Image by KiltBear via Flickr

Dear Reader,

Thank you very much for reading this missive. I appreciate that you are taking the time to visit my site.

I wasn’t quite sure of the best method for expressing my thanks to you, considering the fact that in the past few months I myself have received some thank-you notes and each came in different formats. I so far haven’t received any thanks via email or text message, but the gift-giving season isn’t yet over so it’s still possible.

Among the expressions of gratitude I have gotten are a postcard with check boxes, each indicating a reaction to the gift; a card in which a teen’s parent wrote the note and addressed the envelope; letters written by tweens and teens but the envelope addressed by a parent or affixed with a printed address sticker; and a hand-written note from a 19-year-old bride.

Nothing remarkable about that last one, but so far it’s my favorite because of the vast improvement it showed over the wedding invitation, which was a black-and-white copy of one of those print-at-home invites, the original of which appeared to have a colored border and a cloth bow. It was kind of the couple to “request the honor of your presents,” and they should be applauded for getting correct the names of four out of the five people in my family to whom it was addressed (the fifth person’s name wasn’t spelled wrong; the actual name was wrong). Granted, the bride and groom hardly know us and those homophones can by tricky, but they made up for it with their response to my meager check. This time they got all our names right and even told us what they planned to do with the cash (put it toward baby items!).

Another plus: the note was readable, one quality my daughters have so far failed to master. Both girls have many commendable qualities but writing legibly is not one of them. Perhaps their handwriting is so appalling because in this digital age, they almost never have to write longhand. But that doesn’t explain why my 13-year-old refused to follow the general outline I gave her for a stack of thank yous, though the etiquette experts at the Emily Post Institute say at that age, you’re supposed to let them express themselves as they wish. Apparently, then, the notes inadvertently turned out to be the right thing, even if I found them horrifying.

I did insist that she redo the ones that weren’t just sloppy, but also incorrect. All she had to do was look at the address list I gave her and you know, write down the same names, but Cary became Carrie and Sean turned into Shawn, among other mistakes. And apparently it was too much to ask of her to close the cards with a “Love,” “Sincerely,” “Regards,” or other similar expression. She just put a dash and then her name. Ugg.

On the positive side, at least my girls write thank-you notes themselves and address their own envelopes. The experience requires a ton of effort, is a lot of work, and painful at times. The kids have a rough time of at as well. Ba-da-bump. I like to think that someday they will appreciate that I force gently guide them to complete this most basic task, but they don’t need to send me a thank-you note or anything. If they let me say, “I told you so,” that will be enough.

In the meantime, I most sincerely thank you for dropping by. I plan to use your stop here to increase monthly page views and unique visitors, and for that, I am truly grateful.

Very truly yours,

Hilary

A prototype of jeans designed for the Baby Boomer set from Henry-Lee and Co.

I don’t know why it took so long to get to this point, but it looks like jeans makers are finally starting to recognize that women in their 40s and older like to wear premium denim, too, but we don’t want our choices to consist of jeans so skinny and tight that they cause nerve damage on one end to the dreaded mom jeans on the other.

As the youngest boomer turns 46 this year, demand for hip jeans with a bit more give is on the rise. With roughly 76 million baby boomers accounting for half of consumer spending, denim-makers are waking up to the fact that there is money to be made in women’s jeans that fit middle-age hips and thighs while still looking cool.

via Baby Boomer denim: Chicago firm enters jeans scene

Was it really so difficult to devise something in-between, a style that isn’t so low-cut and snug that wearers risk an obscenity citation nor so high, bulky and pleated that anyone unfortunate enough to don them is a shoo-in for “What Not to Wear?” If you’ve ever had to devote an entire day to jeans shopping, then you know the answer is yes. Apparently we have California to blame for this state of affairs. As the birthplace of jeans, the state’s culture continues to influence design and even today, “the business is still steeped in the land of face lifts and celebrities,” according to the Chicago Tribune. “No shopper wants to buy fat jeans.”

Leave it up to the sensible Midwest to find a solution. Chicago-based Henry-Lee and Co. in August is coming out with a line of jeans called Henry & Bell, priced at about $145.  Available in jeggings, straight jeans and boot cut, “the fabric is made with four-way stretch XFIT Lycra, a cross-weave that claims to hold its shape better than other stretch denim,” the Tribune says.

This sounds a lot more promising than the jeans in the marketplace now, and though it’s more than I’d like to spend, I might be willing to do so if they fit just right. A couple of years ago I needed a new pair and decided to try as many different brands at as many different price points as my sanity would allow. My shopping trip started on a sour note when a saleswoman approached me as I was perusing a pair of 7 for All Mankind jeans and told me to not even bother trying them on, as they weren’t made for people who looked like me. I didn’t know whether to be offended or thankful. Gap’s Long & Lean made me look neither, I couldn’t find a Levi’s style that worked and the story was the same with a slew of jeans in the $150-$200 range. I ended up getting lucky with Lucky Brand and a pair from iT.

