Book Review - Mother of The Bride by Ilene Beckerman

Mother of The Bride, (The Dream, the Reality, the search for a Perfect Dress) by Ilene Beckerman

I read Ilene Beckerman’s prior book “Love, Loss , and What I Wore,” because my mother said it was worth reading. I trust her judgment. She was right. It was a good read. This one, too, is a lovely little (literally) book. Ilene Beckerman has the distinct talent of being able to say more with less. My daughter is getting married six months from now and my mother gave me this book for Christmas. And this book is all about mothers and daughters, expectations, hopes, dreams, the past, the future. I like Ilene’s simplicity and how much she says with so few words. I like her illustrations, she does them herself, and they fill the spaces her words leave open.  It is a memoir and love story. It is a truth, and a fantasy. I enjoyed it immensely and recommend it. 

Image from:

www.pinterest.com

December and Tradition

Okay, the internet wouldn't let me upload photos earlier today, so my blog is late! I'm so sorry, but here it is anyway. Merry Everything Everyone! Please go to the link below if you'd like to read more blogs, or post yourself!
December’s theme for the http://writeeditpublishnow.blogspot.com  blog hop is “Tradition” so I pondered what I could write about. First I came up with a story, but it was kind of weird, in a depressing kind of way so I ditched it for this post. Then I thought of family traditions and found that really, we have a few things we do most of the time in December for Christmas, but nothing that I truly think could be regarded as something that could really be described as a tradition.

Then I thought of Christmas trees and cards. We do usually have a tree, or something to put presents under. A few times we’ve done a “Christmas Ball.” My mother did one when my sister and I were little and we’d really enjoyed it, so I’ve done the same with my kids, and they seemed to like it also.

This year, because we’re traveling over the holidays, I decided to not put up a tree. Then, an author I follow on Facebook posted a photo of a Christmas tree made from books. So I looked into that and found many different types of Christmas trees made from books. Ah ha! I liked this idea. I’d still get to dress the place up a bit, but in an easy fashion that would not be a pain to take down as well. And the usual Christmas newsletter I send out each year got "downgraded" (LOL) to a Christmas photo card, which I have never done! It worked out all right and the feeling of accomplishment, knowing they are all out and flying around the country, is wonderful. All I have left to do now is the New Year cards for our friends and family in France! That will happen after Christmas and so I am free to have my traditions continue, albeit in different forms. Which in itself I guess you could say is a tradition in its own way, doing something Traditional, but in slightly different ways than the norm. I wish you all the best and most joyful feelings and fun for the holidays and the coming new year. I'll be back after the first and hope to see you then.

Barbie Takes on a Terrorist

     “But I like him,” Barbie almost whined while her mother tapped her foot impatiently.

     “No daughter of mine is going to look at, much less date, a G.I. You will forget this nonsense and come home now.” Aurora, Barbie’s mother, looked at the watch on her thin, tanned, bespangled arm. “We can just make the Charity Ball if we leave right now. That will give us time to dress—”

     “No!” Barbie cut her off. “I am not going to the ball with you. I’m going to the party with Joe. Ken and Allison invited me and I’m going whether you like it or not!” Barbie tried to slow her breath but she’d never dared go against her mother’s wishes, much less yelled at her before, and her pulse tapped time with her mother’s irritating foot. She started to get mad. She’d never been mad at her mother before either.

     Aurora had shown up at Barbie’s apartment fifteen minutes ago much to Barbie’s dismay. She started dating Joe three months ago but she’d never told her parents. She thought her dad wouldn’t mind, at least he was patriotic, but she knew her mother would. So she’d said nothing until today. “I’m no longer your little girl playing ‘ring around the rosy’ with pockets full of posy, Mother. In one month I will graduate with a degree I earned on my own merit. I even have a job lined up. I will be independent from that day forward, so leave me alone. I’m old enough to take care of myself.”

     “Oh, is that right.” The sarcasm dripping from her mother’s sharp tongue proved it wasn’t a question. “Well, if you’re so eager to “take care of yourself” then by all means do so. But you’ll do things my way when you come crawling back after you fail. A job? Ha. What do you know about work.” Again, it wasn’t a question.

     “A month from graduation and you’re pulling this? Really? My school is paid for and I have a job lined up. I’ve found a new apartment I can afford on my new salary. Where is your degree, Mother? Where are your accomplishments? At least I can say I worked for and earned my degree and position. I didn’t marry to keep myself in ‘the style to which I’ve become accustomed’.” Barbie even raised her nose in imitation of her mother.

     “But you will when you get over all this nonsense. What about the spa membership? Without it, how are you going to keep that body in shape? What about lunches out, what about vacations, movies and travel? You think that all grows on trees Barbie? You’ll be back in no time. I’ll be counting the days.” With that Aurora sauntered over to the door where her chauffeur waited, hat in hand. He opened the door for her and she sauntered out. The chauffeur, Antoine, smiled at Barbie, winked and nodded before he followed his mistress out the door, closing it softly behind him.

