My jeans should be willed to the Smithsonian, they’re that old and tattered…sewn, stitched, patched, the original denim humbly peeking through.
If they could only talk, the tales they could tell.
We’ve been through a lot together, well traveled, zipped on and off in choice hotels, on lover’s couches, draped drowsily over a chair.
I remember once leaving them behind after a break-up, the man in question mailing them back UPS. It might have been the nicest thing he ever did, returning them, since I’d be lost without their familiar feel.
The cotton is so soft from how many washings, a few hundred at least?
A tailor I’d bring them to, one day refused to fix them again, said I couldn’t even make proper napkins out of them.
I recall getting mad, calling him a snob, and he was, being the tailor to the stars, which was why I employed him because my jeans deserve the very best.
Signature possessions are important. They represent who you are.
I’ve never been a faddish girl who shopped through the eyes of Vogue or Harper’s Bazaar. I had my own style, according to my mother, from the time I could walk.
She did tend to exaggerate. What, did I have diapers in assorted colors? She never said, and now we’ll never know.
But the fact that my wardrobe in general never changes, needing only occasional replenishment, like if a pair of pumps or Chucks wear out, or tights that have seen their day, will tell you a little something about me.
I’m solid, sated in tradition rather than the ephemeral.
There’s comfort in continuity…flow in the familiar, like my trusty Lees, their pockets still keeping my thumbs warm as I hook them in their folds.
How they loiter around my hips even when belted.
Loose, soft and comfy.
What else can I say except, putting them on is like coming home.
One of my favorite all time films is, Yankee Doodle Dandy.
When James Cagney, as George M. Cohan, tap dances down the White House Steps, I’m always up from my chair, tappin along with him.
I make no apologizes for being such a patriot, regardless of the events our noble Country is enduring.
There’s a reason I cry when I see the Statue of Liberty.
I simply love my Country, for better or worse.
When I went to the Antietam Battlefield, the bloodiest single day of war in American History where 3,660 men died and 17,300 wounded, and thought I heard the sounds of battle, I knew what George Patton was talking about, who heard them too.
The ground so soaked with the blood of the brave, can’t help itself.
it humbles, history, our greatest teacher.
July 4th is a great day, so my heart filled with remembrance, will joyfully celebrate my country on her 244th birthday.
She still looks pretty good, even after all she’s been though.
In 1936, President Franklin D. Roosevelt presented, George M. Cohan, the Congressional Medal of Honor for his war songs, Over There and The Grand Old flag, the very first medal of its kind, given to a person in the arts. (1878-1942)
Over there, over there
Send the word, send the word over there
That the Yanks are coming
The Yanks are coming
The drums rum-tumming
So prepare, say a prayer
Send the word, send the word to beware
We’ll be over, we’re coming over
And we won’t come back till it’s over
Over there George M. Cohan…1917
James Cagney (1899-1986) won the 1943 Best Actor Award for Yankee Doodle Dandy as George M. Cohan, and to think he initially refused the role, feeling he was too old to play such a man.
I use the word mewl a lot when I’m upset over something.
Finally, a friend asked, what the hell does mewl mean exactly?
Sometimes my affair with language gets out of hand, without me realizing I may sound slightly smug or snooty. Never the case, but when you read as much as I do, you pick up vernacular that lingers in your mouth.
Mewl: verb…cry feebly… to whine…whimper, moan and wail. Bleat, bawl, squeal and yelp…to be fretful, irritable, testy and cross.
A personal howl at the moon.
Think of a dog when it’s hurt, or a baby tiring itself out in its crib.
There are no words, just the primitive, residing in any species with a heartbeat.
Makes you wonder, do fish mewl? Turtles? Bumblebees? Those water bugs bebopping from under the fridge?
I’m voting yes.
To mewl is to express, to make our feelings known.
A lot can be said, for having a good old-fashioned mewl.