Jill and Toni's Excellent Adventure

Jill and Toni’s Excellent Adventure

It must be habit-forming, this going to Bellevue thing. For years I’ve rejected it: too glitzy and materialistic, boring and superficial. Where did I gather all that and why was I incredibly rude to a classmate’s wife at the reunion? They live in Bellevue and I made comments intended to be funny, which actually were not, about my recent trip to the Bravern. I’ve repressed what I said to avoid embarrassing myself again. And did penance in the form of dragging Jill over the water and through the bridge. She went over 2 actual bodies of water to come from Bainbridge Island.
It was my birthday eve last Saturday and we were celebrating by going to Fashion Week, to a real fashion show at the Bellevue Hyatt.
The last serious fashion show I attended was in Madrid Spain, 1962.
I was living in the home of a formerly grand widow, who took in students like me to make ends meet. It was my first of 3 years there, studying at the University of Madrid via NYU. With money my brother had given undeserving me, saying “buy a Balenciaga”, I had a suit made by the Senora’s dressmaker, probably comparable in cost to buying one at Macy's today. To celebrate, she took me to a show, where we sat in the front row. I felt like a hippie invader, but those were the days when a double breasted suit and a hairdo brought comments about my resemblance to Jackie O. Near that time, I was cornered in the restroom of Frames, a frumpy old Detroit restaurant, by 2 crazy women. Imagine their disappointment when they got a close look. Back to the Madrid show, all I remember is an icky woman repeating “I’ve lost my Paris address book. What will I do?”
Jill and I were gleeful as we shared our most recent secrets on the drive over Lake Washington. Reminds me of the cartoon: kid at blackboard where he’s written a fancy theorem or maybe it’s Einstein’s E=mc2. Teacher says: you know too much. I will have to shoot you. But Jill and I both know too much, so it’s safe.
Parking and show were at the Bellevue Hyatt, which is connected to Bellevue Square by a long sequence of labyrinthine passageways. I needed bread crumbs to find my way back later, but fortunately I had Jill and her built-in compass.
We had our pick of drinks served on trays, stuck to red wine because I did not see the Cosmos first nor do I much like champagne. We made a full course meal out of the hors d’s which we weren’t shy about getting: ahi tuna, baked brie, Kobe beef (only one I rejected), many others I don’t recall, all nestled in rich little pastry cups. Signs requested we not take food or drink into the show itself. When I noticed that virtually everyone had a drink, I snuck back out to get us some. Still
in high school mode. I finally secured one, white wine to be prudent, but got cut off at every pass. Like my mother, they did not accept “everyone’s doing it” as an excuse.
We were happily squished in the front row, eyeing the fashionable (skinny young women in little black dresses) and the less fashionable (women in fur coats, fortunately far enough away so we couldn’t smell them.) Maybe I’m unfair and they were faux furs. But they had that OLD FUR, been in the family for years look.
And we had what I’d come for: my first ever “swag bag”, full of samples and offers and even actual stuff. The used headband (was a return?) did not look appetizing, but a full foot care kit is good enough to use or regift. Well, I won’t say more in case someone is reading this and is a future recipient of some swag. Not exactly the Oscars, but tons of fun. The show was too short. I loved every second, with the loud music and flashing lights and ever changing photo montage up on the screens. The beautiful models all had hips smaller than my thighs and I’ve been practicing their walk ever since. Hips forward (such as they are), face noncommittal, slight swagger and a race walk. Come back! I didn’t get to see enough. Jill and I used the slender pencils and the booklet to make circles and checkmarks. We know how to behave in meetings. No prices, but since the stores included Macy’s and a few other regular people venues, presumably we might afford something. I hated it ending, yet we had more on the agenda: DESSERT! For that, we had to trudge over the labyrinth to Bellevue Square, lugging our heavy bags. I really should have ditched the Nordstrom giant water bottle, but it’s so pretty. Maybe you will get it for Christmas.
We scored BIG at the desserts center and even brought some back for the guys. Chocolate chip cookies, lemon tarts, chocolate covered strawberries, petit four style pastries, chocolate truffles…
It was all good. We did a little shopping, armed with gift certificates. I copycatted Jill and got the exact same Merrill boots. I tried on the brown, available in my size, but NO, I wanted to copy completely, so the black ones are being mailed and I really would have had to jettison the water bottle. We shopped some more with less enthusiasm, buying nothing, not realizing that we had coupons for a free haircut from Marisa at Obadiah and a free manicure by someone else in another store. They are still good through October, but it would necessitate another trip over the water.
We made it back to the Hyatt before 10pm and had to find someone to open the coat check. We were the last ones and they’d closed early.
The real adventure was yet to come. Almost to WA-520 bridge and in plenty of time for Jill’s ferry, traffic stopped cold. For 20 minutes. It wasn’t till later I noticed that it stopped on both sides, more ominous than an accident on the bridge. Loud yelling behind us and flashing lights of several police vehicles: GET DOWN ON THE GROUND…GET DOWN ON THE GROUND.
I opened the window, wondering how the police could get through the mass of cars to an accident. And the cars were already on the ground. Jill, wiser, said,
yikes, get down! They are apprehending people and it’s very close. Blair Witch of Cedar, MI vibes.
The car in front of us had crept onto the carpool-3 person-lane, but was hanging back to catch the excitement. We took her place, got to distance ourselves a bit, figuring it was not a major crime compared to what was happening in the rear. They’d closed the bridge. Cars coming East were in a real mess as the Mariners game had let out in time for the closure.
Jill raced out of the car at the ferry terminal with 5 minutes to spare. I hope she made it as we haven’t talked since.
It was an excellent adventure and I’m ready for more.

Note: photo is from an earlier adventure.

