design show

Exactly five years ago M comes to town and we go to the Architectural Digest Design Show. Today we go again.

My hope is to find the perfect coffee table that is small enough, 42 inches by 27 (and affordable enough) to go with my sofa. And to find a perfect rug that can be made big enough (16'8 in by 12) and not cost (as my mom would say) a fortune.

I meet M at 10:45. The show, at one of the Piers on 12th street, is already busy. We had pre-bought tickets and getting in and finding M is quick.

We start at the back and I immediately see these colorful hand-blown bottles from a company called Vetro Vera and fall in love. M tells me that my apartment is looking too clinical with all the beiges and soft greys. 

Next, I see a booth from a company called Snowe. I wouldn't have thought that my purchase today would be a terry slate/bluish grey bathrobe, but at $79 I can't resist. 




We then spend time at MINI OYOY, a designer of unique baby and kid items. M ends up buying a tooth fairy pillow, wooden blocks with a portable tracked rug, and a few other precious items. 

This is not what we thought we'd be getting at a home show, but we are both pleased with our purchases.

I see a coffee table I like.  It's beautifully crafted by a Minnesota company called Woodsport. The owner can make this round coffee table into an oval shape in the size I need. I am definitely thinking about it. His work is exquisite. 

I also fall in love with an orange lucite vase from LePage New York. M and I spend a fair amount of time finding the optimum flower arrangement. I am about to buy it, until I'm told the final price. At slightly over $1,000 it's too much.

We see some beautiful alpaca throws by Alicia Adams Alpaca, but end up buying none.

I have no luck finding a rug. Everything I want is stratospherically priced.

There are vendors for appliances, sliding doors, floors, tiles, garden designs, and everything else you can think of for a home. 

By two, we have seen most of the show, and are hungry and ready to leave. We cab over to The Harvard Club where M is staying. With just a few minutes till closing, we are allowed into the dining room, which is serving a buffet lunch for another ten minutes.

We load up on salads, lamb, vegetables, and desserts. The quite, reserved atmosphere is conducive to a relaxed, un-rushed meal.

Whenever M visits, I feel like I'm on vacation.  It's always effortless fun. 

long day, great night

M is here for the weekend. I love when she visits. 

I work on Friday and plan to meet her and her family for dinner. The day begins miserably. Another $8,000 in returns.

I need to clear about $9,000 in sales just to be paid minimum wage. That's what I earned last week, and that's what I'll earn this week if I'm lucky. It's this about the job that I hate. Work really really hard and think you're doing well, only to be surprised when you find out that a couple of customers have returned everything they recently (or, in many cases, not so recently) purchased. It's the only job I know of where you can unknowingly, and with zero control, lose money unexpectedly.

And when it's slow, the day just drags. Today is one of those days. But at least there's dinner with M and her family at eight. Her son Sam who, among his many great traits, knows all the great restaurants in the city and how to order for large groups.  He's chosen Il Gattopardo, an excellent Italian restaurant not far from work, in a charming townhouse.

Around seven, I have $2100 in. That's pretty dreadful. Especially against all the returns I have. I'm thinking of going down to make-up to maybe have the beauty experts hide my exhaustion. But then I start helping two customers.

And a little over an hour later, I've added $8,000 to my daily total. And it's this about the job —the unexpected big sales from appreciative customers — that I love.

I'm thrilled, but now running very late. It's eight, and I still have to: prepare six items for shipping, clean out two dressing rooms that are filled with clothes, and return the tried-on pieces to the right areas.

I get to the restaurant 45 minutes late, but definitely with no regrets.

M and her family are already seated. In front of my chair is a covered plate, hiding a full-meal's worth of appetizers including prosciutto, octopus, burrata cheese, tomatoes, and little meatballs. And if that's not enough, we also order a salad of cucumbers and tomatoes for the table, along with two different pasta dishes. All this before we even order our main courses.

Everyone gets something different.  I choose the branzino;  it is simply prepared, fresh, gigantic, and  excellent. 

We have a quiet table in the back of the restaurant and next to us is a loud, boisterous, and pretty obnoxious group of adults. The f-word frequently punctuates their conversation, and at one point, it looks like one of the guys is having a seizure. He starts jerking around in his seat and making inarticulate guttural noises. It's scary, until they all start laughing. 

We order desserts, all of which are great (my favorite being the warm zabaione with fresh mixed berries). We are surprised by an extra dessert, sent over by our neighbors as way of an apology. 

Before leaving, the waiter takes a group photo, and my friend asks not to be shown (though I have no idea why; she looks great).







We finally say our good-byes after eleven.

recognition

In school, I was pretty much an all A student.  Not because I am so smart — more because I am competitive.

When subjectivity is erased from the equation, and quantifiable measurement is used as the criterion, I usually am at the top. That's why I am good at sales, and like it. The numbers speak for themselves.

I've always been vocal, and that has gotten me in trouble. I believe in the fairness of things, even though I recognize that life isn't fair. 

I get angry and speak my mind when, for example, the side of the floor where I work does not get go-back support and the other side does.

