What do you do?

Interesting thought:

What do you do when stuck alone for 8 hrs. in the house where you grew up, six years after your parents divorce?

You make lists and start to wonder about things...

Dress Shopping

http://homepage.mac.com/amv12/.Public/dressshoping.m4a

If It's too Big, We can Work with It

Thanks to the savvy wits of my campaign manager Mitty and her highly effective “knock and drag” strategy (knock on the door and then drag them to the polls), voters turned out in record numbers at the polls last fall and I was indeed elected the “Best Person” for the Cadovona-Vallo wedding 07.

That is, my brother and I went dress shopping last weekend. Here are/were my thoughts on this experience...

A short, petite attractive Asian woman assured me she was excited and going to be joining me in the dressing room...

Not an altogether unpleasant offer I suppose but not what I wanted to hear.

We entered a room with a little podium in the center, the place where young girls dream of playing Cinderella or smiling stiffly like the topper on a wedding cake.

Camile told me I would be trying on 4 tops that are too big, three skirts that we would make fit…with "clipping" and then she would measure me. This is how they do it.

Having racks full of items designed to not fit people seemed bad business. Camile was also the proprietor of the store so I thought it best not to share.

In the room next door there was “bustling” I bristled as they “bustled” pulling this word out like the good bubbly in the wine cellar…they’d found the perfect occasion and they knew how to use it…

"Well you’ll have to just remember to bustle up the skirt when doing steps!"

"But is it too long?"

"Oh no, I don’t mind bustling."

"You’re going to have to practice your bustling!" (tee hee tee hee)

All agreed. There was a whole team who offered to help the "bride to be" practice bustling. I could only imagine some strange new class offering at the local gym “Bustlecamp.”

"Okay ladies now on my count, hike it up! or do the bustle and straighten.

Come on Amber keep up! "

The dressing room had plush white carpet, 2 full length mirrors, and an alarming glass full of wooden clothes pins.

With some panic and relief my eyes darted around the room looking for Tupperware or drawers filled with a hodgepodge of items to memorize. Thankfully there were none. Only two plush sofa chairs and a little table tidily kept with fake flowers and a tape measure.

I peered through the shudder partition feeling a little naughty, still curious about the bustling…

I’ve been dressed by people before. I could appreciate their sense of accomplishment and doting on instructions…I could not understand all the tittering and on-going excitement.

In short, I had visual confirmation these people were weird. Feeling a bit like a martian who just stepped off the spaceship (nanoo nanoo!) I teetered back to the podium.

Camile my helper arrived wearing high heels, her brown leather mini and stylish white cotton shirt…


She held four tops each a variation on a theme and the three skirts. (kind of sounds like a MoTown group doesn't it? Please welcome the Four Tops and the skirts!)

Okay here’s a potentially funny question…Camile said, "now you just tell me what you want me to do…” Based on earlier discussion the implication here was “because you have a disability and your balance is bad…”

I want you to get down on all fours so I can sit on you like a pony!

Anyway, pretty soon I was

Cinched into top 1…How does this feel? Camile asked.

Like I wanna buck like a bronco. Somehow the top bulged, folded and dipped leaving vast cavernous space in the chest. The thin sash she'd tied tightly around my ribs left me feeling breathless and afraid to move.

The skirt fit nice and loose.

The wooden clothespins? here's what they're for...they use them to secure a proper fit. they "clip you in" from behind (not cut your knees out from behind...)

I’ll go get your brother. Camile said. This was good because I was in fact not going to come out of the dressing room.

Serious, studious, worried, concerned all describe my brother. the tension immediately eased in his face. Then there was laughing…it was not the startling change in style…but the change in chest size

the gapping...

I felt a bit like an amusement park character Goofy or Mickey floating around inside my padded suit

what do you think? he asked with a tinge of hope in his voice.

there really are some thoughts its best not to share. I grasped at my thoughts but could find none of them. I desperately wanted to explain the 5 min. rule. I desperately wanted to know—would it still apply?

