believe it’s been almost exactly a year since I last wore my beloved jungle-print threads by Danny & Nicole (see Urban Jungle Gypsy), which I bought while working my way through college in the 1970s in northern California. With its sheer, flowing fabric and über-feminine vibe, I fell in love with the summery dress the moment I saw it on the rack, despite the unusual color combination of olive and brown with dark orange and turquoise.

To put a fresh spin on my outfit this year, I chose different jewelry for my commute Thursday to the Library of Congress Washington D.C. from my home in northwest Baltimore County, Maryland. Instead of olive and brown pearls, I donned a necklace and earrings of green and amber glass beads on a black chain by Mixit, which I purchased on sale at JCPenney many years ago.

With a cognac leather belt and super comfortable stiletto heels by Guess (I know its incongruous to say super-comfortable and stiletto in the same breath, but they really are!), a zebra-wood bracelet I’ve had forever, and an avocado-hued headscarf, I headed out the door into a brilliant, sunshiny day, the very last day of spring, as a matter of fact.

Cheers,

Lynell

Lemonade

Long ago I converted my
grandmother's clip earrings to pierced

The day was sultry; the sun peeked through clouds which occasionally gave way to steamy drizzle.  The last thing I wanted to do was wear long pants or a jacket to work. Fortunately, since receiving several boxes of hand-me-down clothes from my best friend's mother, Joyce, last summer, I have enjoyed an abundance of high-quality, perfectly fitting apparel from which to create my daily outfits.

My choice for Tuesday's commute form Baltimore County to the Library of Congress was from one of those boxes; a cool pair of lemon-colored shorts by Austin Reed Petites, which I paired with my own ribbed tank by International Concepts (I.N.C.) from Macy's, embellished with ruffles and rhinestones around the neckline. I chose strappy platform heels by City Streets from JCPenney to elongate my legs and a skinny leather belt from The Limited to give my ensemble a bit more polish.

For jewelry, I plucked a vintage crystal beaded necklace, earrings and bracelet from my jewelry box that once belonged to my maternal grandmother.   I grabbed a fun white multi-zippered handbag from Claire's to complete the look.

A steamy day, yes.  But I was cool as lemonade in my tailored pale yellow shorts.  Thanks, Joyce!
Cheers,
Lynell

West Side Story

I was a gangly four-year-old when my parents enrolled me in ballet lessons in southern California. Preparing for a recital at a local venue near my home in South Pasadena, my young classmates and I practiced our very best first, second and third positions as we scurried back and forth around our instructor in time to long forgotten music.

I don’t have much memory of my early childhood. But I do remember being up on what seemed like a grand stage with the instructor and my fellow classmates on the evening of the performance. Our teacher was dressed in a "mother hen" costume made of yellow feathers. She wore a bonnet with a fabric beak tied above and below her chin. All we little girls were dressed in "eggshell" costumes, our legs sticking out the bottoms of poufy fabric spheres. We wore broad, curved white hats on our heads made to look like the tops of the shells.

I don’t recall how many minutes our performance lasted or if the audience liked it. I don’t recall what happened immediately after the recital or if I made any mistakes. Somehow I returned to civilian clothes and joined my parents and my younger brother in the audience, where a stage production of the musical West Side Story was about to begin. This could not have been the official Broadway musical, because that show played at the Los Angeles Philharmonic auditorium in July of 1959. Not only would tickets to a musical at that classic venue have been too expensive for my parents’ modest budget, but I would have been not yet three years old, probably a little young to be pirouetting and pliéing in an eggshell costume on such a large stage.

I don’t recall much about that evening’s production of West Side Story. My parents encouraged my brother and me to "go right to sleep" as I’m certain they considered the content of this avant-garde production far too mature for our tender ages. And I probably did fall fast asleep, but not before observing, and being bowled over by, the incredibly deep, dramatic colors of the set design in the opening scene: wild magenta, purple, orange and pink; a row of teenage boys in silhouette lined up on one side of the stage and a row of girls on the other (or so it seemed from my diminutive vantage point).

