It really is the little things

I'm not the kind of grrrl who requires expensive gifts. You might not guess this about me and that is OK. As much as I might drool over $1500 shoes or a purse that could sell on eBay and put my child through college, it truly is the intention and not the price tag or name brand that speaks to me most.

That care, tucked into a beautifully tied bow or lovingly baked tin of muffins or even in a note, stays with me long after the holidays or gift is gone. It's cliche,yes. It is also true.

One of my favorite gifts arrived when the holidays and divorce court dates collided. I was exhausted, depleted and overwhelmed by how much shopping and centering and magic I would have to do to make a Christmas for my son. In the middle of it, I got a card in the mail from my friend Ann. She lives in the neighborhood, but the fact that it came in the post said something special. Inside was a Starbucks gift card with the note, "Use this when you need a break or a treat for yourself. All my love..." Nothing fancy, no long paragraphs of inspiration and anecdotes. But all the understanding was there. And on the day I powered through all my shopping in a few intense hours, I stopped for a coffee and the treat of some time alone in a big chair with a latte to decide how I would thrive in the days ahead rather than continue to (barely) survive. That may have come at some point anyway, but I have Ann to thank for prompting me, for the reminder that I deserved to sit down, take stock, slowly slip.

I still have that card with Ann's note tacked next to my desk. More than once in the two years since she sent it, reading it has inspired me to stop what I am frantically doing, step away from my life for a while, be still and re-set.

Other grrrlfriends have shared gifts that have held the same sweet intentions -- mixed CDs, worn copies of books they've read and insist I also read, text messages that say "I <3 you so much!", taking the time in the craziness of the season to finally meet for brunch, an old photo from high school, a rock in the shape of a heart. None of these things requires a great deal of logistics, time or money. All of them have been a bit of bliss in the indulgence and mania we've come to expect from the holidays. 

Not all of this season is this sentimental. I don't expect that. Maybe, though, that's why these little gestures are such wonderful and welcome surprises. I'm as guilty as the next person for whipping out my debit card to celebrate a friendship at Christmas (and many other times during the year). Even just remembering all those notes and texts and songs emailed in the wee hours when the house is over-run with wrapping paper and messy kitchen counter tops makes me want to stash my cash away and write out a few meaningful messages of my own.

It's not revolutionary. It may not change anyone's world. It is simple. Why is it that, as soon as the bell ringers are out and Black Friday horns sound, we abandon simplicity so vehemently? Especially when something simple could be the sigh and smile we all really want when we are spending too much on everything or anything at all just to fulfill obligations?

So, tonight's intention is to ignore the to-do list for a while longer, close the door on my room cluttered with shopping bags, inhale all of that loveliness my women-friends have passed on to me in previous years and exhale a bit of it back in their direction.

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Postcards from all over the freaking place: First stop, San Francisco

It's true that very often this blog is a barometer for my life. It's not just the details I pour out here or the stories that are a gauge for how I am doing, what our lives are like. It is how often I show up. For the past few weeks, the reading is nothing more than busy.

Some of my time away from Sassafrass has been a challenge. Some of it has been amazing. I've been to California twice in two weeks, had a round of antibiotics to treat some hard-hitting bronchitis (my second since June, when I looked like I'd been using my forehead and all available sinus cavities to pound on death's door), been on television once and on the radio airwaves three times, and made my way on to some crazy, conservative websites with an apparently controversial post I wrote. I'm tempted -- or rather, should-should-shoulding myself -- about going all the way back to Thanksgiving and fill in all the gaps.

But really, that would just bore the you-know out of you and make me a little insane to try to call up all that old stuff when Christmas shopping lists, end-of-year expense reports, and all kinds of naughty and nice thoughts are crowding my brain.

Instead, let's skim past San Francisco first:

• I was completely engrossed in "It Might Get Loud", a fabulous doc centered on guitarists Jimmy Page, The Edge and Jack White. Each musician has his own very quirky tastes, process and journey from classrooms and garages to the stage and studio. I was most compelled by Jack White, with his raw voice and blues fascination and handwritten, scrawled lyrics and pending marriage proposal to me. But watching the three of them harmonize on "The Weight" was a bit of rare bliss on a cross-country flight. Rent, rent.

• Time passed but I got two (maybe three) laughs out of "4 Christmases" on the plane (and you wonder, Vince Vaughn, why you and I will no longer be lawfully wed?).

• One great evening in SF began at this restaurant. The food was phenomenal (don't ask what I ordered, I just ate whatever my friends put in front of me) and I had the best cocktail I've tasted in a long, long time (all kinds of coconutty, limey, gin goodness). And because I adore the details, I have to tell you that the high-gloss hardwood floors in this place are just as gorgeous as the art on the walls.

• Just before I had to say a teary goodbye to one of my favorite cities, I met up with some of my very favorite and most glam lady-friends at Lime. As if bottomless pomegranate mimosas were not enough reason to book a table at this clubby wonderland with the pink Christmas tree and "Single Ladies" drowning out the conversation, three words: Best. Bacon. Evahhh. I'm not kidding.

• Put on your mirrored earrings and fave 80s mini-skirt, go there, sit at the cute bar and order a ginormous pile of bacon and a bottomless mimosa. If your date thinks it's disgusting, you are clearly brunching with the wrong man.

• I stayed at the Clift, which has simple, pretty, modern rooms (with Tang-colored Lucite nightstands that have no place in my home but should) and funky chairs placed throughout (I adored looking at these, which greeted me every time I walked the four steps from my room to the elevator). A cab driver told me the hotel is haunted, but the only evidence of that I saw was in the legendary (or so I'm told) bar that was crawling with cougar love and (ahem) halter-topped professionals and young Eurotrashy boys sucking down the mojitos.

• I peeked in a few boutiques, wandered through a few galleries, drank a lot of coffee and got a very brief  tour through the serene Asian Art Museum. And since I was there for work -- a delightful appearance on "View from the Bay" (the clip will be up soon), my real job was to talk healthy eating and holiday weight gain (followed by some more boozing and noshing). It was too quick, but it was also the second stop in the state within days. As much as I would have loved to stay a few more days, I was anxious to get home to my boy.

Plus, I will be back in May, for a very exciting, somewhat terrifying running relay I've signed on to do with a few more of those favorite blogging ladies. 

So...SF is now covered. Next stop? Let's go ahead and skip over the hacking cough, meds and neti pot routine and move on to some more fun fashion stuffs. See you then!

Psst! Have you commented on this yet? You want to. Trust meh.

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Good LORD, I felt gorgeous. And so should you.

I know, I know. It's been a gazillion years since I posted here. You may not even recognize me anymore. Have probably long forgotten my name. But trust me, you will want to fake it for the next 15 seconds while you click on over to my new review blog (I KNOW! Look at me, with my empire expanding and whatnot).

Earlier this week, I had an amazing evening at LOFT, playing dress up with a stylist (I KNOW! So fancy.) and photographer (see?). And you know what? I felt gorgeous...and wore a size smaller than I expected. Is that enough to lure you over?

What if I promise there will be sequins?

How about a contest with a chance to win your own $200 LOFT gift card? PLUS, everyone gets a coupon for 20% your own sequins?

Seriously, why haven't you clicked yet? Are you waiting for me to tell you delicious details of how I had bronchitis and barely saw the light of day while I was in Santa Monica and then returned home, where it dropped a thousand degrees into an insane winter in Chicago? Click!

For the goddesses sake, honey, choose the sequins! Go, go.

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