The five minute rule a recommended good parenting tool for all parents of little tomboys…the child wears the dress or nice outfit to the event or occasion and then once the five minute minimum is reached (once you get to grandma’s or wherever it is feared parenting skills will be judged) THEN allow them to change into sweats and go play football.

As an adult I say why can’t there be a 5min. rule for weddings? I mean really once they start the dancin who cares? There should be an announcement…after they cut the cake, say the toasts…ANYONE WHO WOULD LIKE TO CHANGE INTO MORE COMFORTABLE CLOTHES PLEASE DO SO…IN 15MIN. WE’RE GONNA START THE DANCIN!

Anyway,

Top 2 was a variation of top 1. I liked it subtle, unassuming…

(Bunching and gapping) It was a “tankish” satin, shell that required zipping in the back.

When Camile helped me into my tops, I stood making the small talk one makes when observably uncomfortable…

Sure is windy outside!

Is this a busy season for you?

I like your skirt…

But did I really like her skirt? It was made of brown leather. What was once perhaps a doe-eyed Bessie or Bernald (whatever name a steer) was now like an oversized belt probably purchased with too much Indian wampum.

I vowed I would stop doing this in the dress shop--throwing around mindless compliments. It’s bad karma…they’ll come right back at ya.

Yes I’d rather hear “you have a cute little figure…” not wow you are round like a bowling ball and should really suck it in

But I noticed

I was feeling pretty good about my “cute little figure” my “petite lines” until the bustler next to me…”had the perfect shape for her dress” and lady after that “had great arms and perfect back for a strapless” hey!

I tried on tops #3 and #4. With very little laughing and debate #3 was declared the winner. Then there was no laughing and an air of absolute seriousness…when Camile announced, engaging me in deep penetrating soulful eyes. I will go get the tape. We’ll measure you and see where you fit.

Funny how quickly a sane person can come undone…as irrational as it may sound I found myself wanting to explain these things:

1. the very natural phenomena I just ate.
2. her findings would be unreliable, her chart is based on women sucking it in everywhere
3. standing still is okay but when I move it's all gonna shift outta whack

I absolved myself of any potential bodily pooches and abnormalities…I decided I fit perfectly somewhere in a size chart, I “took refuge” in the Dharma teachings on delusion

(and I almost ran out of the room yellin yippie I’m a 2/4).

So, I have my new dress we ordered it in a 20 (no, really, the correct size). My rationale? Too small? I’ve just become a crisis…your fat ass sister who’s ruining the wedding. I learned if you get smaller…they can always take it in…bigger?

"Bigger?" Camile’s eyes fairly popped out of their sockets.

"Yes, what if I’d like to get a little bigger."

"Do you have plans to get bigger?"

I wasn’t sure why my question was so funny.

"I mean I might get bigger," I faltered.

She asked with worried anticipation and the pained confusion of raised eyebrows and concerned eyes…how big do you plan to get?

"Well no, nobody plans to get that big."

Help! help! I felt like making loud stated proclamations from atop the dressing podium. Something sacred and official. Something embraced by all girls, all women everywhere.

So my young friends, remember this a sucked in 2 is really a comfortable 4.

And always, always remember this...

If it’s too big? If you're too big? We can work with it.

Audio Backyard Wisdom

http://homepage.mac.com/amv12/.Public/A'sbackyard.m4a

Backyard Wisdom

Situation: I was stepping outside of my apartment to read and take in the beautiful Spring day. My upstairs neighbors (Dan and Emi) are a young couple from Romania with a new baby (Bianca). Emi’s father has come over from Romania to be the live-in nanny.

I. a helping situation as I imagined it through the eyes of a 62 yr. old Romanian man.

Me: help, help! I’m stuck up here on this big cement slab.

Grand Nanny: I will help you. I will hoist you on my shoulder and then stick you here in the grass.

Me: No thank you. My legs are shaky…(ahhhh…)

Baby: ahhh…gibberish, gibberish

Grand Nanny: sorry I don’t speak English

Me: No worries. I don’t speak Romanian.

