Tag Archives: Those Covenys

Magical Thinking, The Secret and Wishing Really, Really Hard

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*Don’t forget to enter my Blair Waldorf approved giveaway from Andrea’s Beau! Click here for details.

Sorry for the re-post – but I wanted to put this guest post on my own site as well. And if you didn’t read it – well here is your second chance.

I wrote it for my friend Christy’s blog, so she figures prominently – and it’s a little different from my usual style – but my mom said it was the best mothers day present I could give her, so that was nice!

Magical Thinking, The Secret and Wishing Really, Really Hard
May 7, 2009

When I first met Christy – I was almost bowled over by her enthusiasm. The Christy experience is one you never forget. Her excitement for life is truly a force to be reckoned with.

And she’s a good woman to have in your corner. I often call her my own personal cheerleader. If it were up to Christy, I’d have an agent and a book deal tomorrow, all based on the haphazard scribblings in my personal blog. I have no real writing experience, but Christy sees no hindrance there. She doesn’t waste time worrying about obstacles – she sees only infinite possibility. This ability to focus all of her energy on “making things happen” has served her well. She found her dream husband, her dream career and became the mother of a baby who looks to have sprung directly from a Botticelli painting of angels. She knows how to live life to the fullest and does so every day. And it’s all due to the fact that this girl keeps her eye on the prize.

Everyone has heard of “The Secret” by now, and Christy is in fact, a success story for this Oprah-approved method for finding happiness in life. In one of our recent conversations she told me that when she was single and feeling ready to meet Mr. Right, she thought about everything she would want in a husband and always kept that in the periphery of her thoughts. She went on plenty of bad to so-so dates, but never doubted that this perfect man was out there. She could picture him clearly and knew that she would recognize him the minute he appeared.
And apparently she did, because they’ve been married for five years.

And when they were ready to have the as of then unknown Ms. Foo…the same rules applied. As it did for the dream job. While direct routes may not have been available to her, Christy always knew what her final destination would be be. This complete confidence comes from knowing what you want. And now, thanks to a wildly popular self help book endorsed by talk show hosts everywhere, anyone can be a Christy.

I’m not mocking The Secret of course, but it just strikes me as funny that people need a manual for something that boils down to common sense and a positive attitude. It’s all so simple, or at least it can be if you let it.

So it’s no wonder that a seasoned professional in self-doubt like me would find inspiration here. And not just because it sounds so logical and attainable. For me, this approach to life also sounds very familiar…

While she may not engender Christy’s particular brand of zest for life, my mother is another force to be reckoned with. Jo Coveny is a firm believer in taking responsibility for your own happiness. She didn’t “see the light” as early on as Christy did – but hey, better late than never right?

It all started when I was in elementary school and found myself making frequent trips with her to the Georgetown new age bookstore, “YES! Books” (if you read The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, this may sound familiar – Anna Brashares grew up in the DC area and actually featured this blast from my past in her book). Crystal healing and meditation became common topics of discussion in my house and I believe there were “workshops” involved as well…

Since we were children, my brother and I didn’t actually meditate or read up on what crystals would best absorb the negative energy causing a recurring nightmare, but we were “exposed” to my mother’s new interests. A story that mom loves to tell involves my seven year old brother answering the phone while she was meditating and telling the caller that his mother wasn’t available at that time since she was not to be disturbed while she “levitated.”

But long after the crystals became fewer and far between, the self actualization tactics held strong. And my mother was a firm believer in the laws of attraction that The Secret explains. For YEARS I’ve been hearing that if I visualize good things coming my way, they eventually will.

I’ll admit that I’ve always battled a tendency to sit back and let life happen “to” me. Playing it safe and accepting what is offered is just so much easier than asking for more. But with Jo Coveny behind me, I’ve managed to expect more when it really mattered. I have a wonderful husband and beautiful children and my friends inspire me and make me laugh every day. But there is always that one tough spot. The one that doesn’t come clean with just one scrubbing. For me it’s a lack of confidence in my ability to “be something.” And it seems to be a stain made with permanent marker.

Or maybe not.

I recently read Magical Thinking by Augustine Burroughs, and was rather taken with his attitude that he can cause things to happen simply through sheer force of will. And he had this his whole life, even while he was “running with scissors” through his outrageous childhood. I love that he just decided one day that he would write a book that would be on the New York Times best seller list – and then DID.

Magical thinking is pretty much the same concept that the The Secret outlines. That you can make things happen for yourself. And I believe this – because I’ve seen it first hand.

My mother has cancer. She has for years. It began ten years ago as breast cancer, and after a long remission, came back as lung tumors and then brain tumors. So you might wonder how this secret magical thinking BS could be working for her. And I don’t blame you, because I’ve often wondered the same thing.

But that’s just not how life works. You can never dream up a perfect life and then get it. Nothing will ever be perfect – but it can still be wonderful. And the parts that aren’t so wonderful are always subject to change. The Secret proposes that “The Universe” is always listening. If you say “hey, Universe – how about sending me a life without any problems?” – you won’t get much of a response. It seems The Universe is more of a short order cook and not quite equipped to cater to requests on that large a scale. But if you ask for something specific, then you may get better results.

My mother realized many of her dreams. She and my father moved to Key West and opened a home furnishings store. They’ve faced floods and recessions – but they’re still there. In fact their current store is even more beautiful than the first location, and they now have a new business partner and best friend to share this dream. Mom wasn’t handed a perfect situation, but she has never doubted that everything would work out in the end. She knew what she needed, knew it would happen – and then it just did.