The drama of those shadowy figures silhouetted against such rich, saturated colors made a big impression on my four-year-old brain. Indeed, it is all I remember about my first and only look at the musical West Side Story. Until Saturday night.

Now firmly planted on the opposite coast, I was thrilled when my local philharmonic, the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra, put West Side Story on their playbill for the 2012-2013 season. I made sure to get tickets to what would be my final trip to the Joseph P. Meyerhoff Symphony hall before the orchestra’s 2013 summer break.

With sleeves hanging
down, my maxi is a
cool summer shift

I chose my outfit carefully, selecting a floor-length summer maxi in palest beige which my girlfriend, Jan, picked up on a trip to Morocco many

years ago and gave to me when she realized she never wore it anymore. While subtle in color, the folds of the long gown create lots of drama. Extra fabric with an armhole on each side allows the wearer to bring the material up and, sliding an arm through, form deeply draping sleeves from what moments before had been a sleeveless frock.

Against these yards of otherwise unadorned oatmeal cloth, I strung my most elaborate "statement" necklace, a jumble of branch coral in fiery orange alternating with fat blister pearls and shimmering crystals which was handmade by jewelry designer Lisa Davin for last summer’s biggest Baltimore street festival, Artscape.



It was warm in the Meyerhoff auditorium, and the
performance by the BSO was hot, hot, hot!



Pulling on sky-high platform T-strap heels by Aldo, I added earrings and a bracelet of vibrant orange shells by Mixit from JCPenney, a sparkly cocktail ring I found in Las Vegas two years ago and a vintage ecru leather envelope that I bought when I still lived in California in the 1970s.

The original stage production of West Side Story ran for 732 Broadway performances from 1957 to 1958 before going on national tour in 1959. With music by Leonard Bernstein, lyrics by Stephen Sondheim and choreography by Jerome Robbins, the story of forbidden love between teenage members of two rival New York City gangs was loosely based on Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. Members of the Puerto Rican Sharks, taunted by the Polish-American Jets, provide a gloomy, inner-city theme against which sophisticated music and extended dance scenes made this dark tale of social rivalry a smash hit; downright provocative for its time.

While Natalie Wood was lovely as she lip-synched her songs, the dancing ability and athleticism of the young cast could not be denied. There were some other names I recognized: Rita Moreno, just starting her career, played the Puerto Rican gang leader’s girlfriend. John Astin of Addams Family fame played "Glad Hand", an inept chaperone at a dance in one of the first scenes. In all, my evening with the characters in West Side Story was a thrilling, if a bit corny, look at what was relevant to movie goers in 1960 America. The score, expertly executed Saturday night by the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra under the capable baton of Maestra Marin Alsop, was fabulous. And I finally got to see what those brilliant pinks, oranges and purples, which made such a lasting impression on me when I was four, were all about.

Cheers,

Lynell

Green Day Shorts

I can remember when my niece, Diana, born in 1986, was old enough to want to listen to rock and roll. She liked the band, Green Day, whose own start came just a year after Diana’s birth, in 1987. They basically grew up together. I wasn’t into punk rock and could find nothing particularly captivating about Green Day’s music, although I did like the band’s name. Just the same, the band and my beautiful niece grew and thrived and became what they are today: successful at making their way in the world.

Being somewhat older than the band and my niece, my listening preferences tend more toward acoustic guitar, the blues, and classical music. With or without my affection, however, Green Day became one of the best-selling groups of all time, having sold over 75 million albums worldwide, garnering five Grammy awards and a Tony nomination for a stage adaptation of their 2010 rock opera, American Idiot. At the same time, my niece grew into a beautiful young woman who is currently enrolled in medical school. I couldn’t be more proud of her.

And none of that has anything to do with anything, except that I decided to wear green on Thursday, which made me think of the band, which made me think of my niece’s affection for their music years ago. The forest-green "skirt-like" shorts I chose to wear to work are more than a decade older than my niece and the Green Day band. These tailored shorts, by Honors, hail from the 1970s. I bought them while I was working my way through college selling big-ticket electronics (video and audio equipment) at my local JCPenney store in northern California. Their summery linen fabric wrinkles as soon as I sit down, yet they are so comfortable – and so flattering -- that I just keep on wearing them. I’ve replaced the zipper at least once, and the buttons on several occasions. Still, like the band, my shorts continue to receive rave reviews.



