Miguelina

Update: Relief

Thank you. Your words have meant so much.

I'm now at home - my parent's house. Everyone is well. My father was released from the hospital on Friday and now has a fancy pacemaker/defibrillator in his chest and is recovering very nicely.

(The wonders of medicine.)

I'll be spending time with my family the next few days, not doing much of anything. My husband's back in Boston with the two boys - this was the first time I've flown without a child in 3 years. It was relaxing, even in seat 20D waaaaay back in coach.

In much more interesting news, it looks like I'll get to meet the police officer that saved my dad's life. I don't know what I can say to him to fully convey how grateful I am to him. I'm considering getting his name tattooed across my forehead, but that may be a bit too much. We'll see.

Next project - enrolling in a CPR class. I'm serious. CPR is the new black. If I were to suddenly become a Miss America contestant, that would be my cause/platform: CPR. Learn it. Love it.

Heart. Broken.

My father's heart stopped beating last Tuesday night. He was at the gym and went into cardiac arrest - from what I understand, he stopped breathing. He had no pulse.

A police officer happened to be working out next to him. He immediately performed CPR and saved his life. The health club had a defibrillator and saved his life. Some kind soul called 911 and saved his life.

My father is a very lucky man. But his heart is broken, and so is mine.

Do me a favor: Learn CPR. Please. You never know when you'll save a life.

Coco

In order to be irreplaceable one must always be different. - Coco Chanel

This is my favorite photo of Coco Chanel. I love the cool confidence in her eyes, her carefully styled hair, the creamy strands of pearls casually piled up on her shoulders. Heck, I even like the way she's defiantly pointing her cigarette at us, daring us to question her.

It's a photograph of a woman who has confidence - in her intelligence, her taste, her femininity. The picture of a lady in her lipstick and pearls, she's also as cuddly as a porcupine. The magic of being a girl is that you can run the world in earrings and heels, if you choose.

It's a beautiful picture and, in my eyes, it's enhanced by the obvious colorization. I love colorized photos! They're much more honest than the photo-shopped atrocities that get passed on as the truth nowadays. We all know that no living human being is actually that flawless in appearance - the colorization is more art than journalism, although when I was little I thought that the past really was saturated in color.

Here's the non-colorized picture. It's still beautiful, just not as striking:

Elegance is refusal. - Coco Chanel

Chanel's life story is quite interesting, and while she made some questionable choices, I think that the essence of her story is inspiring. How she became an orphan and learned to sew from the nuns who raised her. How she rebelled and became a cabaret singer (which earned her the "Coco" nickname). How the rich women around her mocked her for being skinny in a time when voluptuousness was the ideal, and for not wearing the expensive and complicated clothes that were fashionable at the time.

How instead of striving for what she couldn't have, she made the most with what she did. When a wealthy suitor offered her anything she wanted, she opted for a lease instead of diamonds. How she opened her shop, and designed clothes made out of inexpensive and wearable materials that would fit and flatter her skinny frame. How her famous "little black dress" was inspired by the shapeless frocks of the nuns from that orphanage from so long ago. How she freed women from the corseted and petticoated clothes she was supposed to aspire to.

The most courageous act is still to think for yourself. Aloud. - Coco Chanel

The photo above is from the same 1936 photoshoot. I like that picture too because it shows a less stylized, more relaxed Chanel. She was in her fifties by then, and while I love the colorized and airbrushed photo I also appreciate the beauty of reality.

More photos and quotes after the jump

(Photo credits: Parisenimage)

Saturday Randomness

It's been five days since I last posted - don't you find that the longer you wait between posting the easier it is not to care?

• I don't really have a real reason for not posting, other than working really hard finding cute pink and brown wedding stuff and making inspiration boards. (OK, one. But since Photoshop and I are not friends it was hard, y'all) Have I told you how much I love writing for a wedding blog? I love it *thiiiiiiis* much. Because getting paid to look at pink shoes? IS AWESOME.

• I've cut back on some commitments and it's been a huge relief - the biggest one by far was for the local mother's group (500 mothers strong - my husband calls it the Local Mother's Mafia) where I was responsible for securing discounts for our members from local merchants. As much as I enjoyed combining my marketing experience with the influence of 500 MOMS to extort convince local businesses to hook us up, it was just taking up way too much valuable outdoor time. So goodbye!

• Speaking of Mother's Mafia...My one male reader seems to be getting a little bored with all the feminine content on the blog. Why do I say that? Oh, because he made fun of people who blog about celebrities and their strollers exactly one day after this post.  I joked about being hurt by this and must not have been the only one, because the next day he wrote the Celebrity Stroller Post to End All Celebrity Stroller Posts. Everybody wants to be a mommyblogger these days! (Good work, Neil! I'll be back to poking you on Facebook soon!)

• You've all seen the lovely Whoorl featured in the NY Times, right? I'm so proud of her! Go and spread the hair gospel, girlfriend!

True Luxury

That's Salma Hayek and her fiance Francois-Henri Pinault, the billionaire CEO of PPR (the company that owns luxury houses Gucci, Balenciaga, Boucheron, etc), pushing the most basic of strollers - a Graco.