She never dreamed of getting cancer – but she did believe that she would find the treatment necessary to get her through it. The year that she developed tumors in her brain – a condition once only treatable through radiation and with a life expectancy of a few months to a few years – the FDA approved a new chemotherapy that specifically targets brain tumors. Almost a year later, my mother’s body is almost entirely cancer free. Was this just luck – or the laws of attraction?

Who knows. Maybe both. But we’ll take it.

There was a show on TV a long time ago (one that didn’t last more than a season or two) with a character named Annie who was kind of a flake. She lost her apartment and ended up secretly living in her sister’s garage where she was storing all of her furniture. A snarky friend discovered this arrangement and responded to her claims to have “tried everything” to find a new place to live by asking, “really Annie? Have you tried wishing really really hard?” Of course her deadpan “yes Brian, I have,” was supposed to be funny. But isn’t that what the laws of attraction and magical thinking are based on? That you start with a picture of what you want? A dream. A hope. A wish.

I don’t know if I believe that wishing is enough – but I do wholeheartedly believe in Jo Coveny. And I believe in Christy. And Augustine Burroughs. And everything that they have achieved started with a wish.

Of course you have to take action to make things happen, but first you have to know what you want.

So that’s where I am now. Figuring out what I want. I already have so much – but I want more. As I should. As we all should. So I’m going to make things happen for myself. I’m going to find a career that I love. Like Christy and like my mother (and of course Augustine) I’m going to picture this and believe in it. I’m going to believe that it’s all possible and that it’s never too late. And I’m going to start by wishing really really hard.

Vintage Rehab

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Chris’ parents were here this weekend, so there wasn’t much time for writing. I did want to get in a quick Materialistic Monday post though.

I’ve had Vintage Rehab on my Etsy favorites list for a long time. I think my friend Ainsley first introduced me to Stacey Samuel’s work.


1800s Fan Necklace

Here is a short description of Vintage Rehab that I pilfered from an old press release:

Vintage Rehab is creating a tradition of providing life and rejuvenation to heirloom pieces, transforming them into modern every day wearables. Stacey Samuels, an accomplished Interior Furniture Designer and experienced Marketing Veteran, started her jewelry business as an Estate Sale addict.

“I was looking for my niche within the custom jewelry business, so I began to attend estate sales and auctions. One thing that I noticed was that estate jewelry had lots of personality but there was something missing. Each piece I purchased seemed to scream out at me… please fix me up and give me life! So I did just that. Each piece I have created has great history, presence and has a distinctive heirloom quality. I give it even more life by choosing only the great pieces and doing a lot of work giving it layers and using only the highest quality resources.”

My long standing love affair with antique jewelry is one of the defining elements of my current design preferences. When I was a little girl, I was too young to appreciate the bigger picture of fashion and home design, but I could find beauty in one single object.


1900’s Embellished Locket Necklace

Whether it was a beautifully embroidered pillow, an ornately painted Limoges box or a filigreed gold locket – I was drawn to it. As a child, I wouldn’t have been able to explain what caught my eye beyond the fact that it was “pretty,” but I now know that it all came down to detail.


1900’s Scenic Locket Necklace

Of course, this love of detail and flourish dictated that I would inevitably become enamored with any number of over the top monstrosities during those formative years… I have a distinct memory of studying an image of Princess Diana’s wedding shoes and asking my mother she would make me a wedding dress “exactly like hers” when I got married. My genius mother said, “of course honey,” knowing full well that it was just a young girl’s daydream and not a binding agreement to spend every night for a year sewing seed pearls on lace hearts.


One of a kind design featured on the Vintage Rehab blog.

But at the core of this preference for all things “fancy” was an appreciation for detail and the workmanship involved. Most of the jewelry I received as a young girl came from antique stores and flea markets. Back in the 70s and 80s, it was possible to buy an old enamel pin for a fraction of what people now pay for “estate jewelry.” Stacey’s pieces remind me so much of my childhood and the contents of my beloved jewelry box.


1920’s Etched Circular Locket Necklace

Even now when I think about the way I want a room or an outfit to look, I start and end with the details. And vintage jewelry epitomizes this perspective.

The fan pin necklace pictured at the top of this post brought back waves of nostalgia, and I wanted to feature some images of these lovely old pieces that have been recently brought back to life by Vintage Rehab. So add this to your own Esty favorites, personal wish list, life inspiration list or any old list that seems appropriate. Stacey and Vintage Rehab are on every single one of mine.

Chain of Fools

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This week’s Friday confession will be a story. But first, I need to provide a little background information (which in itself is somewhat of a confession). I have a bit of an aversion to big chain restaurants. Don’t get me wrong – I love P.F. Chang’s and Maggiano’s as much as the next person. But when I think of a really special night out, I prefer the idea of a restaurant that you can’t find in all major metropolitan areas. Or at least one that you can’t find at your local shopping mall.

This snooty little quirk of mine comes directly from my father who refused to eat at chain restaurants while I was growing up. If we went out for a casual meal, we’d go to a Chinese food place or maybe Mexican. But we never went anywhere like T.G.I. Friday’s. My brother and I didn’t think much about it – but now looking back, it’s very clear. We never went to chains.