I bought this serpentine stone in Switzerland and paired it
with black beads and a gold chain I had at home to make a
simple ensemble



Thursday I paired the culottes with a camouflage-inspired Tee by Style & Co. for Macy’s. I added a homemade necklace of polished green Serpentine stone that I bought in Zermatt, Switzerland in 2006, which I put together with earrings made of simple black beads and a bracelet of Connemara marble I bought in southern Ireland last summer. Finishing my look with gladiator sandals by Limited Collection that I also bought in Ireland and a skinny belt with embellished brass studs from Kohl’s, I ventured out into a warm, verdant spring day… a very "green day".

Cheers,

Lynell

"Attack your instruments. Don’t let them attack you" ~ Bille Joe Armstrong of Green Day

Cool As A Cucumber

It was a study in contrasts.  The previous evening my Weather Alert radio crackled with near constant alarms about dangerous thunderstorms in my area of north central Maryland, widespread flooding across roads as nearby rivers and creeks exceeded their banks, damaging winds and, then, a tornado, one of several that would touch down near and in Baltimore over the course of several nerve-wracking hours on Monday.  I had left my evening yoga class early, not really knowing why, with only a persistent sensation that I had a lot of writing to do and I wanted to get to it.  Oddly, there were no other cars on the road as I made the three-mile trip from the gym to my home in northwest Baltimore County.  It was only 7:30 in the evening, a little early for the entire population of my community to be turned in for the night. 

My car radio issued the first heads-up about a line of severe thunderstorms heading in my direction. But it was when I got home that my attention soon turned to urgent announcements from my area-specific Weather-Alert radio, designed by the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Association (NOAA) and sold by Radio Shack.  A tornado had touched down about ten miles directly south of me, spawned by a storm that was headed directly for my neighborhood.  “Take shelter immediately” came the hair-raising directive.

There aren’t many “safe-shelter” options in my 150-year-old farmhouse.  The hand-dug basement, hollowed out beneath my kitchen floor in the 1930s when electricity arrived in my community for the first time, is open to the crawlspace on two sides. It would hardly shelter me from the elements, and offered too many opportunities in its many nooks and crannies for the cats to evade observation.  But the house itself, a simple 30-foot by 30-foot “foursquare” structure, has no chamber with all-interior walls.  My main floor powder room, a tiny 41-inch by 81-inch space which had probably been a pantry in the 19^th century, offered the most protection, with its windowless exterior wall and plumbing on two sides to provide enhanced structural support. 

The last time I acted on the imminent arrival of a tornado was so many years ago that I only had one cat to gather up in the process of seeking shelter.  Now I had three to corral  I grabbed my two “mellower” kitties and set them on the floor of the diminutive bathroom.  Then I scooped up my gigantic, 18-pound scaredy-cat, Underfoot, and rushed him into the tiny space, closing the door behind me.  I took a seat cross-legged on the shag area rug which graces my polished black granite floor. A flashlight, my land-line phone, my i-Phone, some drinking water and a couple of blankets were set out before me. The electricity was still on. Underfoot cowered on my lap as claps of thunder boomed right over the house, rattling the walls.  Wind howled and rain pounded in torrents, creating a roar that I wondered was what a tornado might sound like.  My NOAA alert system continued to issue breathless warnings on the other side of the house, but I couldn’t understand the words from inside the bathroom.  Was a tornado coming?

I turned to my iPhone for information.  The tornado warning for my immediate area would expire in another twenty minutes.  We huddled together, the cats and I, listening to the din outside and hoping for the best. 