Or when I shouldn't be penalized for a return credit because a price-tag is mis-marked.

I know these are small, inconsequential things.  And still, they rile me.

I honestly believe that if I were a person convicted of a crime I didn't commit, I'd probably find a way to kill myself. The injustice of it all would make living unbearable.

I hate performance reviews — always have. I like constructive criticism, but since I am more critical of myself than anyone else could possibly be of me, I don't want another voice telling me something I already know. Or worse, something I don't agree with.

At work, for instance, I know what I'm good at. Selling. I actually love working with the customers, most of whom are grateful, respectful and pleasant. I love styling people. And finding things for them that they wouldn't have otherwise found. When I complain about the job (mostly that the pay is not at all commiserate with the enormous physicality of the job) and friends ask, "Why do you stay," I always answer: Because I really do like the selling part of my job; it's just everything else I don't like.

Today, I am going through emails, and see this, sent from my boss's boss's boss.

At once I feel like a pre-schooler getting that gold star. 

And though I might be a bit embarrassed to admit it, it makes me just a little bit proud.

another birthday

Today is my birthday and I am working. 

I am working without pay. 

I walk in yesterday to almost $10,000 in returns, so the next few days I'll be working just to cover these returns. I don't know that my customers realize (or care) that every dollar of a return deducts from my weekly paycheck. It's the only job I know where you can be losing money when you're not working, though the reverse is not true. 

I had hoped to leave early but instead end up leaving late.  I rush downtown to meet Jill and Susan for dinner at Cafe Medi. We are starting a new tradition, like the one I've had for many years with my Horace Mann mom friends — taking each other out for our birthdays. 

This very nice restaurant has outstanding food and an underlying hip vibe. While Susan, Jill and I see each other frequently, most of our get-togethers are meeting to see a movie or a play. And typically we meet in our seats and talk for a few minutes before or after. So it's nice to actually be together and talk.

Birthdays are meaningful to me.

I'm happy for the Facebook reminders, and hearing from so many people — some from long ago and some who are in my life day-to-day.  Each birthday wish conjures a memory of the person who wrote it.  I hear from friends growing up, many of whom I haven't seen in decades. Friends from prior jobs. Friends from cities across this country. And four old boyfriends. Interestingly, I don't speak to my ex-husband or Alexander's father.  I think that the hurt (in the case of my ex-husband) and animosity (putting it mildly, with my son's father) make it impossible to be friends today. I wish it were different.

I don't like seeing the number of my age advance,  but I'm grateful to have so many inspiring, kind and incredible people in my life.

I get home around 11, and the doormen hands me a box. I come up to my apartment, open it and see a dozen gorgeous red roses. They are from Alexander.

My birthday is complete. I am one lucky girl.

my never-boring friends

My mom has been playing Canasta for years. My sister too.

They both love it, and regularly meet with the same group of girls (that's what they call themselves, not women, and I like that).

So last year, seven of us ex-Horace Mann moms take lessons, and later form a weekly game. We've been playing every Monday since October. 

This photo is from another event and includes all of us but one.










This same group of women has been celebrating each others' birthdays with nice dinners. We've been doing this for so long now that I cannot remember when this tradition even started.

In other words, we have all been friends for a long time. And, we all really really like each other.

We are a smart, spirited, vocal group.

Some of our birthday celebrations have been memorable — as much for the warmth and camaraderie, as for the unrestrained arguments.

One birthday dinner ended with one person walking out before appetizers were even served.

Another involved all seven of us walking out before appetizers were served and then having to find another restaurant that could accommodate us on the spot.

And before Trump, there were big, boisterous battles between the Republicans and Democrats among us. Now our politics are more aligned.

But in the end, our disagreements never last beyond the final good-night.

So I guess we should have realized that the dynamics of our dinners would be the same over a weekly game of cards.

Our first conflict started with the instructor. We all loved her but some of us didn't want to keep paying for her services and others did. That argument eventually ended in a nice compromise. As of January 1, we've been teacher-less.

Then there were a few words spoken when one player tried to coach her partner. I think that happened multiple times (when we were learning) among different players.

And today, two very good friends get into it over the rules — one likes following them and knows them well and the other one prefers to ignore the rules she disagrees with.

Our games are long, never dull, and in the end, always gratifying. 

Just like our friendships.

a friend I didn't know I had

I'm at work. It's a good day.

I'm helping a customer with a transaction that is taking a while. I see someone waiting for me ...

An attractive woman, nicely dressed in a green wool coat. Probably wants to do a return, I think.

Finally, after 15 minutes or so, I am finishing up with my customer and see the green-coated woman still waiting.

She approaches me and says, "I love your blog."

I am stunned. 

I have never seen this woman before. 

She knows about my mom living on the Cape. My son in Philadelphia. My job. My makeup preferences. And lots in between.

I don't even know her name.

It turns out that a few years ago, a friend of mine from BAFTA passed on the link to my blog to her, and she's been reading it ever since.

I am deeply and truly touched that a stranger would find my postings worthy of being read.

She asks for a photo to send to our mutual friend.

Yup, it's a very good day overall.