Of course I now eat at family friendly chain restaurants all the time with my kids. But I can’t avoid that obnoxious little voice deep down inside mocking me about it. My husband revels in our patronage of these restaurants simply because he knows all about my secret snobbery. But enough about that – onto my story.

A year or two before the kids came along, we took what was to be our last real vacation together. I had accrued a good number American Airlines miles and hotel points through work travel, and we decided to use some of that for a long weekend in London. Since the dollar was pretty bad – this was never meant to be a luxury trip. We talked about it and agreed that we’d be real tourists and keep everything casual with sightseeing as the priority. Thanks to my freebies we had business class seats on the flight and a room at a great hotel in Trafalgar Square – so that would cover any of our needs for “fancy.” All of our dining would be on the cheap (or cheap-er) and we’d try to find dinner spots with character and atmosphere if not world class chefs.

I could write about so many things we did on that trip, but this isn’t a travelogue. It’s a confession. The confession part doesn’t come in until the Sunday after we arrived though. We arrived on a Friday, and with the exception of a little jet lag, we filled our time with sightseeing and walking. No shopping – but window shopping was allowed. Everything went according to plan until it was time to find a dinner spot. We failed to consider the fact that it was Valentines Day, and that it would be next to impossible to find a table somewhere.

We spent at least an hour wandering around the theater district and beyond, leaving our names at various places and wondering if we should just give up and head over to Piccadilly Circus where one of the tourist traps would surely be cranking out the tables. But that just wasn’t what we had in mind. We didn’t need expensive, but we did want a little atmosphere. So we persevered and finally lucked out when a tiny table became available at a little French place called Cafe Rouge.

It was in fact, exactly what we were looking for. It was casual, but had great food (we both had the beef bourguignon on that freezing cold night) and we were even able to find a good AND inexpensive bottle of wine. Mission accomplished! It was by far the most fun night out we had that weekend. The restaurant was quaint and cozy, and while the wait staff was pleasant enough, they left us alone and let us linger over our coffee as long as we liked. We planned to tell anyone we knew going to London about our find.

I think we went out for Indian food the next night – which was another score. Possibly the best Indian food I ever had. But during the day we tried to just grab quick meals and weren’t too particular. In keeping with our lunch time counter service dining, I wanted to check out the food court at Harrods. I had only been to Harrods once before right after college and didn’t remember it being much more than a big department store, but the guide books raved about the selection of cuisines at the food court. So Sunday, we decided to wander over. One thing we didn’t do was to check Harrods hours. But seriously – what American would ever guess that a major department store would be closed on a Sunday? Typical.

So we were disappointed to find that the food court which had been gaining mythical status as our hunger increased, was not to be on option. And of course there didn’t seem to be all that much else around. In desperation, we circled Harrods in hopes of finding at least one restaurant in close proximity. And we found it! And it was open! And it actually looked rather good. A little French bistro….called Cafe Rouge. Which was funny, because that is the same name of that great little French restaurant we went to the other ni… Oh. It’s chain.

SO we basically had a very special Valentines Day dinner in London at La Madeleine (if La Madeleine had a full bar).

After a few seconds of sheepish side glances at each other, we laughed over what fools we were. Then we raced inside to enjoy another wonderful meal with all of the character and atmosphere we could ask for. And then we vowed to never tell anyone about that wonderful little restaurant, Cafe Rouge – ever. Until now.

Love, Loss and What I Wore

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I wish I could claim that subject line as my own, but it’s actually the title of a wonderful little book I found about ten years ago. Ilene Beckerman, the author, published it when she was 60 years old. She wrote it for her five children whom, as she put it, “never thought I had a life before I was their mother.” This memoir is an account of growing up in Manhattan in the 1930s through the 1990s.

In this memoir, Ilene uses her sweet little drawings to represent the clothing she remembers as well as provide visuals for the stories of her life. This Materialistic Monday, I’m writing about it as a book to be read and a book to be gifted for anyone that loves fashion. Sadly – I was unable to capture my favorite images of dress styles, textiles and quirky trademark looks. But here are a few that give a feel for the illustrations and writing:

“My Brownie uniform.

My mother was a Brownie leader at Hunter College Elementary School, 69th Street, between Lexington and Park.

When I was seven, I went to Camp Brady, a sleep-away camp in Brewster, New York, for Brownies and Girl Scouts. My sister, who was five years older, was a Girl Scout and looked after me at camp.

There was no electricity. We had no flush toilets and had to go in an outhouse.”

“My grandmother bought me this dress from MacWise, a very exclusive store between 65th and 66th Streets on Madison. The people who owned the dress store were customers in my grandmother’s store, so my grandmother got it for very little when they couldn’t sell it.

The dress was much too sophisticated for a high-school girl, but my grandmother didn’t know that. It was strapless with rows of black velvet, alternating with rows of black faille. It was very tight.

I wore it to a party I went to with Dora on the West Side. We didn’t usually go to the West Side because we were snobby. We thought the boys on the West Side were too fast. I almost got into trouble at that party (very rare because I was so shy). I think it was because of the dress.

“This red T-strap was a favorite ‘going out’ shoe. Dora and I wore them, but Gay’s feet were too big to wear that style.

Most of the time, we wore black Capezio ballet slippers, which we bought on the 6th floor of Bonwit Teller’s on Saturday afternoons.”

