The creative life

When we moved to Belgium I effectively wiped my personal slate clean. Under my visa conditions, I’m not permitted to work here, and of course, leaving friends, family, and community behind cleared my calendar of all social and volunteer commitments.

In the beginning, it was both a disconcerting and liberating experience to confront week after week of nothing. My husband slipped into a work routine, my kids returned to a school schedule right after we arrived, and I considered my options, resisting the impulse to jump blindly into volunteer commitments and activities just to fill the gaps in my life. Part of the reason I’d been open to moving abroad was a desire to break out of routine and challenge myself with something completely new.

In the process, I received an unexpected gift—the opportunity to live a more creative life. Cut free from everyone’s expectations, including my own, I could do something completely different.

In the U.S., I was a freelance “writer for hire,” working through an agency. Our clients worked mostly in IT and finance, and so I wrote Web copy, marketing materials, newsletters, customer success stories, articles, advertising sections, and slogans for a very conservative and corporate market place. The most satisfying part of my work was listening to a client and editor describe in general terms what they wanted and then executing the details and getting it right the first time. In my mind, that was one of my strengths as a communications professional—not only getting the facts of complex businesses correct but being able to capture the client’s voice, vision, and corporate personality in the process.

As for my own personality, voice, and vision—well that was secondary to the clients’ and to my target audience. My job was to be invisible.

One of the reasons I began this blog was a desire to explore creative writing and become visible again after years of being a ghostwriter. I was ready to give myself a voice and a presence. Initially, I envisioned a funny, wise-cracking, smart-mouthed persona dominating my entries, but it became clear early on that limiting myself that way would defeat my goal of breaking free from the constraints I’d faced as a professional writer. It wasn’t easy for me, after years of obsessing over writing for a particular audience, to let go and just write for myself. Here I am, almost a year later, still rising to the challenge.

Because my daughter E-Grrrl loves art, I thought she’d enjoy giving rubber stamping a try. When I requested a catalog of rubber stamping supplies from my friend Shirl Grrrl, a veteran stamper and workshop leader, my own interest was sparked. I have never, ever been a crafts person. I might admire someone else’s work but the process of mastering a craft always seemed too tedious. Plus, I didn’t feel “qualified” for crafts—precision measuring, spatial concepts, and fine motor skills have never been among my strengths. But with Shirl Grrrl’s encouragement and books full of examples and ideas, I took the plunge into papercrafts.

This involved not just investing financially in supplies, but mentally giving myself permission to try it and see if I really liked it. I also had to allow myself to devote time to something I might just be “OK” at and not especially skilled with. This may seem a no-brainer to some of you, but as a former overachiever, I’m still struggling with my sometimes unrealistically high expectations for myself. Perfectionism is the ultimate enemy of the creative process. It empowers all your inner censors who will bully you into paralysis if you let them.

This is where my daughter had taught me so much. While I tend to spend a lot of time mulling over the possibilities at the start of a stamping project and debating color schemes and materials and mood, she just jumps in. She throws herself into it and follows her muse as she goes along and the results are amazing. They’re not perfect, but they’re artistic and interesting, bright and lively--they're HER. I love the way she combines colors and elements and just enjoys the process.

When we stamp together, I give advice only when asked. Mostly I just stay out of her way because this is one area where she has far more to teach me than I do her. She’s an expert on how to let go, loosen up, be yourself, and accept the results. Good lessons for me in every aspect of my life, not just the creative pursuits.

© 2006 Veronica McCabe Deschambault. All rights reserved.

July 18, 2006

Quality time with my inner nerd

Saturday I let my inner nerd out to play. Since she’s not cool, she didn’t care about sporting grey sweatpants, a flannel shirt and some bedhead. She had a Snickers bar for breakfast and she danced around a little bit because hey, that’s what Napoleon Dynamite would do.

Wearing her square-shaped Burberry plaid reading glasses (the pair with the church-lady chain that goes around her neck), she spent an entire afternoon playing with her rubber stamp sets. Ever seen a grown woman color? Didn’t think so. Get to know me better and I’ll show you my colored pencils. Uh-huh.