     Not two minutes later Barbie heard a knock. Thinking it to be her mother, again she steeled herself to hold her ground. She yanked her front door open so fast she almost fell over. “Hey Barb, was that your mother?” Joe stood there with his military fatigues covering his tall perfect frame, shoes almost glistening, not a hair out of place and a grin on his to-die-for handsome face.

     “Oh thank goodness it’s you,” she sighed and grabbed his hand to pull him into the apartment. “Yes. That was my mother, Aurora the goddess. Witch is more like it.”

     Joe laughed. “She actually stumbled when she saw me in the elevator. She couldn’t take her eyes off me.” He grinned. “I think she liked my looks.”

     “She’s a witch! She wanted me to go to the Charity Ball with her instead of the party with you. She wants me to ditch you, never see you again.” Barbie could have pouted like she used to, but she was so angry she didn’t even think of it. “I can’t wait to graduate. Then she won’t be able to boss me around anymore.”

     “She didn’t look very happy to me. Maybe you’ve already put a stop to that. You know,” Joe said as he pulled her closer and held her against him, “I am a soldier. I could take her out if you wanted, even do it by the book, you know the ‘Terrorist Hand Guide’?” His voice teased the air by her ear. “We have secret ways of getting rid of troublemakers. Just say you want it so and it’s done.”

     Shocked, Barbie looked at him, aghast that he would say such a thing. Then her mouth gaped and she realized he was joking, and flirting with her at the same time. She giggled, and then laughed out right. When he kissed her she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Thanks for the offer,” she said, “but as you’ve already noticed, I think I’ve taken care of the situation. Don’t think I’ll need to say anything more, do you?” she said against his lips.

     “Not a word, baby. Not a word.”  

 Photos from:

 http://www.barbiemedia.com/

 Duke (G.I. Joe) - Wikipedia, the free encyclopediaen.wikipedia.org

T-shirt Toting Vet - Guest Blogger Sue F. Miller

I'd like to share with you something Sue F. Miller wrote and I had the opportunity to read. As my father and step-father are both vets of these wars I felt I had to share. In this way I hope to show my support once again (see blog post "Airports and Service Men 12-19-11) for those who are in military service to our country. So, to the guest post...

I quickly rushed me and my cart to the back of the Ingles grocery store in Black Mountain, North Carolina to ask the meat man a question. After he had given me my answer I headed to the deli side. As I neared the end of the fish section I passed a nicely dressed man, tall medium build, wearing a new khaki-green colored T-shirt. In the logo area I saw the Vietnam Veterans colors. He looked sharp.

As I passed him I remembered when my husband used to wear his cap with the Vietnam colors announcing he was a vet of this war. He stopped wearing it. When I asked why he told me he kept being stopped by other vets, so much so he could hardly go anywhere without being delayed while they shared their stories or asked questions. Where were you stationed? What was your group? What did you do? How long where you there? All of them eager to be a part of others who had shared their job of saving the American dream, because no one else wanted to know or listen. No one else understood what it meant to be a Vietnam Vet. And there were so many of them.

Now this man in the grocery store, by his shirt, told everyone he was a veteran of Vietnam. It quickly occurred to me he wanted to be acknowledged or he would not be wearing this shirt. I turned my cart around and came back to him and said “Welcome home.”

His arms opened wide in surprise. He looked at me, smiled a big smile as he said, “Thank you.”

I do not know what he thought, but I could tell he was grateful someone took the time to tell him this. It was important. This wanting to be seen and honored by the “Welcome home,” very few of our service people got this when they returned from Vietnam. To this day they are still locked into being stranded in Vietnam; the war that never was, the war where they lost their innocence. The war the American politicians said was not a real “war.” Crashing in on me from this one man in a grocery store was the pain from which my husband hid for years. This man in his new Vietnam War T-shirt brought home to me the enormous struggle my husband, and others I’m sure, went through to connect again with family and friends.

I found myself consumed with tears as I left him. Why am I crying? I do not know. As I got close to the deli I found my husband, he saw my tears flowing. I could not stop them. He took me in his arms as I sobbed my story of the T-shirt toting vet to him. He said, “That is how all of us feel.”

My first husband came back emotionally wounded from Korea, that other “war” that wasn’t deemed a “war.” Both of my husbands served in undeclared wars, wars which we did not win. So they were denied honor, medical and emotional help until now. In 2012 they are the older generation of veterans, and they have not forgotten. They know what our young men of today are going through, and what they will have to face when they return from combat. This older generation has a voice now they did not have in the 1950’s, ‘60’s and ‘70’s. They were too young and too wounded, and the worst thing of all, abandoned by their country. 

I am still crying as this huge debt still remains unpaid.

Images from:

 http://www.zazzle.com/vietnam+tshirts
 http://www.cafepress.com/mf/33955296/macv-vet_tshirt