After publishing Love, Loss and What I Wore, Ilene Beckerman wrote three other books. I gave one of them to my mother as a gift the year before I got married. It was titled Mother of the Bride: The Dream, The Reality, The Search for a Perfect Dress
. Of course I read it before giving it to her. Ilene says, “Childbirth is a lot easier than being mother of the bride.” We both loved it.


Front Cover


Back Cover

It’s only now that I’m writing about her that I’ve discovered the other two books,
What We Do for Love and Makeovers at the Beauty Counter of Happiness. The latter, written by Ilene at age 70, is said to include (unsent) letters to Gwyneth Paltrow, Sarah Jessica Parker, Marilyn Monroe, Mother Teresa and her eleven year old granddaughter. I think that may have to be my next purchase. As for the former, I found a list labeled “The Wisdom of Lillie Goldbert (Ilene’s grandmother).” Here are a few of my favorite items:
Stop looking for Prince Charming. Cinderella’s already got him.

A little charm, and you don’t have to look like

Hedy Lamarr.

It’s better to be alone than with someone who makes you feel lonely.

You never know what goes on behind closed doors. Even Miss America can have hemorrhoids.

To a ninety-five year old mother, her seventy-year old daughter is still her baby.


These books aren’t just memoirs. They are works of art. And they illustrate how women visualize memories in terms of how they appeared as well as what they experienced. We all do that on some level, and Love, Loss and What I Wore made me realize that so many of my memories include details about the outfit I put together and how I it made me feel.

Ever wonder what a 70 years old author who began her successful writing career at age 60 looks like?

I don’t know about you – but this does wonders for my own confidence in a future with limitless possibilities.

*If you love reading about past decades of fashion in New York – I highly suggest Lucia Lucia, a novel by Adriana Trigiani. It’s about Lucia Sartori, the beautiful 25 year old daughter of an Italian grocer in 1950s Greenwich Village. As an apprentice to an acclaimed designer at B. Altman department store on Fifth Avenue, Lucia provides a view into vintage couture and style. It’s also a great book, but I’d recommend it on the fashion flash back alone! And now I sound like an expert on vintage fashion – which is far from true. But I do love it, so feel free to suggest other books and films.

Guest Post from Kate Coveny, Age Nine

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*Don’t forget to enter my jewelry giveaway from Lisa Leonard Designs! Click here for details.

My friend Jozette of Regardez Moi was supposed to guest post this week, but she had to postpone due to a busy weekend and an unexpected business trip (translation: she was too drunk/hung over this weekend and is using a business trip excuse to give her vague “too busy” plea a bit more credibility). Hi Jozette!

So you will have to wait a couple more weeks to hear from her. But it will be worth the wait. Aside from her obvious lack of priorities (I guess she didn’t get the “Kate is #1” memo), she’s a doll and I’m looking forward to seeing what she sends me.

Since Kate Coveny Hood isn’t feeling all that inspired… I thought I’d ask someone else to do a last minute guest post for me. Welcome to Kate Coveny, the nine year old I used to be. As I’m typing this I have no idea what she is going to say, but I’m fairly certain that it will be incredibly embarrassing for Kate Coveny Hood. Because you know – I was odd.


(Weird sepia tinted effect courtesy of the scanner at my office.)

Hello! Kate Coveny here. Before I tell you a little bit about myself, I’d like mention that I’m being translated into “thirty-six year old woman.” We felt that this would be more appropriate for the given audience. Plus – at nine years old, my vocabulary is limited and my spelling is atrocious.

That out of the way, I will now attempt to write a “blog post.” I have no idea what a blog is of course, but it sounds like the pen pal letters that we sometimes write in school. You tell me a little bit about you, I tell you a little bit about me…that kind of thing. I’m hoping that you don’t decide to tell me anything about [whispers] s-e-x because I just found out about that in the recent past and I’m still recovering from the shock. Please – there are some things that nine year old girls just don’t like to think about.

What I DO like to think about includes my dolls (yes – I still play with dolls, what of it?), art projects, cute small animals, and my favorite books. I love to read, and at the moment I particularly like anything written about “the olden days.” This would include All of a Kind Family, Betsy-Tacy, Little Women, anything illustrated by Tasha Tudor, and the Laura Ingalls Wilder “Little House” books. There are so many more – but these are at the top of my list right now. I found most of these books during “Library” at school while the boys were looking up dirty words in the dictionary (they are gross – feel free to talk to them about s-e-x).

At the moment, I have two best friends. I met both of them at my school, Annunciation. My first friend at Annunciation was Sheridan. Sheridan’s mom and my mom met at a school function shortly after we moved to DC last year. They set up a play date for us which is great for me since I’m really shy. Sheridan doesn’t like to play with dolls, but she does like cute small animals. Actually, her favorite animals are not small. Sheridan rides for the Rock Creek Park show team and knows EVERYTHING about horses. She is teaching all of this to me. Sometimes at recess, she quizzes me on horse anatomy and riding terminology. She is a strict teacher – but she says that I’m learning very quickly. Then we play horses using a jump rope for “reigns.” She likes to be the horse, which is fine with me because in my head I pretend that I’m Laura Ingalls Wilder. We play other things too, but right now, horses figure prominently in our friendship. We decided that we were best friends right away – even though I have a lot to learn about horses.