I spent an hour or so stamping images and watercoloring them with aqua-pencils, working on my techniques. I did a sweet little bird that I alternately colored as a wren, a robin, and a bluebird. Flowers that despite my experimentation with more interesting colors, always looked best in pink and yellow. Fall leaves—much harder to do than you’d expect. Butterflies, which look tacky in bright colors but are tough to get right with muted browns, golds, oranges, and reds. Pictographs of turtle, a fish, a fern, and a seashell, tinted with soft washes of color (the blues and greens didn’t work, even in small doses, the apricots and tans were better).

I got a totally cool background stamp at Creatine, a small craft store here in Belgium. Use this stamp and you get the illusion of a layered collage image with fine script, ferns, and pressed foliage. Looked gross stamped in sepia ink but was perfect in celery green.

I immediately visualized a card design using it, a heart, and some leaf stamps that I have. I cranked out several cards in that pattern, loving that they didn’t involve layering paper. Of course, I screwed one up—my background stamp didn’t take enough ink in the center (or I didn’t press hard enough) and so the main image had a faded area. I tried stamping over it, which despite my best efforts to line everything up perfectly, blurred the image--but in a surprisingly cool way. Hmmm. That led to experimenting with another design, layering a pine branch and some words over the image. Worked great. Another disaster averted by Stamp Grrrl—and another design to add to my portfolio.

By the time my inner stamp nerd came up for air, it was dinner time. The family was off on a 20 kilometer kayaking trip, so there was no need to cook. This means I could seamlessly move into scrapbooking and let my other papercraft persona have a turn at the table. But first, I did a little dance, because damn, you know, nerds have more fun--even when they're alone on a Saturday night.

Become the change you want to see in the world...

It wouldn’t be too big a stretch to say I’ve been a writer all my life. I took my first creative writing class in second grade. I began a journal when I was 11 years old and have been writing ever since, both personally and professionally.

Why do I journal and blog? Mostly I’m driven by the relentless urge to record, dissect, understand, and come to terms with my life and my world. Other times my motivation is to create art, entertain, or to start a conversation. I would never tell anyone I am writing to change the world.

Yet this is exactly what Mary Pipher has titled her latest book: “Writing to Change the World.” In it she explores the power of words to connect human beings and affect change. In a world that often seems overrun with intractable environmental, political, and social problems, she challenges her readers to be hopeful and become an instrument of positive change. Blogging can do just that, whether you’re sharing stories from your life or commenting on larger issues. Here’s why:

“Good writing facilitates the making of connections in a way that inspires openheartedness, thinking, talking, and action. All totalitarian governments achieve their ends by frightening and isolating people, and by preventing honest public discussion of important matters. The way to promote social and economic justice is by doing just the opposite: by telling the truth, and by encouraging civil, public discussion.

“Good writing enlarges readers’ knowledge of the world, or empowers readers to act for the common good, or even inspires other good writing. We all understand the world from our own point of view, our own frames of reference, that allow us to make sense of what our senses take in. Writers help readers construct larger, more expansive frames of reference so that more of the world can be more accurately perceived.

“Good writing connects people to one another, to other living creatures, to stories and ideas, and to action. It allows readers to see the world from a new perspective. Writers are always asking people, ‘What is your experience?’ They listen, they observe, then they share what they have learned with others. Writing to connect is empathy training. And, as Gloria Steinem once said, ‘Empathy is the most revolutionary of emotions.’ ”

(From the introduction of Mary Pipher’s book, Writing to Change the World, 2006)

Fashion Hall of Fame

While most of the clothes I buy only stay in circulation for three to five years, a few stalwarts have earned a spot in the V-Grrrl Fashion Hall of Fame.

My Naturalizer pumps fall into this category. I bought them in 1992 to wear to a trade show—I needed something that would match all my suits and that I could stand in all day. These black leather pumps with a low tapering heel and moderately pointy toe still look fine and fit lo these many years (and pounds) later.

Ditto my charcoal gray wool rollneck sweater that I bought from J.Crew. I think I paid about $80 for it, a big splurge in the early 90s. It was more than worth the investment. Winter after winter, I’ve reached for this sweater and still absolutely love it. It’s really warm, it’s neither oversized nor tight, it hits at mid hip, and it always looks and feels perfect with a pair of jeans.

Sweaters seem to be my best investments. They’re also my weakness, so knowing that I wear them forever helps me justify the ones I continue to add to my collection. I have a pair of soft and wooly LL Bean mohair v-neck cardigans (one grey, one red) that I’ve worn since the early 1990s. LL Bean was also the place I bought a burgundy wool-lined parka that has lots of pockets and is perfect for layering over bulky sweaters (ahem, which I have a lot of). I think I’ve had it for at least 12 years.