Eventually the thunder quieted as the storm continued its northeast trajectory.  The rain’s intensity subsided a bit. Only five minutes more to go.  My “middle” cat, Elfie, began to play, reaching her paws beneath the door into the house beyond.  My tiniest kitty, Ember, stood on her hind feet and stretched down into the brass wastebasket, fishing for crumpled Kleenex and other debris in an effort to amuse herself.  Even Underfoot began to relax a little, my surest sign that the danger had passed.

When the tornado warning officially expired for my neighborhood, I opened the bathroom door.  Except for a steady rain and the sound of thunder in the distance, all was quiet.  The cats were eager to be out, not quite understanding the nature of their temporary confinement, especially with “mom” on the floor with them.

The following day, on the other hand, was bright and sunshiny, with steam rising thickly from the ground as all that deposited moisture began to evaporate. I sought something cool to wear for my commute from Baltimore County to the Library of Congress in Washington D.C. where I conduct research on behalf of my employer.  Something that celebrated the brilliance of this late spring day and my triumph over the previous night’s anxiety.

I started with bright white, Perfectly Slimming Levi’s 512 boot-cut jeans, which I purchased on sale last summer at Macy’s for only $13.  A babydoll top of breezy polyester by Unity World Wear from JCPenney in a striking combination of deep blues and greens with a delicate embroidered embellishment on the front placket seemed a tantalizingly cool counterpoint to the long pants. I added white gladiator sandals by Olsenboye from Macy’s and a vintage necklace of oversize white beads that was part of my grandmother’s extensive costume jewelry collection in the 1950s.  

This purse is made from a real license plate, with a strap made
from rubber tires

But the highlight of Tuesday’s outfit had to be my blue and silver metal purse by littleearth.com, created from an actual full size Nevada license plate (I got to pick the state), which was a gift several Christmases ago from my best friend’s mother, Joyce, in Spokane, Washington.  With round shiny chrome disks shaped like hubcaps forming the purse ends, this charming handbag uses an old-fashioned “lemon soda” bottle cap to cover the snap closure and black rubber recycled from real tires to form the long shoulder strap.  Polished to a high sheen, some faint abrasions can still be seen on the metal plate.  I loved it the moment I opened the gift.  What a marvelous idea.  My best friend’s mother is a genius at gift-giving!

 

The inside is lined in black velvet

And so a day of scary weather was followed by a day of bright sunshine; typical this time of year for a good part of the United States.  I was more than ready to celebrate having weathered the storm as I embraced my cool-as-a-cucumber hues.

Cheers,

Lynell

Songs From Bavaria

It was by happy accident that I ended up with tickets to see the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra perform Carmina Burana on Saturday night, having exchanged them for tickets I couldn’t use in early May due to a conflicting obligation. I can sum up the entire evening by saying that this performance by the BSO, accompanied by Morgan State University’s Choir, the Peabody Children’s Chorus, and American soloists baritone Brian Mulligan, tenor John Tessier and soprano Robin Johannsen, was hands down one of the best performances I have heard by any orchestra anywhere in the country. Ever.

I sought out something comfortable to wear to the Meyerhoff symphony hall in downtown Baltimore for the occasion, but something that reflected German composer Carl Orff’s powerful music: bold and colorful, a dramatic celebration of spring bursting forth in all its glory. To that end I pulled on a pair of striped Sufi pants by medieval fashion house Moresca, which I found at a Renaissance Festival eons ago. I added a sequined tank top by Material Girl from Macy’s Juniors department, a hand-dyed silk shawl by Susan D. Luks (sdluks.com) which I bought from the designer herself at February’s American Craft Council show in Baltimore earlier this year, and my boldest piece of jewelry: a statement necklace of chubby blister pearls and fiery branch coral, which I bought from jewelry designer Lisa Davin at Baltimore’s annual Artscape street fair last summer.

Draped in all that vibrant orange, I sashayed right down to the front of the concert hall and took my seat only ten rows from the stage. The place was packed, and for good reason. When Orff discovered Johann Schmeller’s 1847 edition of Bavarian poems in 1935, he was inspired to abandon the complex tonality of early 20^th century music and create a work that, as stated in the evening’s program notes, "bypasses the brain and goes straight to the emotions".   More like straight to the gut. The poems in Schmeller’s book were originally found in a Benedictine monastery in the Bavarian alps near Munich, created by university students and clergy who wandered France, England and Germany in the early 11^th, 12^th and 13^th centuries as raucous members of what became a bawdy countercultural movement celebrating sex, alcohol and frivolity in defiance of the era’s strict religious conforms.