The next best friend I made at Annunciation was Madeline. She was new this year, and Sheridan is in a different classroom. When Madeline’s mother saw that I lived a few blocks away, she invited me over for a play date. Madeline is not interested in horses. Which is a nice change of pace. I think that one horse-crazy friend is enough. Madeline likes to play with dolls (like me!) She has two older sisters and two younger brothers and they all eat dinner at 5:00. This is REALLY EARLY! But Sister (the housekeeper – as in “keeper of all things in the house, including children”), is very strict about this rule. Sometimes, I am invited to stay, but sometimes I have to go home since she has enough to deal with already. Madeline’s sisters are teenagers and they’re both really, really pretty. They have lots of boyfriends and get dressed up to go out every weekend. Sometimes when they don’t go out, they put make up on Madeline and me. They say that Madeline will be the most beautiful of all of the sisters. Truth be told, this makes me a little jealous. I want to be the most beautiful of three sisters, but I just have one brother – and he doesn’t talk about which one of us will be the most beautiful.

I am not beautiful. But I have a lot of imagination. Madeline likes to play games with me because I am very good at pretending. At the moment, our favorite game is to pretend that we are The Borrowers, and that we are tiny. There is one tree that we like to climb and pretend it is a flower. Another game that we like to play is that we are orphans looking for our parents. As I write this, I realize that it doesn’t make any sense – but that’s the game. In the game, we both wear lockets that have pictures of our parents so that we will recognize them if we find them. I think that we may have gotten this idea from Annie, but I’m not sure. Sheridan doesn’t have much patience for these games, but she does like to play other pretend games like “School.” Guess who gets to be the teacher?

I like having two different best friends because they are fun in different ways. Someday I hope they like each other more, because it’s hard to have best friends that don’t like each other as much as they like me.*


(sepia tint with new and improved “lipstick” effect – again compliments of the scanner at work.
But I think I would have liked it at age nine – very “old fashioned” no?)

Well, I think that’s enough from nine year old Kate Coveny for now. As you can see she doesn’t really know how wrap it up (not that Kate Coveny Hood is much better). When I started this stream of consciousness inspired exercise, I didn’t plan to focus childhood friends. But it’s a topic that’s still very relevant to me. I have always believed that your friends say a lot about you as a person. I placed a great deal of value on my friendships as a child, and I still do. Instead of getting caught up in the group politics so common to young girls, I preferred to spend more time with individuals and focus on those friendships. The associated groups of friends were simply a byproduct.

I like to think that I had fun back then, but at the end of the day, I was a fairly serious girl. I gave a lot of thought to my choices, and generally chose to surround myself with interesting and amusing people. I’m happy to say that this is something that hasn’t changed. My current daydreams are less fanciful (I can promise you that I’m not wearing a bonnet or a tippet in any of them), but I still have them. And I choose to spend my time with people who help to inspire them. Hi there friends that are reading this! Just want to say that I love you.

*This was an unfounded concern of mine when I was nine. Once we were all in fifth grade together, Sheridan and Madeline became best friends. While I may have lamented my downgraded status at the time, I had some other best friends to fill the void. Relationships are complicated when you’re a nine year old girl. Almost thirty years later, these two women are still very dear to me. I don’t see them often, but they are like the sisters that I never had as a little girl. Those short paragraphs only provide a few details about their own little nine year old lives. I could easily write a book about either of them.

Initially Challenged

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The early 80s were hard for me. As a young girl, I wanted nothing more than to fit in and be like everyone else. But I wasn’t like everyone else. All of my friends had something that didn’t. I didn’t have a middle name. Which means that I didn’t have a middle initial. WHICH MEANS that I couldn’t have monograms.

The preppy look was in and monograms were everywhere at Annunciation grade school: on sweaters, on tote bags, on jewelry… And two initials just weren’t enough. When it came to monograms, I was a day late and a letter short.

But I wouldn’t be denied. I loved monograms and if I had to lie, cheat or steal to have one – so be it. Luckily I only had to lie, and just made up fake middle initials to go with fake middle names. First there was M for “Mary” which could be attributed to either the Catholic school influence or my love of all things Little House on the Prairie. But Mary didn’t stick. So I moved onto “Eleanor,” which felt a bit more real to me since it was a family name. And it was the only family name I would consider since none of the others held much appeal for me: Olive, Hazel, Ruth, Reperatta, etc. I don’t remember if anyone questioned my alternating initials, but I’m sure they did. I was a very odd little girl.

While I was once bitterly resentful about my parents’ decision to shortchange me on a middle name, I have to admit that I now understand. When it came time to select names for my own children, I was struck by how superfluous a second first name seems. What is the point of it anyway? Is it like “a spare” in case you lose your first one? When does it actually come in handy? But I couldn’t inflict the same indignity of a monogramless childhood on my own babies. Instead we chose family names to use as middle names so that there would be some relevance to them.

Of course it all worked out in the end for me. When I got married, I was able to make my maiden name my middle name and VOILA – monograms! I was thrilled. But monogram sweaters really weren’t en vogue for the late 20s crowd in the year 2000, so I had to find another outlet for my monogram mania. My first opportunity arrived when we picked out our wedding invitations. We ordered our thank you note paper at the same time, and I had a huge book full of monogram styles to choose from. I went all out and selected a gold leaf Florentine script. My mother initially thought it might be a bit much and tried to steer me toward some more conservative (boring) styles. I was having none of it, and insisted on the gold. And I still stand my by choice. It was my monogram coming out party and I needed something special.