Pants seem to have a relatively short shelf life, but I have one pair of side-zip stretch chinos that has been the exception. I think I’ve had these for about 8 years and somehow they manage to fit and flatter no matter what the scale says. They’re all-purpose miracle workers—go with everything and look fab with my loafers in winter as well as the occasional strappy sandal in summer

The only item of clothing I own that I saved for sentimental reasons is in the bottom of my cedar trunk. It’s a stretchy knit black miniskirt that I bought in 1988—cute, comfortable, and when paired with heels, sexy. I only wore it regularly for two years, but they were two GREAT years, a time when I was skinny, fit and taking charge of my life. That skirt represents the confidence that blossomed in me when I was finally finishing up college, coming into my own as writer, and planning my great escape from the Midwestl town where I'd been trapped while E launched his career.

So what fashion truths are hiding in your closet? What items are still on your play list and what do you keep to remember good times? Tell me about what’s in your Fashion Hall of Fame.

© 2006 Veronica McCabe Deschambault. All rights reserved.

May 31, 2006

Southern Living

Last time I was at the PX in Chieveres, I was excited to pick up an issue of Southern Living. For those of you outside the South, Southern Living is THE magazine for tradition-loving Southerners. It celebrates the South in every section—travel, books and music, entertainment, decorating, food, and gardening.

Starting a subscription to Southern Living is a rite of passage to adulthood, a sign that you’re ready to make a HOME, plant your own flowers, set a nice table, settle down and appreciate your life. It can be a little Martha with the garden parties and elaborate centerpieces and floral decorations, but I love it anyway. I can pretend to be more refined than I am.

Now those of you who have lived in the South know that its identity is all wrapped in its food. Southerners are unabashed foodies, but not in the gourmet, try something unexpected vein. Southerners are all about homestyle cooking, happy with the food they’ve made for generations. Let it be known that unlike everyone else, they are NOT interested in any commentary on the nutritional content of traditional Southern food. Remember, the South is known for sweet tea, killer desserts, pork products, and all things fried. It is a region that never met a dish that couldn’t be made better by smothering it in cheese or cream gravy or adding a bit more butter.

No surprise then that for most Southerners,  friendliness and hospitality are directly proportional to one's girth. Southern Living’s recipes are all about taste and tradition and being with friends and family, not about the health of your heart. Y’all just have to get over it. Relax! Pull up a rocker. Y'all are way too tense about calories and whatnot. Have a glass of tea and a good laugh. Live a little!

The latest issue of Southern Living includes recipes for classics like macaroni and cheese (baked with crushed saltines in it), ham and bacon quiche, classic coca-cola glazed ham, deviled eggs, banana pudding, and browned butter pecan shortbread. (Don’t you dare sass Southern cooking until you’ve had my pimento cheese or Lynn’s collards. Yum, yum, yum.)

Times bein' what they are, Southern Living felt compelled to produce a Healthy Living issue. In its special section, it  includes, ahem, a recipe for brown-sugared turkey bacon (55% of the calories from fat), bacon-wrapped beef fillets (seasoned with salt-free Greek spices!), and a light version of Chocolate Coffee Cheesecake with Mocha Sauce that has 464 calories per slice (46% from fat). The mocha sauce adds almost 100 calories per tablespoon, more than half the calories from fat.

Woo wee! Now you know why they normally don’t publish the nutritional information on their recipes. Why ruin a good thing? And as you can see, it’s clear the food editor was not supportive of the whole idea of a Healthy Living issue. I think the publisher broke her little heart with that one. Maybe she should have just skipped the mocha sauce...but what's life without bacon?

But hey, before you think Southerners have absolutely no culinary sophistication, let me just draw your attention to the recipe for Parmesan-Portabello Grits. Ain’t that something? Mushrooms and grits with Italian (pronounced eye-talian) cheese! The perfect accompaniment for a nice porkchop pan-fried in butter.  Whadday'all think? A little cream gravy and bisuits on the side? I thought that sounded good too.

Copyright 2006 Veronica McCabe Deschambault. All rights reserved.