In unison: Let’s smile at each other.

II. later...a request from a disabled woman

Me: hey you, get over here.

Grand Nanny: me?

Me: bring me my birdfeeder!

Me: ah yes, empty it. clean it. get all that dirt out with your bare hands.

Me: Does Dan have birdseed for me upstairs?

Me: He does? Go get it. no wait don’t get it. get it. no don’t.

Grand Nanny: I am so confused.

Me: me too

III. the situation as I imagined it observed by Emi and Dan from a second story window.

Emi: why is my baby alone in her stroller?

Emi: oh, there’s my dad.

Dan: yes, helping Amanda. I like Amanda but she is too needy.

Emi and Grand Nanny: (a shared look in Romanian)

Emi: Dan do we have any birdseed for Amanda?

Dan: No, she’s not getting my birdseed.

IV. (outside) a conversation based in reality…sort of

Grand Nanny: Do you know New York City?

Me: yes!

Grand Nanny: New York to Columbus is the distance from where I live to Bucharest.

In unison: confusion. Shit. Shit. Baby: ga ga squishy (she shit)

(uncomfortably long pause)

Me: I like Emi and Dan. Do you like my birdfeeder?

Grand Nanny: birds? this?

Baby: clinky clinky shiny

Me: Put it on the grill. On that shelf next to the tongs.

Me: Now move my chair! or I will melt in the sun!

Me: Bring me my birdseed!

Baby: ewww! stinky no no stinky!

Grand Nanny: Bye bye friend. We must go, The baby is hungry.

Me: Okay bye. I must go inside too. I make crafts.

Spring Fashion Tips

Good Morning,

When "we" (i.e., I) last left my formal dress wearing experience, moments before I was to lead the parade as a bridesmaid, I discovered the padded breast cups had been sewn inverted and on the outside of my taffeta top. Disaster was narrowly avoided as a tipsy maid of honor performed a padectomy (me in the shell) with a pair of toenail clippers.

More recently, I was awarded a hamburger for my volunteering efforts with Miss Evan’s 2^nd grade class. Along with the Principal's Pride certificate for a free trip to McDonald's, I received this life-like rendition of me (see attached). This is what I wear when I’m tutoring the kids. I like it because it's not restrictive in the armpits and I get to wear my shell belt.

All of which I think qualifies me to provide you with some "Spring Fashion Tips" (...based on my morning TV show viewing).

Textured tights. You should never wear them. Substitute fleece sweatpants that have pilled. Fringed cowboy chaps will also do.

Add a handbag for a pop of color. OR leave your handbag in various restaurant booths, bathrooms, movie theaters, etc... for a pop of color.

Go ahead and wear white... but not with your day of the week underpants (look there’s stinky Cheryl again wearin’ Monday on a Friday?)

Wear short crop jackets over horizontal striped jersey T's to draw attention to the vertical line and away from an expanding middle.

Fool everyone. Dress in dizzying diagonals!

Shopping on a budget?

Get some t-shirt paints and write new messages on your message t-shirts.

Life is Good...or is it?

French Horn Playa loves a

Tuba Playin Freak

Trumpet Playin Freak

Sax Playa

So clever even I don’t get me…or do I?

I like to do my shoppin from home.

Since I've been receiving Spring catalogues since November...I'm finally ready to place my order(s).

Here are some questions I have or perhaps interesting observations for you to consider.

Who names the colors and do they just pick whatever they happen to be eating? Butter, cream, lemon, …

somehow getting dressed I suddenly have the urge to make muffins.

Who determines which color’s are (men’s only) which ones (women’s only)?

I say if Paul wants to wear a pair of Purple Phlox "crocs" and Ann wants to order her clogs in Ash Bark, let them. Isn’t it rather rude to suggest on which side of the color wheel they belong?

