Rock the Silver

On being ladies

There's an interesting discussion going on at Advanced Style, which was reviewed by another blogger who doesn't like that Ari uses the word ladies. Ari wanted to bring the debate forward and asked readers what they thought. What's the right word? Women? Ladies? Girls? Something else?

First, let me say I love Advanced Style, Ari's fantastic, and as many readers pointed out, he obviously has a great deal of respect and affection for those he photographs. It seems picky and unnecessary to criticize his choice of words. His beautiful work speaks for itself.

But I was surprised by the passionate responses from women who prefer to be called ladies. Many also said the amazing women Ari photographs deserve to be called ladies. As though it is a badge one earns. And that's the part that bothers me.

I've never cared for the term ladies. Mostly because that's what they screamed at us when I was in the Army in basic training.

Ladies! Get off you rear ends and mop this floor!

Ladies! It's time to get up!

Ladies! That not how we do it in the Army!

I can still hear the way the drill sergeant said ladies. Such disdain. However, aside from my own bias, I have no issues with Ari using the word ladies on his blog. It's his style, and I think he should stick with what feels right for him. But the comments have validated what I suspected all along. The words women and ladies are not interchangeable for some people.

Being a lady can come with baggage. Certain standards of appearance and behavior that must be met. Who gets to decide what those standards are and whether you make the cut? What are the consequences of defying those expectations? Call me a contrarian, but my role models are the women who ignore all that silliness and push the boundaries of convention.

My favorite comment was from Janis, who said:

I'm not a girl and haven't been for a long time, and the only people who call me a lady are the ones who are trying to get me to pipe down and behave.

What a bunch of turkeys

Thanksgiving. It probably didn't happen like you thought, but maybe the enduring message is better than you had hoped. 

It's 1621. You've got the people we've come to know as Pilgrims. Cold, tired, sick, hungry, dirty and pissed. Indians everywhere. It's true the Mayflower was not exactly a sweet ride, but wasn't it supposed to get better after that? Oops! They had no skills!

Lucky for them the Wampanoags came by to check on their holdings and thought, these fools, they'll die if we don't do something. A couple of them hang around and teach the Pilgrims how to cultivate corn and other vegetables, fish, dig for clams and get sap from maple trees.

The Pilgrims finally get a decent crop and decide to have a little harvest feast. I don't know. Maybe they were drunk or just couldn't shoot straight, but they come up short on protein. The Wampanoags hear all this gunfire and assume the worst. They drop by to see if it is time to war up, but way to go! It's a party!

They weren't invited. Get over it. But they were welcomed. Only now there's a boatload of hungry people and the meager little meal the Pilgrims managed to scrape together. And the Indians are like bummer, we have to bring all the food, too? The tireless Wanapanoags go back out and shoot some deer and some turkeys and drag it all back. Let's assume the team collaborated to butcher it and cook it. But it had to be hours and hours before dinner finally made it to the table and everybody got to eat.

Not unlike memorable holiday events in my family, only it was vodka that sometimes delayed the onset of a meal.

Americans celebrate the feast as a time of universal thanks and a nod to peace among all peoples. Some Native Americans call it a National Day of Mourning because the Pilgrims eventually stopped being nice, grabbed some land and massacred 700 Pequot men, women and children up the road apiece at Mystic Fort. Several of the colonies declared a day of thanksgiving for commemorating the massacre and achieving victory over the Indians.

I tell my husband the story I've pieced together while reading about the history of Thanksgiving, and he totally believes it but says he has little sympathy. He said the Native Americans, while certainly victims in many, many ways, did unspeakable things even to each other. But he agreed, the Pilgrims were not the sweethearts of the rodeo. There is no shortage of bad acts in American history.

It's a good thing most people don't hold themselves accountable for what happened in the distant past. Life would be way harder than it has to be. But we owe it to ourselves to pursue the truth. And by many accounts, the truth appears to be that people gave thanks for wiping out the Indians.

But in spite of its messy origins, families still try to come together on this day and choose happiness. It doesn't always work out, but most of the time I believe happiness is there for the taking. I like to remember that the Pilgrims and the Indians did share a harvest meal before all the bad shit went down. They had to know on one level that peace was possible.

Peace? They both blew it. Wasn't the first time. Definitely not the last. It should come as a surprise to no one that humans are seriously flawed. A bunch of turkeys, really. But there is always a day when kindness and understanding prevail. Always a day when you can be grateful for freedom. A day when you can appreciate simple things such as a warm kitchen, good health, great food and people who theoretically love you.

Let's call it Thanksgiving.