May 5, 2006

Good vibrations

I stepped into the Embassy store today to kill some time before heading to the Metro and walked right into a sale. A happy accident. The Embassy store has agreements with a select group of local vendors—jewelers, artists, craftsman, potters, tapestry and lace makers. They come in for special events and sell their wares at a discount, usually 10-25 percent. The Embassy store also sells items VAT free, meaning you do not have to pay the 24 percent sales tax that’s charged everywhere else in Belgium. So add the VAT savings onto the special sale prices and an Embassy store sale is something worth paying attention to. Of course, the store is very small and so is the selection—but I always enjoy taking a look around.

Today Cliff the Leather Guy is there with his wares. He has about ten jackets and some bags with him. I think he makes the clothing himself. He’s doing on-the-spot leather repairs for those with handbags or leather clothing needing work. I casually look over the handbags, and pick up a beautiful violet-colored suede purse. As soon as I put it on my shoulder, I know it isn’t for me. The bag is really heavy; it would kill my back. So I give the suede one last loving stroke and put it back on the table.

I walked past the Kipling bags (with the Kipling bag I’d bought here last month slung over my shoulder) and look at the leather jackets on a whim. One catches my eye immediately—it’s white leather, mid-hip length, has a zip front, sleek and simple styling, with two patch pockets. When I touch it, I give a small sigh—lambskin. Is there anything softer and more buttery?

I search for a size or price tag—I find neither. Oh well, I don’t need a jacket. I move on.

I peruse all the aisles and come back around to side with the leather jacket . It has me caught in its gravitational force. Cliff the Leather Guy sees me in orbit,  gets a whiff of my longing, and strolls over.

“Can I help you?”

I ask him the price on the jacket.

“150 euros.” Hmmmm, not bad. Actually, quite good, especially for lambskin.

Cliff says, “Would you like to try it on?”

I’m dressed in a turtleneck and parka because the weather has turned cold again. I’m in Levis and sporting a pair of brown suede Skechers on my feet. I’m not feeling like a woman who should be wearing a sleek white leather jacket.

I hesitate just for a moment, then peel off my parka, my scarf, and drop my purse in a heap on the floor. Cliff helps me put the jacket on. It feels big. I’m almost relieved. Thank God it doesn’t fit! Game over!

But then Cliff reaches for its twin, the only other jacket of its kind that he has. He helps me put it on. It feels wonderful. Lightweight, soft, and comfortable across the shoulders. I absolutely hate any item of the clothing that is snug across the shoulders or comes up high under the arms. Fitted pants, yes. Fitted shirts, never.

There isn’t a mirror in the store so I have to walk to a bathroom down the hall to see how it looks.

One glimpse in the mirror and I know there is no turning back. I have to have this jacket. It hits at exactly the right spot on my hips, the proportions are perfect, the back is shaped by three seams, it is unbelievably comfortable, and I feel instantly hip.

Why wear one of my dowdy cardigans or hoodies on cool spring and summer days when this jacket has so much style? I could pair it with jeans or a skirt, dress it up or down. It doesn't have details like lapels or buttons that will date it and shorten its closet life. Perhaps most importantly, it transforms me in much the same way as my haircut did last week: It changes the way I view myself.

My predictable Good Grrrl Voice tries one more time to dissuade me. She knows I always agonize over purchases and take forever to decide. She hates when I’m impulsive. She’s proud I’m normally so practical.

She whispers: WHITE leather? This so not you! It’s kind of tacky in a Hollywood sort of way  and you never wear white. You’re Miss Earthtone! Miss Safari Jacket! Miss Eddie Bauer Cardigan! Miss Denim! Miss Fleece!

I turn my head back to the mirror and check myself out one more time. Who you callin' tacky, Grrrl Friend? I tell Miss Predictable Good Grrrl to shut up and live a little, to be bold and have the courage to do something different. Life’s too short to put yourself in a box and stay there. Celebrate the moment. Allow yourself to change!

After all, it’s spring. I’m feeling better than fine. I'm shedding my expat fat. I'm walking for miles. And I’m in LOVE with this jacket and anyone who doesn’t like the object of my affection can stuff it.

I walk out the bathroom door with my credit card in my hand, ready to charge into a new phase of  life. I feel like a rebel.  I'm going to be a woman who dares to wear white AFTER Labor Day. : )

Copyright 2006 Veronica McCabe Deschambault. All rights reserved.

April 28, 2006

Oscar Winners and Losers

Did I watch the Oscars? Of course not. Do I have something to say about them? Of course I do. Since I never get to see the movies until they’re released on DVD, the Oscars for me are all about fashion. So here’s my expert commentary on the red carpet winners and losers. (Check out the photo gallery at Yahoo.)