I know you have questions too...and the answers are yes

Yes, kitty appliqué clothing is always in—just change the weight for Spring. Trade sweaters for blouses, sweatshirts for t-shirts.

and

Sensible layering—for example, wear your bikini on the outside of your clothes…this will just stretch out the pieces to accommodate and serve as a nice summer preview. (well looky here Betty you all can go on shopping without me. I still fit into last years suit!)

Happy Monday.

Amanda

Private Bath with musical interlude

http://homepage.mac.com/amv12/.Public/privatebath.mp3

http://homepage.mac.com/amv12/.Public/water'sedge.mp3

Private Bath

Good Morning,

The average American spends 1.7 yrs.* of their life engaged in toileting activities. For most of us, it’s safe to say that’s 1.7 years we’d like to have back. Much to my confusion I have discovered this might not always be the case.

Take for example the recent piece of short creative nonfiction by Fleda Brown (poet lauriet of Delaware and contributor to creativenonfiction.org)

Private Bath by Fleda Brown (selected passages)

"Whether we were in Kensington palace, or at a coffee shop on the corner, I would remain alert for an obscure bathroom, one on a lower level, with poor lighting, one that could be easily overlooked, that I might have to myself."

strange but okay...

"At the lake, too, it’s always been pretty much the same. I dearly love the outhouse, with its high window so that the other world is nothing but the tops of trees. I love the rich smell of accumulation, mixed with earth, everything changing back into itself."

okay now I’m concerned, you love the smell of decomposing poop?

"But if someone knocks at the outhouse door, even if they politely drift down the hill pretending not to wait, I’m trapped by time. No longer is time open-ended, no longer are all things possible. I have an assignment—to finish my business, to be a member of the give-and-take of human society."

knock, knock, knock…

"But at home in my own bathroom, I’m Rodin’s Thinker under the glorious sun of the heat lamp, bending over Doonesbury, Dilbert, Boondocks, the glassy ease of Metropolitan Home"

here’s a comment from the outside world…the bending action is a little too graphic

"I balance on the edge of the seat, between feeling and action, between intimacy and the revelation of nature.

I don’t need quiet out there, I need quiet in my soul. I need time and space, the brief illusion of eternity. To sit on the cliff of the toilet, disenchantment only a door away."

...wipe me! wipe me!

Recently I e-mailed Fleda with this message in the attempt to uh get to the bottom of this piece.

Dear Fleda Brown,

I am new to your work and have a question. Recently, I read a piece you had published on the Brevity website.

The piece is called "Private Bath" (Issue.22, Fall 2006). I was wondering if you would be able to tell me where you found the courage to write this piece?

Writing about one's experiences in the bathroom is tricky work. Somehow you've managed to make something taboo or off-limits in polite company very poetic.

Am I reading this correctly, that you consider a bathroom to be a private sanctuary?

Thank you for taking the time to read this and/or your reply.

Sincerely,

Amanda Vallo

Dear Amanda,

It didn’t take much courage—I just tried to connect that experience to the outside world so that the “bathroom” aspects wouldn’t seem so “up front.” Sure, I do consider it a private sanctuary. Don’t you?

FB

And I told Fleda,

No, I guess I do not consider the bathroom a private sanctuary. I experienced a spinal cord injury in 1991. I have thankfully recovered a great deal of independence but since this time I have come to think of my bathroom as 1. a place I'd rather not be and 2. a place of public domain. I think this is why I am so interested in this piece.

p.s.

I have been placed upon a bedpan and forgotten (accidentally) for the duration of one night shift, had to pull a string triggering a loud bleeping light to alert a floor full people the completion of my toileting activities, had unmentionable things done to my unmentionable parts to make me toilet for an audience (young residents); to this day I still get to spend what feels like an inordinate amount of time in the restroom. I do not have an intrinsic sense of a bathroom being a private sanctuary.

...see now I think you’re crazy, lady!

No reply.

Dear Fleda,

I guess we will have to agree to disagree and let time clear away the muddy waters of this correspondence.

Your friend,

Amanda ("Still Fascinated by the Garbage Disposal")

*1.7yrs. is made up.