Home Sweet Home

Where do I blog from here?

Henry and me

The only time I ever saw Henry Ford face to face was when I was age 5, April 1947. We had to wait in a long, long line and it still amazes me that mother wanted to do this. The surprise for my brother was that Henry was lying in his coffin dead. He'd been told we were going to see Henry. I can't remember his funny comment.
The place to visit has always been Greenfield Village, Henry's recreation of all kinds of historical buildings and places, most of them the orginals: the Wright Brothers bicycle shop, Thomas Edison's Menlo Park Laboratory...all in a village setting. Carol and the kids once sat grimly and lengthily for an old time photo. Last visit was on September 11, 2002 when the actual Henry Ford Museum was free. It's an amazing place and I wanted to return to make some more little orange plastic Oscar Meyer Weinermobiles. The price had jumped 100%, but I made 6, as well as 2 Rosa Parks Montgomery buses. I bet the bust of Henry Ford one is not nearly as popular, though I should have thought to do one for Danny. We posed in front of the giant Weinermobile though we did not dine in the Weinermobile Cafe. We also posed in Rosa Parks' actual seat on the real bus where she made history. Naughty Skip also posed at the back of the bus, recalling how Aunt Lillian yanked the kids out of the back when they visited New Orleans many years ago. We do not sit there anymore, she declared. JFK's limo is here, Lincoln's chair from Ford's Theater...My favorite exhibit of all may be the theoretical last breath of Ford's pal Edison, lovingly preserved in a test tube. Seriously weird.
It had started to rain and it was time to go home. Our flight sat around for almost an hour as we waited for all the people with late connections, late due to the torrential rains. Goodbye, Michigan. I hope the calls for a 55th reunion come to pass, though not on a cruise. I will want to return to my home state. I am still a Michigander at heart.

At the Hop

At the Hop

The Grosse Pointe Yacht Club is located on Lakeshore Drive, home of the Fords and their ilk. By way of minimizing, mother liked to point out that nobody much wanted to pay the taxes or the upkeep on these absurdly large mansions. They look like institutions more than family houses. My only contact with the Ford daughters was in dancing class. Charlotte looked rather ungainly and either painfully shy or terminally snooty. It can’t have been easy for her. Boys asked her to dance, surely egged on by mothers who envisioned being asked to tea.
Nobody ever said anything good about her mother, but the younger sister was well liked.

At least 300 of us ate and drank and danced. Skip does not dance and was happy taking pictures all night. I danced with “girls” and with the air, too shy to ask the guys. The twist, the chicken, general rock and roll to a D.J. and his 50s music. Doing some wild maneuver with Judy, she fell flat on her back, managing to look graceful while doing so. She claimed to be fine, but is still suffering major bruises. Skip captured it all on film. I will include only a photo of her dancing upright with Steve. I’d informed him I’d thought of him as one of the
“hot” but still nice guys. Friends informed me he felt the same.
I continued to harass the very grouchy woman who was horrified on Friday when
I asked her for her “birth” rather than “maiden” name in order to give her nametag and booklet. She gave me too much lip, so I chanted “birth name” whenever our paths
crossed. So childish, so high school. It was all fun.

The High

TEXT http://gpschools.schoolwires.net/gpsouth/site/default.asp

Trying to link blog to a website depicting the school

Top Ten Capers at the HIGH

Top Ten Capers in High School

The title is a misnomer to get you interested. I probably can’t repeat the top ten, nor much remember them. Here are a few odds and ends of shredded memories:
+Cigarette breaks behind a grungy building across the street. It was kind of a big thing to be smoking at age 15. Surgeon General report was years away.
+The PJ party complete with midnight visit from the boys. Dianne threw up in the
basement sofa. A week later, a large beer bottle was discovered in the basement
fridge. I was in major trouble, threatened with boarding school, also at 15.
+The publicized police raid on the public library next to high school, demolishing my
way to get out of the house on a school night. I always did like libraries.
+Forging notes, a specialty I was proud of. I was especially proud of ability to match mother’s scrawl. Caught once, a note I didn’t need to fake, but it was a habit. The teacher was a pal of Miss Eldred’s and she retaliated by making me explain “menstruation”(fancy pronunciation of hers) to the coed class. Humiliating.
+Variety show performances, maybe more of these in Jr. High. We’d practice in my basement. Mother said everything we did looked like the Highland Fling.
+Favorite teachers/classes that I can actually recall: Miss Varano and Spanish. (Thanks Miss V.for getting me started with this). An English class which would be called AP today. I loved doing term papers and amazed myself by reading all of the endless and romantic Kristin Lavransdatter.
And an earlier English class with a teacher I’m sure was a lecher, on whom I had a crush. He approved me reading the full-of-sex Forever Amber. I will never forget the Black Plague descriptions. 14 states once banned it as pornography.
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The Saturday morning tour was lots more fun than I’d expected. What a beautiful place it is, especially since a recent renovation. State of the art swimming pool, lots of old beautiful details, the old library now a place for meetings and teas. Josie, Judy and I climbed the twisty and hazardous metal stairs to one of the balconies. I used to hide out there reading the latest Janet Lambert.
Judy and I learned a new and startling fact: the boys always swam nude. But not their coach. Skip says that was standard, in fact, all the Yale boys were photographed nude.
Nice fact: the school is now 15% African American. I wanted to photograph a black kid I sawcoming from the pool, restrained myself.
Not so nice fact: Skip noted he was the only person of color among 300+ attendees.
One of 2, counting a pretty and very young Filipina accompanying one of the men.
A bunch of the ladies lunched after by the waterside after the tour and I include a photo. Thanks, Diane, for arranging this and so much else.
It was okay, after all, to go back home again.
Next stop: the yacht club.