Keira Knightley deserves an award for best hair and makeup. The smoky dramatic eyes, the subtle cheeks and lips, and the loose ponytail were just perfect for her. The burgundy over one shoulder dress by Vera Wang was just OK. The sapphire, emerald and ruby necklace was pure glamour.

Karolina Kurkova should earn top honor for her GLOW. With her shiny hair, luminous makeup, radiant smile, and shimmery gown, she was as golden as Oscar himself.

Jen Aniston needs a new hair style. The long, flat, center-parted and hanging-in-your-face look doesn’t belong at the Oscars. It’s too homeroom. Liked her gown though. It managed to be formal and yet channel a subtle bohemian vibe.

Jane Seymour in her cream-colored, body hugging satin dress—Hon, those sorts of gowns are so unforgiving. After a certain point in life, you need to leave them for someone else to wear. Really.

Uma Thurman had a great gown and bad makeup. She looked like she had pink eye.

Rachel Weisz earns kudos for the best updo. That loosely French braided style was perfect with her profile, classic and not uptight.

JLo’s kiwi green gown was a welcome dose of color, sexy and elegant. Thumbs up. It’s a relief that JLo has abandoned her skanky Jersey girl dresses. I think Mariah Carey bought them all at a Beverly Hills garage sale and has co-opted the look.

Michelle Williams gown, the color of French’s yellow mustard, initially made me cringe. But the more I studied it, the more I liked it. She even managed to pull off the red lipstick with it.

Not so Jane Russell, who must be in her 80s. Lord, someone should have sent her back into the dressing room to wipe off the red clown lips—heinous.

And Lisa Rinna’s lips look like pink slugs on steroids. No more collagen injections—please.

Charlize Theron’s dress looked like something out of the Star Wars costume closet. There she is, queen of the not-too-dark side.  It was like she'd been wrapped in a piece of charcoal ribbon and tied up like a package.

Nicole Kidman looks like a ghost of her former self. Too thin, too pale, too blonde, too beige, too much botox—she looks lifeless.

Comments anyone?

The best things in life aren't things at all...

Teebs at Soul Gardening got me thinking again about consumerism with her entry on the spending habits of the jet set. It’s easy to roll our eyes over the absurdity of someone paying $1,000 for a dessert or $1,300 for an espresso maker, but consumerism permeates every aspect of American life and culture. Our economy and lifestyle are driven by the energy of shopping and owning things.

These days I try to evaluate my motivations when I consider buying anything. I don’t want to buy things because I’m bored. I don’t want to get something to impress someone else. I don’t want to buy anything I’m not absolutely certain I’ll wear/use/value, preferably for several years. I don’t want to get things I don’t have room to store. I don’t want to be a mindless collector, nor do I want to deny that some things that aren’t “practical” are still worth having.

The bottom line is that I want to be surrounded by things I delight in, that satisfy me, that I’m grateful for, that appeal to my sense of comfort, beauty, art, usefulness. But above and beyond all that, I never want to forget that the best things in life aren’t things at all.

My former priest, Debby, used to close each service with a prayer that included a line requesting God to bless “all those we love and those we will come to love, now and forever.”

Debby always delivered that prayer in a loud voice with enthusiasm and joy, and I would carry that with me as I exited through the church and stepped out into life. How uplifting it is to dwell not just on those we love, but those we will come to love--those we have yet to meet as well as those we have failed to appreciate.

Those were the perfect words to end one week and start the next. They reveal a world of wonder and possibility that doesn’t depend on what we earn or what we own but on who we choose to be and those we’re blessed to love.

So, Happy Weekend--and may God bless all those you love and those you will come to love, now and forever. AMEN!

© 2006 Veronica McCabe Deschambault. All rights reserved.

V-Grrrl Gets Stampin

I love art but have never been into crafts. Until now.

Shirl Grrrl, in a move that would make Amy the Mary Kay pusher proud, nonchalantly passed me her Stampin' Up supply catalog and idea book, and what can I say? I inhaled! The whole thing! Parked at the kitchen table with my tea mug steaming, I took hit after hit off the catalog’s pages.

I had never been remotely interested in Shirl’s rubber stamping hobby. I’d requested a catalog because I thought little E-Grrrl, my arts and crafts darling, might like some stamping supplies for Christmas. Once I had the catalog in hand though, everything changed. Who knew stamping could be so cool?