But a girl can’t live on old jeans alone, so I’m looking forward to these jeans for my “middle-age hips and thighs,” even though that description once again both offends me and sparks a sense of gratitude. I hope they work because since mom jeans are a definite no, my other choice might involve a trip to a nerve damage specialist.

Prince Albert and fiance Charlene Wittstock

With the news that one of the world’s most eligible bachelors, Prince Albert of Monaco, is finally engaged to be married at the age of 52 comes hope for other never-marrieds who know that that their chances for getting hitched continue to decline the older they get.

Of course it’s possible to be fulfilled and unwed and marriage isn’t for everyone, but for people who do want to walk down the aisle (setting aside the issue of gay marriage for now), the trend has been that if it doesn’t happen in your 20s, it becomes less and less likely — though not nearly as dire as Newsweek’s now recanted prediction that women over 40 have a better chance of being killed by a terrorist than getting a band around their finger. It’s true that most Americans have tied the knot by the time they reach age 40, and though it’s difficult to get numbers on the probability of marriage at certain ages, it looks like the estimate is about a 40 percent chance for single women over age 40.

Which comes as a relief to a few friends of mine who never thought they would still be single in their 40s and 50s. Smart, educated, attractive women (I also know a few unmarried men, one of whom is 58 and a Jewish doctor no less — oy, how has he been able to escape the clutches of Jewish mothers everywhere?), they want to find a spouse but for various reasons, still haven’t found The One. But if the Prince is finally ready to settle down, maybe it means another prince is out there, albeit without his own country.

“If it happened for him, it could happen for me,” says Toni, a gorgeous 47-year-old Realtor who didn’t want to be tied down a few years ago but now wants a husband. “I don’t need to run around and be wild anymore,” she says, much as she imagines Albert feels. “Maybe he just grew up.”

My funny and lively friend Cathi, 45, doesn’t take any particular lessons from Albert’s engagement, pointing out the double standard that exists that says it’s much more okay for a man to be 52 and just getting married than a woman (Albert’s bride-to-be is 32). She thought she would be married by the time she was in her early 20s. It didn’t happen and while she wouldn’t mind being married now, isn’t actively searching for Mr. Right. She lives a full and happy life and can’t believe that some people think that “unmarried” connotes some sort of deficiency.

For my beautiful and sweet pal Kara, 46, the reality of singledom really hit home when she was at her most vulnerable point, just after having surgery and realizing there’s no one to bring you flowers, and worse, no one at home to help change your bandages. “When there’s no one waiting for you, you feel very much alone,” she says. “It’s very much the, ‘I’m alone with my cats,’ thing.”

Other unattached friends just are bewildered by their single status, as there’s no obvious reason why someone wouldn’t want to marry them. Their only “downside,” they say, is their “advanced” age. A younger guy tends to want to date someone his own age or younger. And men their own age and older tend to want to date…someone younger.

As true — and unfair — as that is, at least one friend has found a way to use her age to her advantage. Toni has tried online dating before but has now signed up with CougarLife, a dating website for older women looking for younger men. She’s young enough to still have hope that her glass slipper is out there, but old enough to realize that sometimes, you have to take the first step in getting the magic to happen.

Welcome to the world, Baby* Smith-Jones-Johnson-Adams! Image by Hammer51012 via Flickr

A friend — let’s call her Allison Smith — just had a baby and she and her husband Bill Jones (another pseudonym) decided to name their tot Baby* Smith-Jones.

Allison never changed her name to her husband’s when she got married for the same reason other friends mentioned: they were already established in their careers and well known by their birth names. While this move is still relatively rare, it has the support of at least one group, the Lucy Stone League, which says that abandoning your original name is a form of sex discrimination. I suppose it is, and it also isn’t, in that most kids here are given the last name of their father, not their mother. Wouldn’t keeping the name passed on to you by your pops also be another example of how you were once considered his property until you could be passed along to become your husband’s property?

Still, for assorted reasons, most U.S. women (90 to 95 percent) do chose to adopt their husband’s surname when they say, “I Do.” That’s in line with the huge majority of Americans (70 percent) who believe women should take their husband’s name at marriage. I do think it makes things a bit easier if everyone has the same name, particularly when the kids come along.

My pal Penny, who got hitched in her 30s, says she decided to use a hyphenated last name because her original name, “was part of who I was, and I did not feel like becoming a new person at that stage in my life.” Her decision was not met with universal acceptance. “An old boyfriend once said to me regarding my hyphenated name, ‘Oh, didn’t you respect your husband enough to take his name?,’” she told me. “His outdated, sexist remark reminded me why he was my ‘former’ boyfriend, but also I think some people do have this old-fashioned way of thinking that a women should take her husband’s name.”

Which brings me back to Baby* Smith-Jones. What happens when she falls in love and decides to marry Bob Adams-Johnson? Will she give up her last name(s) to take on his? Will he give up his and change it to hers? Maybe they could split the difference and become Mr. and Mrs. Smith-Adams. Or is it possible they might decide to hyphenate their hyphenated names and become the truly unfortunately named Mr. and Mrs. Smith-Jones-Adams-Johnson?