So what does this have to do with my Materialistic Monday theme? I recently found some monogram necklaces online that brought it all back…(hence the frivolous stroll down memory lane).

Last week, I happened upon the Max & Chloe jewelry site. One of the featured pieces happened to be a gold monogram necklace that immediately caught my eye. I clicked on the designer’s page (Brian Danielle) and fell in love with this:

Let’s take a closer look at that:

Swoon. A little expensive (for me) at $385. But I had a very nice daydream about buying it.

Then I started checking out other designers on the site, and I found MORE MONOGRAMS! How about this pretty oval one from Kacey K?

Oh dear – if I can’t afford the first one, then $1,320 is definitely out of my price range. But soooo pretty… I think that calls for another daydream. Hmmm….

Okay – one more try! After a little searching, I found another option (this time from Sonya Renee) that I loved and could even afford if I saved my pennies for a while:

I really like the effect of the monogram as a circle within a circle. Need a close up?

Somewhat of a deco effect? Whatever it is – it brings to mind an old school cufflink. Not sure how an H in the middle would look, but at $112, I might be willing to give it a try.

Don’t worry Chris – I know this isn’t the time to be buying monogram necklaces that I don’t need. But my Monday theme is about things I don’t need but want. So there you have it. Monograms. Wonder if I can find any signet rings online…I always wanted one of those…

Visit me next week for a Materialistic Monday giveaway from another jewelry line: Lisa Leonard Designs!

Ungrateful Bitch

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Okay – so that sounds harsh. But I figure if teenagers are allowed to say it on the WB, then I’m not in any danger of being labeled a potty mouth. Not that I have anything against potty mouth writing. It’s almost the standard for most popular blogs. But I really don’t swear that much, so I’d feel like too much of a poser if I tried. And you have to be true to yourself – you know?

Okay, so now that my unnecessary disclaimer is out of the way… I’m running a little late on my Friday Confession. Actually – it will look like I have TWO Friday posts since I didn’t actually hit publish on my last one until after midnight last night. But since I was still up, I considered it Thursday. And THIS is my official Friday post.

So where does the swearing come in? Not at all actually. But but when I was trying to come up with a title for my subject, that was the first thing that came to mind. You see – I am terrible at receiving gifts. It’s not that I’m against getting presents – bring it on! – but people really do have a hard time shopping for me. I’m picky. I’m particular. And I’m mercurial when it comes to my likes and dislikes.

To clarify, I might like owls (I don’t – this is just an example – don’t buy me an owl), and I may even collect them. But that doesn’t mean that I like everything having to do with owls. I could even narrow it down and say that I like white ceramic owls with yellow eyes (again – I don’t – just making a point). BUT that doesn’t mean that I will like EVERY white ceramic owl with yellow eyes. Some may be too big, or the quality might not be great, or there might be a greenish cast to the white glaze when I prefer a warmer tone. You get the point. I’m a pain in the ass.

My friend Megan once put this well by saying “all the elements are there, but…” And I blame this entirely on my father. I inherited his fussiness along with his tendency tell people how to solve their problems when they haven’t actually asked. It’s genetic.

But I am a lot better at pretense than my Dad. How many times have I given him a gift, only to receive a noncommittal “huh” or have a flaw or observation pointed out to me (“I sure do have a lot of Hawaiian shirts”). He doesn’t do it on purpose – he’s just not good at pretending. I on the other hand have learned over the years to smile big and exclaim over whatever it is that I DO like about the gift. And if I don’t like anything about it, I marvel over something vague and not necessarily negative or positive (“Wow – this is so unusual. Where did you find it? I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it before!”).

At the end of the day – I’d be happier just picking out my own gifts. But I’ve gotten better about this, and I’ve even tried to be open minded about things that may not have initially struck my fancy. The fact is, I really need to be less rigid about things because I now have children that will soon be coming home with hideous pantry inspired jewelry. I want to wear that macaroni bracelet and Fruit Loops necklace with pride. Well actually – I don’t think I can do that last one since I can’t stand the smell of fruit scented cereal and I might literally pass out from the stench. But you know what I mean.

I’m not really ungrateful, I’ve just always put a lot of thought into the way things look. I like my hair a certain way, I like my bed made just so, and yes – I like a particular sweater that I circled in the J. Crew catalog – not the one that was ultimately purchased for me. Does this make me a bitch? No – but I definitely walked a fine line when I was first dating Chris would be honest about presents that were a “good try.” My reasoning was that I didn’t want to paint myself into a corner where he thought I really did like tapestry vests (another made up example to illustrate a point) and continue to buy them for me. Instead I thought he could “learn from his mistakes.” Which sounds logical if you ignore the fact that it’s incredibly obnoxious.

Luckily Chris put up with me (and I don’t own any tapestry vests – so there!). We’ve been together for almost ten years and married for eight. He now picks out great gifts for me – when we actually do gifts. I will state for the record that I’m sure he would have developed a better understanding of my preferences over time, regardless of any tough love present buying lessons I gave him. To assume that it was all my doing would make me the worst of know-it-alls. But since this is a confession, I have to be honest. Deep down I really do think that I’m responsible for his finely honed instincts. So I’m an ungrateful know-it-all. What can I say? It’s genetic. Thanks Dad!

Who’s Big Idea Was This Anyway?