I loved all the different stamps. Edgy and artistic, contemporary and bold, classic and vintage images—there were stamps for every taste and mood. I had envisioned rubber stamping as a dead end road—a predictable trip to a one way destination artistically. Shirl Grrrl’s own work and the samples on the pages she sent me showed me how wrong I was.

The images could be manipulated and colored, layered and popped, embossed and watermarked. Various types of paper and card stock, pencils, pastels, inks, paints, and dimensionals and other add-ons created all sorts of possibilities. I loved the way the cards the artists created were rich with color and texture, could be started and finished in a single session, could be simple or complex.

Hovered over the catalog, I saw that stamping would give me the chance to express myself and get as creative with paper as I am with the words I put on it. Just like my writing, the cards could be personally tailored works of “art” meant to be given away. Oh sure, I ordered some stamps for little E-Grrrl, but I ordered a whole lot more for myself—along with cardstock, tools, and other supplies to get us both started.

Since then I’m like a crack addict and Shirl Grrrl is my supplier. Dare I confess I have a few hundred dollars invested? That I asked for stamping supplies for my birthday? That I bought two books on stamping from Amazon? That E-Grrrl and I can spend hours on a weekend afternoon working on designs? That I like to stamp at night after everyone else goes to bed? The ever-wise E-Man supports my addiction, afraid I might start to twitch and bitch if he cut me off now.

While just a beginner, I think my designs get better with each session. Last weekend I attended a workshop with other addicts  artists to learn some new coloring techniques and try out some different tools. Ooh baby, I love how that stipple brush gives an airbrushed look to pigment. And now I can add ribbon to my cards with ease.

Meanwhile my stamping experience has gotten me interested in scrapbooking. While I prefer photos in a simple album, I’m imagining all the creative ways I can present the postcards I collect on a page, layering them with subtle background images, textured papers, complimentary colors. Conveniently, Shirl Grrrl is also a scrapbooking supply dealer.

I know those Mary Kay wenches get pink Cadillacs when they’ve pimped enough products. I’m hoping Shirl Grrrl ends up behind the wheel of something even better. I’d like to see her behind the wheel of something fast and fun, stampin on the gas, leaving rubber on the road.

© 2006 Veronica McCabe Deschambault. All rights reserved.

February 20, 2006

Invasion of the Body Snatchers

The Christmas tree had not even been taken down when the first spring/summer catalogs appeared in my mailbox last week. With temps in the 30s, the work day starting and ending in the dark, and snow drifting in and out of the weekly forecasts, the last thing I wanted to see was gauzy skirts and camisoles and t-shirts with palm trees on them. They made me shiver and shrink in my skin. And after weeks of overeating and under-exercising, I sure didn’t appreciate the allure of bathing suits.

I’m sure some marketing genius believes that in the coldest days of winter, I’ll want to escape to the sunny pages of their catalog and be seduced by their bright colors and carefree vibe. They are SO wrong. Forget hot, sexy, and tan. My mind and my reality are a thousand miles away from that. I don’t’ want to buy shorts and tank tops--I want to bury my dietary and fitness indiscretions in my winter clothes, which are so tactile and so forgiving.

I love winter clothes and hate to give them up in the spring. I can’t resist the instant warmth of fleece, the coziness of a wool cardigan, the buttery nap of corduroy pants, the luxury of a camel hair coat, the sophisticated style of a tweed hat, and the down home comfort of an oversized sweatshirt.

Of course, my issues with summer clothes go beyond comfort and are compounded by my age. Sad to say, I am no longer a sweet young thing basking in all a sultry Southern summer has to offer. Gone are the good old days of bikinis and miniskirts, sundresses and tan lines.

Now I’m over 40 and a skin cancer “survivor” who avoids the harsh light of day like a vampire and ends up dressing like an orthodox nun, trying to keep everything under wrap. Freckles aren’t cute on me anymore, I live in terror of liver spots (!), and no one is going to see the spider veins on my legs.

Last August when many people were complaining about how the whole summer had been unseasonably cool and rainy, I was secretly happy. I got to wear my jeans, fleece, and jackets all summer long—it was perfect weather for V-Grrrl in the Middle of midlife.

© 2006 Veronica McCabe Deschambault. All rights reserved.

January 10, 2006