These original hippies wandered the countryside entertaining town folk with their spoofs of church texts and obscene verses, rendered mostly in Latin.  In 1937 Orff set 24 of those poems to music, forsaking the intricate harmonies of the day for heavily accented rhythms and raw intensity. The opening and closing chorus of "O Fortuna" has been depicted in no less than 23 movies, plays and television episodes since 1978, and is currently applied in Jay Leno/Conan O’Brian’s late show as Dick Cheney’s "theme song" whenever the politician is a subject of discussion.

One of my most favorite scores ever, music director Marin Alsop’s commanding performance of Carmina Burana penetrated into my very soul on Saturday evening. A standing ovation that would not be quelled paid testament to the fact that I was not the only one smitten by the superb quality of the symphony’s, and the singers’, rigorous and enthusiastic execution. A quiet dinner at Baltimore’s Brewer’s Art restaurant after the concert was anticlimactic, the music a persistent "earworm" in my head which continues to this day.

Cheers,

Lynell

"Now melts and disappears the ice, snow and the rest, winter flees and now spring sucks at summer's breast; a wretched soul is he who does not live or lust under summer's rule" -- from Camina Burana

Orange Creamcicle -- With A Side of Complications

I knew something was wrong.  As I  dressed for my commute to the Library of Congress Tuesday morning, I could tell there had been a subtle shift in the condition of my left eye, which had undergone a surgical enhancement Monday of the bilateral Lasik procedure I'd had last November to make both eyes farsighted (see My Vision For The Future).   Delight in my newfound ability to see clearly at great distance on the ski slopes and when driving had quickly given way to the realization that I could no longer read my own shopping list in the grocery store, nor even glance down at a document or a book without having to grab my reading glasses first.  Even my computer screen, a good 36 inches from my chair, was no longer clearly in focus.  So I opted to have one eye put back, essentially, to it's original but not quite so nearsighted stance.

Monovision, they call it.  I had practiced monovision for the past several months, wearing a nearsighted contact lens in my left eye to simulate what it would be like to have one eye see far and one eye see near.  As my surgeon had cautioned, it took my brain a good two weeks to adjust to seeing distance with one eye and close up with the other.   But once my brain adjusted, I loved my new ability to see clearly both near and far.  It was what I had always wanted. I signed up for the reversal on the day of my 6-month checkup following the original surgery.  The optional but fairly routine procedure was performed without incident five days later, after work on Monday of this week.

The customary post-op appointment the day after surgery was supposed to be no big deal.   After all, I had done the same thing last November, driving myself to my own eye appointment the very next day after surgery without any trouble.  I dressed with the intention of leaving the follow-up appointment and proceeding directly to Washington D.C. for a day of research on behalf of my employer.  Extremely dark sunglasses provided by the surgeon and artificial tears to administer every hour were the only conditions imposed upon resumption of my normal routine.

The weather was absolutely gorgeous all over the eastern seaboard Tuesday, with wall-to-wall sunshine, no humidity and a cool breeze blowing puffy clouds across a deep blue sky.  I was eager to wear summer brights, so I pulled on a crisp white maxi-skirt by Juicy Couture, a misguided on-line splurge two summers ago from Revolve Clothing when I couldn't find a long white skirt locally to save my soul.  But I love the breezy eyelet panels and the easy elegance of the washable fabric, so I have since made peace with its exorbitant price.