That, my friends, is the true meaning of luxury.

My favorite definition of luxury is "a pleasure out of the ordinary allowed to oneself." It has nothing to do with flashy logos or things that are expensive solely for the sake of being expensive.

Why spend a fortune on a "luxury" stroller when your baby couldn't care less? The Graco is practical and safe. (Of course, they're probably wearing thousands of dollars in beautiful clothes - just look at her gorgeous coat - but they can afford it. And they get to enjoy looking good for each other. Good for them.)

What a breath of fresh air.

(Photo from People en Español)

Call me Mrs. Dalloway...

Today, we're throwing my second favorite type of party: A dinner party for new friends (my favorite party is, of course, a dinner party for old friends - with luck our new friends will soon be part of that category.) I'm in the midst of dusting, mopping and opening windows to let in the new spring air - but mostly I'm putting off the inevitable trip to the grocery store.

(Grocery shopping is a fool's errand if you ask me. Hate!)

I don't like surprises, so when I entertain I cook the same things I make for dinner on a regular basis - what makes it special is the presentation and the addition of appetizers and a nice dessert. (Oh, let's face it - the increased consumption of alcohol helps too!) But the actual cooking needs to be stress-free, because I like to enjoy myself at my own party.

The March issue of Everyday Food has a recipe for Balsamic Skirt Steak with Polenta and Roasted Tomatoes that has become a favorite dinner for us. The recipe's not up on the magazine's website, but thanks to the power of Google I found a blogger who posted the recipe with step by step pictures - look at how easy Dining Alone makes it look!

I highly recommend you try making it - it's super easy and the end result is delicious. It's a good mix of light and satisfying. Our local grocery chain doesn't have skirt steak, so I make it with steak tips and it's still awesome.

I'll probably put out some bread, cheese, olives, and figs to niggle on while I cook and we'll have something made with chocolate and raspberries for dessert. Before having kids I would've baked something the day before, but with two little boys running around I think it's best I leave it to the pros. The Ipod is loaded with my beloved Pink Martini and Louis Armstrong - I think we're ready to go!

Wishing everyone a happy Saturday!

My harshest critic...

"You are not a princess today!"

What my three year-old said after seeing today's outfit (sweatshirt+jeans+slippers - SO SUE ME.)

Links!

I've finally gotten around to adding a links page.(It's right here.) Please note that this is not a list of every blog I read. It's not even a list of the greatest websites I've ever come across. It's just a snapshot of some really good reads I'm digging right now - a work in progress, if you will.

Anyways, it's a big internet. If you're looking for something good to read, it's as good a place to start as any. Enjoy!

Priceless Work of Art

We're proudly displaying this original piece over the family room fireplace:

"Fishy" 2008

Artist: Sebastian, aged 3

Medium: Tempera on Wood

Purchase price: One LU "Little Schoolboy" cookie and a chocolate milk. Before dinner.

My Favorite: Monchichi

When I first read the funny/sweet/touching posts at Mrs. Flinger, Whoorl, and Mamalogues about their favorite childhood items I thought that it was very sweet that they actually had a tangible part of their childhood with them, because I sure didn't. I've moved around too much for that, and I'm pretty intense about decluttering.

Then I remembered a certain little someone who has been patiently by my side for at least 25 years:

I don't even remember ever not having my Monchichi - I just remember that I LOVED him when I was a little girl. It was the only toy I ever truly loved - I couldn't care less about Barbie, and other stuffed animals were just more things to put away at the end of the day.

But Monchihi was different. He is different. Just look at his face! Could you imagine throwing him out? I can't:

I remember cleaning his face with rubbing alcohol (thereby rubbing off the paint on his nose and cheeks.) I remember giving him baby powder "baths" and dressing him in doll clothes. (The indignity!) He was always around, but I never bothered to give him a name. He was just Monchichi.

We left the Dominican Republic and moved to Miami when I was twelve going on thirteen. I must have outgrown him by then, because I don't remember putting him in the "Toys to Give Away" pile. I was so excited about our new life in the States that I packed my small bags with surprisingly little and never looked back.

It wasn't until I was in college and my sister came back from a trip to the Dominican Republic that Monchichi and I were finally reunited. She'd stayed with our cousins, and when she saw the cheeky little monkey in my cousin's room she just had to bring him back for me. My cousin, who by then had outgrown him just like I had so many years before, couldn't have cared less. We all had a big laugh when he came out of my sister's suitcase: It was hilarious! Of course he came back to my dorm room with me. And then he was packed up and lived in a box in the basement of every house or apartment building I've lived in since college.

My cousin, the one who had inherited him and given him back just to give me a laugh, died of lymphatic cancer three years ago. I didn't really know my cousin - she was just a little girl when we moved away - and we never kept in touch, but when I learned of her death the first thing I did was look for my Monchichi - our - Monchichi. I dug in the basement until I found him; he's just a stuffed monkey but he's also a connection to my past, to her life.

He now lives in my closet, where he greets me every morning as I stare at my clothes, trying to figure out what to wear. He's not much help in that department I'll admit, but he's great at reminding me that I must make the most out of today.