Ooops. I’m sorry. That was sexist of me. I meant to say Mr. and MS. Smith-Jones-Adams-Johnson.

*Not the kid’s real first name.

Debrahlee Lorenzana

Looks matter. That’s no surprise to anyone anymore, but that ugly truth is in the news again, thanks to two very different Debbies.

Yay! You made it to high school. Image by House Of Sims via Flickr

Is graduating from 8th grade such an accomplishment that it calls for gifts, parties, dinners, caps and gowns and other accolades?

I’ve always thought celebrations centered on such a common achievement were silly — same as I feel about the ridiculousness (though admittedly adorableness) of kindergartners decked out in graduation attire in honor of the spectacular deed of making it to first grade. But I seem to be in the minority, if the parties around here are any evidence, as my kids get invited to more and more of their peers’ 8th grade soirees, which continue to be the norm rather than the exception. My daughter even asked if she could have one and I had to crush her fragile hopes as I explained that it’s really no big deal to graduate from junior high school.

I have tried to keep my curmudgeonly thoughts to myself. Plus I’m never one to turn down cake so I happily will attend anyone’s party, even if it’s one for their dog’s birthday. But still, I think it’s going a bit overboard. So I was glad to see that someone else shares my disdain, and even came up with a way to try to lessen the pain that is the hours-long graduation ceremony, commonly punctuated by wild cheering as if students had just won the Nobel Prize.

Here is what Burt Constable of the Daily Herald suggests that principals announce before the ceremony gets underway:

“We want you to hold your applause until the end of the ceremony and not scream for your kid, but if you don’t expect your kid to ever experience another graduation, are confident that getting through 8th grade is going to be a real life highlight, and think this might be as good as it gets, well then, by all means, go nuts.”

via Daily Herald | The way to stop wild cheers at 8th-grade ‘graduations’.

I hope school officials employ this or similar admonishments, and that they work. Though I know they won’t. Parents can’t help being proud of their kids but I wonder if praising every little thing diminishes the satisfaction and joy kids feel when they accomplish something actually worth cheering about.

Metal or plastic tank lever: it's your choice!

While other people are spending Memorial Day honoring our soldiers, I’ve got an urgent task that can’t wait until tomorrow: fixing the toilet handle.

Well, not the handle itself, actually, but the plastic thingy that attaches to the inside of the handle on one side and the chain on the other. Obviously I’m not very handy, because I don’t even know what the plastic thingy is called, but everyone is always dashing off to Home Depot when their things break so I head there too in the hopes that someone can help me.

Me, showing broken plastic part to guy: This thing broke. I need another one.

Home Depot Guy: No problem. This way. What color is your handle?

Me, happy that all I need to know is a color: Silver.

HDG, pointing to several rows of replacement parts, now identified as a tank lever: Just pick one.

Me, noticing some levers are plastic and others are metal: What’s the difference between the metal and plastic ones?

HDG: Some are metal, some are plastic.

Me, attempting to suppress eye roll: Yes, but what are the advantages of one or the other?

HDG: Plastic breaks easier.

Me: Then why would anyone ever get a plastic one? There must be some difference or advantage?

HDG: People who are looking for replacements just like to get the same thing they have, so if they have a plastic one they want another one.

Me, starting to doubt his expertise: But why would they get plastic if they can replace it with metal and it will work the same or better?

HDG, annoyed that he has to explain such simple concepts: It’s your choice.

Me, not even caring anymore but now inexplicably trying to get him to simply admit he doesn’t know the pros and cons of plastic versus metal: Well why would I chose one or the other?

HDG: Some people like plastic, some people like metal.

Me: That can’t be the only difference.

HDG, understandably relieved when another customer comes over with question about broken tank lever: They’re all about the same.

Me, finally giving up and choosing metal lever: Okay.

Both of us, to ourselves: This is ridiculous. I wish I was at a barbecue.

Me, at home, attempting to install lever, which doesn’t fit at all, either into the opening and even if it did, wouldn’t be facing the right direction: Of course.

HDG, thinking to self: I hope she doesn’t come back before my shift ends.

Both of us, to ourselves: I wish I was at a barbecue.

Julia Gnuse started inking her body, she says, to cover up an unsightly skin condition. Once she started, though, she couldn’t stop, and now she has more than 400 tats. She says none of them have any particular significance; she just likes the way they look.

Okay, that’s her rationale. Not that anyone has to explain why they do what they do with their body, but I’ve always wondered about the proper etiquette when it comes to asking about people’s tattoos, weird piercings or crazy hairstyles. Do they want to be asked what it means/why they did it/did it hurt? Or are they insulted if you don’t ask? Would they prefer if you ignore their look, or would they rather you did inquire? Are they trying to express something, or do they just think it looks cool?

Gnuse seems to like the attention, and many people don what some would consider outlandish looks just to spark a reaction. In fact, I believe that is the very definition of being a teenager. But others might be offended if a stranger asked them about their kitty cat tat, as much as they would be taken aback if you wondered aloud about their choice of sweater, for instance.

So which is it, should we or shouldn’t we?