White and orange
are a great color
combination
for summer



I was amazed at how well I was able
to coordinate inexpensive pieces from
JCPenney with my dazzling "statement
necklace" from Lisa Davin

I energized the ensemble with an orange tank top by St. John's Bay from JCPenney and covered that with a fabulous hand-dyed, silk shawl by Susan D. Luks in the same vibrant color, which I found at February's premiere American Craft Council show at the Baltimore Convention Center.  All of this was no more than a foil, however, for my prize possession: an exquisite statement necklace of brilliant branch coral and fat blister pearls, hand made by Lisa Davin, whose breathtaking work I discovered at last summer's Artscape, the largest free art festival in the country, which just happens to take place on the streets of Baltimore City every July.

Finishing with tangerine earrings and a bracelet from my local JCPenney store and a fashion ring from my best friend's mother in Spokane, I pulled on strappy, cork-heeled sandals by City Streets and sat down at my dressing table to insert the first of two different prescriptions into my convalescing eye.  I gently dabbed at a drop of thick medicine accumulating in the outer corner. Suddenly there was pain.  I felt a shift.  After a few moments, the pain subsided, but I knew something was wrong.  Hoping it was merely a movement in the position of the temporary contact lens inserted by the surgeon to prevent accumulation of epithelial cells beneath the corneal flap, I grabbed my briefcase and dark glasses and headed out the door to my post-op appointment.

It wasn't the contact lens that had moved.  "Did you rub your eye?"   The optometrist was alarmed when she looked through the microscope.  No, I insisted. "I just dabbed at the corner."  It was enough, unfortunately, to move the entire corneal flap out of position.  The optometrist hurried from the examining room to try to reach my surgeon, Dr. Sanjay Desh Goel, who was off that day.  When she finally located the doctor, I was instructed to return as soon as he could get there for corrective surgery to undo the damage I had caused.  There would be no trip to the Library of Congress this day.

Horrified at this regrettable turn of events, I drove home and changed into more casual clothes.   In the operating room once again, Dr. Goel removed the protective contact lens, lifted the corneal flap and carefully repositioned it, delicately smoothing out all the wrinkles caused by my inappropriate contact.

I wore this homemade patch at work
and then spent the evening typing a
blog post about my neighbor's party
using only one eye 

I was sent home to rest.  But I needed to work, I protested.  If I couldn't go to the Library of Congress, at the very least I would have to perform work at my computer.  "You've got to allow that eye to rest", Dr. Goel cautioned, "so you must type with the left eye closed."  That was easier said than done.  I'd been given a hard plastic shield to wear over my eye at night in order to prevent rubbing inadvertently as I slept.  Once home again, I took the shield, plucked a length of ancient elastic from my late grandmother's sewing basket and tied it to each side of the plastic disc.  I covered the patch with medical tape and slipped it over my head, pirate style.  I could immediately feel the eye relax at no longer having to focus on anything but the soothing white of the tape.  So there I sat in that silly get-up, typing at my computer for the rest of the day while ruing my attempt that morning to stem the dribble of medicine from my optical orbit.  Lesson learned.

The next morning I made yet another trip to the surgeon's office.  This time I was given a clean bill of health and the protective contact lens was removed for good.  My refracted eye feels as good as new and I can already see better at close range as well as at a distance.  Disaster seems to have been averted, thank goodness. I'll have another chance to rock my creamcicle outfit under sunny skies this summer.  Watch for it.
Cheers,
Lynell

"The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes." ~ Marcel Proust

Graduation -- Jamaican Style

This festive Jamaican rum cake was made by a longtime family

friend in New York and driven down to Baltimore for the party 

In Jamaica, one’s family is the most important group a person can belong to. This was evident Saturday as I attended a high-school graduation party for the 17-year-old daughter of my lovely neighbors, Leroy and Michelle. Young Samantha, along with her cousin, K.C., were being honored as only Jamaican families can do, with a celebration of more than 100 family members and close friends. It was quite the spectacle – marvelous in every way. 