Reports of my demise are premature

Well, this is awkward. I'm not going to pull the plug on Rock the Silver® after all. I asked my husband if he thought I was being tacky. After all, I said I was leaving, shouldn't I really leave? He said, "Everyone knows writers are flaky."

I was reminded of my decision to blog in the first place. I had been in counseling to help cope with having cancer, and we got to talking about my work. I told the counselor I struggled with the desire to write and the need to earn a living. She said, "Why do you have to choose?"

It had never occurred to me that I could happily do both. That's why I have a job, and that's why I eventually started this blog. By the same token, I realized after announcing that I was quitting to slow down, move in new directions and focus on quality that I could do all that right here, right now. I don't have to quit to go where my heart takes me. 

I've said all along it's not about the hair. It's a blog about life. If I were to come back and start all over again, I'd still want to call it Rock the Silver!

You'll see some changes. I'm not sure exactly what will change, but I hope you stick around to find out. And I promise -- if I decide to quit in the future, I will just pull the plug and poof, I'll be gone.

Pulling the plug on my blog

Dear friends,

I've decided to shut down the blog. I'll pull the plug in a few days, but before I go, I wanted to express my gratitude for your readership and support. It has been a great three years, and you made it possible. Thank you.

You probably want to know why I'm jumping ship. It mostly has to do with my growth as a writer. I proved to myself that I could pump out content regularly, but I sometimes sacrificed quality and depth for the sake of a new post. Now I want to slow down, stretch myself creatively and focus on quality. I want to commit to a long-term writing project without the instant gratification of being published on the internet.

While it was fun to write about gray hair and what to wear, I feel myself being pulled in a new direction. I'm not sure where it's taking me or when I'll get there, but I'm on the bus. I look forward to the ride, and maybe I'll just take a little snooze and see what else inspires me.

Writers sometimes disappear for awhile, but they never go away completely. I have a feeling I'll be back, and I hope we'll find each other again.

Sincerely,

Donna Pekar

A sucker for pleats

My mother was a wonderful seamstress, who made beautiful clothes for me and my sister and our dolls. Seriously -- she'd cut up old slips to make nightdowns for the dolls and old shower curtains to make rain coats. Our dolls were stylin'.

I tried to follow suit. Back in those days, girls took sewing in school. I learned the basics and took on a few projects with success. An apron. A sleeveless shift. An elastic waist skirt. The pinnacle of my career was my 8th grade graduation dress, which had long sleeves with cuffs and a zipper!

Brimming with confidence, I asked to make a jumper for my freshman year of high school. We did not have much discretionary cash, but my mother found the money to buy several yards of a gorgeous heathered purple wool fabric from the Pendleton Woolen Mills.

Pendleton was a huge splurge, so naturally I screwed it up. I will just say this. It was really hard to differentiate the right side from the wrong side of the fabric. And you can only rip out seams so many times before you've made a big mess of the whole thing. I have not sewn since.

But in my quest for American-made clothing, I rediscovered Pendleton. Much of their clothing is no longer made in the USA, but some of it is, so be sure to check the details if you are so inclined. The Portland Collection is a tribute to local designers. It's edgy, but I like it!

I got this skirt on eBay for $15. It's in beautiful condition. I wore it for a casual day at work with boots and my silk bomber jacket. I'm a sucker for pleats.

eBay is a great place to pick up new and vintage American-made clothing. I confess that I shop with greater confidence on eBay knowing that I have a fantastic tailor on tap to make necessary alterations. There's no universal search (that I know of) to find only clothes made in the USA. I look for brands that I know have a history in America, and then I read the fine print. I found this skirt by searching for Pendleton pleated skirts, and I checked weekly for about a month until the right one came along.

Tips for finding clothes made in the USA on eBay:

• Keep a list of brands recognized for being manufactured in the USA. Search for those brands, then narrow it down. You'll be wandering aimlessly for a month if you just start going through skirts hoping for one made in the USA.
• Read the details! If it doesn't say where it's made, write and ask. If they don't know, don't buy it.
• Size matters. Pay close attention to the measurements. Keep yours on a notecard by the computer. Measure your best fitting clothes, and keep a record of waist, overall length, shoulder to shoulder, shoulder to hem, armpit to armpit and armpit to sleeve hem.
• Size doesn't matter. Vintage sizes vary widely. What tiny little waists they had! My searches include sizes 6 to 14.
• Read the return policy -- most eBay merchants do not accept returns.

I'm sure I forgot something important, but I'll exit with an example of why buying local is cool. I bought the funky fur belt in this picture at my neighborhood consignment store here in Texas. Just for fun, I Googled the name of the company printed on the inside of the belt, and it turns out this belt was made within a couple of miles of the house where I grew up in California!

Somebody in my town made this belt, and I am surprised to feel gratified by the connection.