My unfashionable side: What would Coco say?

Like most Moms who aren't working in a glamorous industry (part-time academia anyone?), attention to fashion is a long-lost memory. But I just finished reading a novel for the svmoms online book club about Coco Chanel called Coco Chanel & Igor Stravinsky that called to mind why I sometimes love beautiful clothes. And when I say "sometimes," I mean "once in a blue moon". (As I type this, I am wearing hot pink flannel pajama pants with sheep on them and a cotton turtleneck sweater with a mystery stain on the front). But every now and then, I decide I need to look good. I want to look good. So I delve deep into the bowels of my closet and find... something or other.

Reading descriptions of Coco's simple yet elegant style in this novel: her pairing of crisp whites with timeless blacks, recalling her use of beautiful fabric and attention to detail makes me want to own one or two timeless pieces of clothing myself. So maybe for next year's big birthday, I will treat myself to a classy, classic piece of clothing. (And I promise, I won't wear either of them with my pink pajama pants.)

The occasional need for beautiful clothes hit home on my recent birthday. A few weeks ago, my sainted hubby told me he was surprising me for my 39th. He's not a surprise kind of guy, so I was excited. He arranged the sitter (my Mom) and made the reservations. All I had to do was be ready to go around 7 PM on Friday night.

I couldn't remember the last time I had made a major effort with my appearance so I ditched my usual going-out-in-winter look (flouncy silver and black wool skirt, black cardigan and black boots) for my cranberry colored sleeveless dress. When I first brought it home, my hubby dubbed it my Michelle Obama dress because I bought it in Chicago. Plus it's classy and tailored and sleeveless -- a style our First Lady often wears. I put it on for our night out and felt great. And it was a good thing too. Because the surprise was that we went to Manresa for dinner. A place I have longed to go since I first read about it in Switzerland more than five years ago. And Manresa did not disappoint. Oh my. Did it ever not disappoint. We both loved our first amuse bouche (a soft-cooked egg with cream, sherry vinegar and maple syrup) so much that we threatened to order a dozen more and eat them as our first, second and third courses.

Part of what we both loved about Manresa was the casual-elegant yet warm and refined atmosphere. Some of the art on the walls in the restroom consisted of real menus from restaurants in France (presumably where Chef David Kinch used to work?). Looking at them, I was reminded of some of the things I loved about living in France. The wonderful food. The beautiful clothes and sense of style of the residents, the beauty of the vineyards, cycling with friends in the Loire Valley, a lazy trip with my husband and dear friends across Champagne...

It seems that this January, between the novel about Chanel and a transporting evening of eating at Manresa, I've remembered a few things: that I used to live in Europe and even managed to blend in. That I occasionally love to wear beautiful clothes. That I always love a nice glass of champagne. And that taking time with my appearance can elevate my mood and lead to an unforgettable night out.

Note: I received a free copy of the novel Coco Chanel & Ivor Stravinsky as part of the Silicon Valley Moms Group Book Club. This post was inspired by thoughts I had reading the novel, while noting my decidedly unfashionable attire.

What I'm Reading -- SV Moms Book Club: Who by Fire by Diana Spechler

Like every parent in the world, I have thought about the horrible "what if" of losing a child. I lock my doors, fear strangers beyond a reasonable level, and tend to have a near cardiac arrest every time the PG&E man appears in my backyard on his way to read the gas meter. And like most parents I know, my internal pendulum swings wildly between my urge to "helicopter parent" and my strong dislike of overparenting. If it's morning, I'll decide to let the kids play in the backyard unsupervised. By afternoon, I'm kicking myself because my 2-year old ends up with a black eye.

I just finished reading the fictional novel "Who by Fire" for the my bloggers book club with SVMoms. I had a hard time putting it down and stayed up way past my bedtime for more nights than I should have. The book has complicated, sarcastic, funny-yet-empathetic characters and a brisk plot. It also touches on themes that strike a chord with me right now: religion, loss, parenting, sexuality, and growing up. It made me ask myself a lot of questions like how would we cope with the loss of a child? What if our little girl got into a stranger's car one day and we never saw her again? What is an appropriate role for religion in our lives? When does fervent religious belief cross the line and become a cult?

Interestingly, the story begins about fifteen years after the tragic kidnapping of the family's youngest daughter. So the horror of that day, and of the months and years that immediately followed are not seen by the reader but they are felt. They have scarred the family members in ways that surprised me. If I think about what would become of me if my own child was kidnapped, I draw a blank. I see a void. I can't begin to imagine how I would carry on or how it would scar, deform or ruin the lives of the rest of my family.

In the book, Ash, the older brother, ends up becoming a devout Jew and joining a Yeshiva in Israel. His sister, Bits, loses herself in risky sex with strangers. The parents divorce. The book moves back and forth between Israel and the United States as well as between the web of relations between the characters, who seem at first to have grown surprisingly distant from each other as they cope in their own unhealthy ways with their loss.

Reading this book reminded me of some important lessons that I seem to learn, and learn and then learn again in my own life. Not to judge. Not to be complacent or take relationships for granted. Get help when you need it. Find the balance between vigilance with your kids and letting them grow up and away from you. In the end, I got a lot more out of this book than mere bedtime reading.