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What do you mean, “who’s big idea was this?” It was my Uncle Dick’s idea. Haven’t you read my posts from Monday and Tuesday? No? Here’s a quick recap. My Uncle Dick called me while I was half naked in a Target dressing room to tell me that I should write a Dear Abby style column for children. Oh right – and we are Covenys, and think we have better ideas than anyone else. I think that sums it up pretty nicely.

To conclude this three part series, I will now attempt to execute THE IDEA. The following letter is based on the experience of my oldest son when we tried to ruin his life by bringing newborn twins into our house – allegedly to be his siblings.

Dear Mrs. Hood,

I am a one and a half year old boy living in the DC metro area. Recently, my mother disappeared for several days, and then returned with two little things that she calls babies. They do not look like babies, and I am worried that she may have suffered an injury during her absence that is making her delusional. These “babies” do not coo or giggle, they do not have chubby arms and legs to tickle, and when I do try to tickle them, they scream. Then I have to sit on the naughty step for being too rough with the “babies.” My father is no help. It seems that he has lost his mind as well. At first I thought he may just be playing along while he tried to get my mother help, but I lost hope when the neighbors started showing up to “see the new babies.” It appears that these creatures have the ability to brainwash grownups. Everyone leaves our house talking about how adorable the “babies” are. They are in fact, not adorable. They look like turtles without shells. I like turtles – but not without shells. How do I make my parents understand that they are being brainwashed by shell-less turtle creatures, and that they should return these so called “babies” to the pit of hell from whence they came?

Sincerely,
Reviled in Reston

Dear Reviled,

First, I would like to compliment you on your advanced vocabulary and writing skills. Most 18 month old children are just starting to put two to three words together, so you are an exceptionally gifted young boy. But remember – you are a young boy, and your parents have a lot more life experience. They are not delusional, and they were just as thrilled with you when they brought you home as a newborn shell-less turtle. All newborn babies are small and twins tend to be even smaller. You may not believe it now, but they will quickly grow and gain those rolls that you would like to tickle. They will also start smiling when they are about six weeks old, and this too will make them more recognizable as babies. The reason that your parents send you to the naughty step is because they have not slept since the minute they brought the twins home; and when the babies scream, it makes them want to buy wigs and fake passports and hop on the next plane to Brazil. This is not your fault, but they are not exactly reasonable at the moment. While you are awfully young for this responsibility, you will have to be patient with them and understand that it takes a while for parents to adjust to a new baby in the house. Even more so for two new babies. You will be surprised at how quickly they adapt though, and in a few months they won’t even remember a time when the babies weren’t part of the family. And by then, you will be happy to see that your twin siblings will be cooing, giggling, ticklish, chubby babies that don’t look like turtles without shells. Until then – keep your chin up and watch a lot of TV. This will make your parents very happy. Guilty – but happy.

Sincerely,
Mrs. Hood

Hey! Not bad right? I will try to come up with these every once in a while. And in the meantime, feel free to send me any questions that you would like answered (either real or made up). You see – not only do I have really great ideas….I have answers for everything.

Sincerely,
Mrs. Hood

Jefferson…Einstein…Coveny….

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When we last left off, I was in a dressing room at Target wondering what parallel universe I had just entered. I mean, entering Target is pretty much entering a parallel universe for many reasons (all different, depending on the individual)… But seriously, to be talking to my father’s older brother while I’m more of less naked in a Target dressing room? Never saw that one coming.

As I explained yesterday, he called to let me know that he reads my blog (hi again Uncle Dick!) and that he had this really great idea about something I should write. Now before I get into the details, I need to address the obvious question that this will elicit from many of my readers: Your UNCLE has an idea about what you should write in your blog? And you’re actually going to consider this?

Well – yes. You see I am a Coveny by birth, and we are idea people. We have a lot of great ideas. All the time. And we don’t hoard all of these breakthroughs for ourselves. Oh no – we are very generous people. We SHARE our ideas with others. We know how much they can benefit from our wisdom and creativity.

And of course, we are not shy about this. You can ask my friend Christy. I have ideas about what she should be doing with her jewelry design business ALL THE TIME. I have sent her many via e-mail and we have discussed them at length on the phone. If Christy could hire me full time, I’m fairly certain that we would make millions. Unfortunately, we are both a little too busy with our day jobs – but maybe someday… I have (in rare moments of objectivity) asked Christy if she minds me sending her all of these gems – and she has verified that they are good ideas and much appreciated. That’s a good thing for you Christy – because there are plenty more to come!

So in light of the fact that I am an idea person myself, how could I not be open to a suggestion from an “idea man” over 30 years my senior? And because it would go completely against my nature to actually get to the point before paragraph number six. Let me tell you just a little bit about my Uncle Dick.

Uncle Dick is about sixty-eight years young (and no – he won’t be mad that I am telling everyone how old he is – Covenys are not vain about age). He is my father’s older brother and has three beautiful daughters, all around my age. He has a successful background in business and can recognize talent when he sees it (hello! my blog…) He liked my idea of having a weekly feature (as of last week, I’m now doing “Friday Confessions“), and he had another suggestion for me.