Shauna, Leroy's brother Donald's
daughter, prepares one of several
green salads 

 

Pauline, wife of Leroy's oldest
brother, Tony, tends the fish  



Leroy, a master of carpentry who used his considerable talent to convert one of my spare bedrooms into a luxurious walk-in closet two years ago, is sixth in a family of ten brothers and sisters who divide their households between New York, Florida and Maryland. Eight of the ten siblings, along with spouses and children of their own, were present for Saturday’s tribute to the two graduates, along with numerous aunts, uncles, cousins, friends and both grandmothers. As their one-acre backyard quickly filled with family members, Leroy’s eldest brother, Gladstone (Tony for short), manned three smokers in the driveway which were stuffed to their limits with jerk chicken, burgers and sausages, while Kingsley, Leroy’s youngest brother and father of the other graduate, Kingsley, Jr. (K.C.), prepared to put the finishing touches on a whole roasted pig which had been smoking in an old-fashioned, brick-lined, outdoor barbecue since five o’clock that morning.

My 3-year-old neighbor, Mikayla,
center, made quick friends with
Dami, left, and Semira, right

Meanwhile, Samantha’s mother, Michelle, a nurse's assistant by trade, was a whirling dervish in the kitchen, whipping up dozens of salads and sides alongside a plethora of sisters, nieces and cousins and depositing the dishes on long buffet tables set up on a deck overlooking the yard. As children scampered across the manicured lawn and batted shuttlecocks across a badminton net, a DJ named Clive Taylor of Hollywood Sound Systems in Annapolis, Maryland (443-286-0998), broadcast an intoxicating mix of reggae, rhythm and blues and hip-hop into the sultry afternoon.

Dozens of blue crabs, potatoes and corn
were prepared by my neighbors Mike
from next door, and Allen from across
the street

Leroy’s sister-in-law, Pauline (wife of the eldest brother, Tony), sizzled fresh Croker in one of three propane-fueled cookers, while my neighbors, Allen and Jackie, from across the street, and Mike and Maria, from next door, filled a boiling cauldron with two bushels of blue crabs (that’s 168 crabs!), a Maryland delicacy anointed with Allen’s signature Louisiana-style seasoning, ten pounds of potatoes and dozens of ears of corn, which they soon tumbled onto butcher paper stretched over a large makeshift table as Kingsley carved the pork. The feast was on.

Kingsley, right, and his
wife, Carla, served roast
pork from a whole pig

The line of hungry party guests stretched clear across the patio, but eventually all were seated and sated. When it was time for dessert, Michelle unveiled matching sheet cakes decorated with each graduate’s senior prom portrait, and then sliced a third cake driven down from New York that morning, a traditional Jamaican rum cake baked by an old family friend in the Bronx, a dense rum-soaked confection laden with candied fruit, one of the best pastries I’ve ever eaten.



It seemed as though friends and relatives continued to appear throughout the evening, with everyone arriving in their "island best", a festive style with a laid-back, super comfortable vibe. I received several compliments on my own soft cotton jumpsuit by Luna Luz, designed in Spain and handcrafted in the U.S., one of three similar frocks I bought about 15 years ago at a little shop in Grapevine, Texas, which I accented for the party with summer sandals, a necklace of seashells I bought in Ocho Rios in 1978 and a shell bracelet I picked up in Nassau two years ago.

As the eating wound down, the music ramped up and young and old alike took to dancing on the patio and the lawn. To sit with a glass of sangria in the waning light of a steamy June day and survey the jubilant scene was to share in the unfettered joy of a large family enjoying each other’s company as they reveled in the passage of two of their own into adulthood, teens with big plans for the future – Samantha will enroll in pharmacology school at Harrisburg University in Pennsylvania and K.C. plans to study physical therapy at the Community College of Baltimore County.

After dinner, the "Electric Slide" was a
popular way to burn some calories 



Everyone got in on the dancng!

I could feel the love surrounding Leroy and his numerous siblings. I basked in the warmth of such strong family ties. It felt wonderful to be part of a close-knit community of such kind and generous people: my neighbors, my surrogate family far from home. 

K.C. wants to be a
physical therapist



Samantha will study pharmacology

Congratulations, Samantha and K.C. With bright futures ahead and the love of a great family at your back, there is nothing you can’t accomplish.

Cheers,

Lynell



　



"Han' go, paki come" ~ When you reach out a hand, good things come back to you.