But before I get to that, I should mention one other thing about my uncle. He is not just a dreamer – he is an achiever. Several years ago, he suffered a stroke that left him with fairly severe paralysis. He was told that he would never walk again. His response? “Just watch me.” Initially, he had to spend some time in a facility that offered full time care, and was surrounded by much older people that had pretty much given up on their own rehabilitation (as if being over eighty years old made it not worth their while). But my uncle’s determination was infectious, and he left there having given hope to many (and also having received a marriage proposal from a wealthy older woman – but that’s another story). After years of physical therapy, he is now living by himself in his own Manhattan apartment and makes a point of being outside of it as much as possible.

Uncle Dick is retired – but he’s never idle. He’ll always have ideas. And here is the one he had for me: He thinks that I should do somewhat of a “Dear Abby” kind of thing for kids. So they can write me for advice on how to deal with their unreasonable/embarrassing/you name it parents. Of course – it wouldn’t be REAL kids writing me. Real kids are not known to be enthusiastic letter writers – not even for advice from idea people like me. No, I would have to make them up – which is even better since their questions would be ones that I can actually answer. Score!

I spent most of Friday evening and Saturday too busy with my own kids to give much thought to the “Dear Mrs. Hood” advice column, but was reminded of THE IDEA when Uncle Dick called me again on Sunday to discuss it further. I will admit that this is not an easy one for me – but I’m going to give it a try. But not tonight.

It’s getting late (and this is getting long) so I’m going to have to finish the story tomorrow. I know! Cliffhanger number 2! It’s like watching episodes of Lost – except I don’t make you wait another week to see what happens next. So – until tomorrow…

You Really Can Get Anything at Target

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On Friday, I had a very odd experience at Target. Please don’t stop reading if you think this already sounds boring. I promise it’s not. And there is nudity involved.

I – like every other good suburban mom – use Target as a one-stop shopping resource when I need a variety of items that are not usually found in one place: diapers, socks, light bulbs, margarita glasses, Goldfish crackers…what have you. But I must admit that it has taken me a long time to allow myself to consider buying my own clothing there.

I first tried to dip my toe in that water when I was pregnant with my first son and heard all of the hype about how fantastic the Liz Lang collection was. Apparently the Target near my work at the time was periodically attacked by locusts, because it looked like a war zone and the maternity section offered only a few pairs of black pants (none of which were in my size), some metallic “evening wear” ensembles and about 50 purple t-shirts. I didn’t return.

I was eventually drawn back by the promise of nice but inexpensive clothing for my children. But I resisted their women’s apparel for years based on the premise that I felt uncomfortable buying my own clothes in the same store that sold Halloween costumes for dogs.

This past summer, I got over myself right around the time I walked by an Isaac Mizrahi display and couldn’t deny it any longer. I had to admit it. I saw things. I liked them. And I heard the actual words reverberate in my head, “oooh – that’s cute.”

My first purchases were mainly tops, and since I can usually buy a shirt without trying it on, I never actually had to use the Target dressing rooms….Until Friday. I saw a dress. I loved the dress. I had to have the dress. But the idea of bringing it home and it not fitting sounded unbearable. Or more accurately, I was there without any children and was feeling less lazy than usual – so I sought out the dressing room. Here is where things get weird (and partially nude).

As I entered my dressing room (noting how clean and roomy it was by the way), I was surprised to see that there was not only one – but two mirrors in the space so that I could have both a front and back view of myself. This is pretty impressive for a store that sells dog food.

I quickly took off my own clothes and tried the dress. I was excited – I really wanted it to fit. And it did! It looked great. And forgive me for this minor tangent, but I actually saw it worn by a star’s fourteen year old daughter in a copy of Us Weekly from last week that I finally got around to reading on Saturday. This tells me two things. First that I have a youthful sense of style and second that I am woefully behind on my tabloid reading.

I took off the dress and triumphantly tossed it on top of my purse. No need to put it back on the hanger – I was taking it home! Then my cell phone rang. Since I was on my lunch break, I assumed it was work. I grabbed the phone and right before answering, I caught sight of something that stopped me in my tracks. I saw a full, flourescent lit view of my backside clad in only underwear. And not underwear that resembled a bathing suit either – I mean there was very little left to the imagination. It was disconcerting to say the least.

Now I’m not going to get into an unproductive critique of my various physical flaws. In fact – I’m pretty comfortable with the size I’m wearing these days. But after 36 years and two pregnancies I am not going to be visiting the MTV beach house anytime soon. I look my age. And I look like a mom. But at the very least, I would rather not look at my bare backside.

(That’s it for the nudity – so if you’re still bored, you can stop reading.)

After this moment’s pause, I answered the phone. It was my Uncle Dick. I don’t know if my Uncle Dick has ever called my cell phone before – or my home phone for that matter. I usually talk to him when I’m at my parent’s house.

If there is one thing that I wouldn’t have imagined doing ever in my lifetime – it’s chatting with Uncle Dick while I’m naked in a Target dressing room. But – you know, it was good to hear from him and all.

Apparently, he called to tell me that he’s been reading my blog (Hi Uncle Dick!) and he really likes it. This was actually quite touching since I didn’t really think that many of my family members (aside from my parents and brother) had been following it.

But he wasn’t just calling to give me compliments. He was calling to give me an idea for something he thought I should write. Something he thought could be really big.

I’ll have to leave it at that for now, since this is getting kind of long. (I know – cliffhanger!) But tomorrow’s post will continue where I’m leaving off. Until then, you’ll just have to be satisfied with the image of me staring with horror at my cellulite while brainstorming about blog posts with my Uncle Dick.