I was born entirely too late. I’m thankful for the Mama and Daddy I have, for Brother, and for the family and friends that being born when I was born gave me. But, even though I was actually born two months early, it was still just way too late.
I should have been born in the 1950s--no, the late ‘20s or early ‘30s, so I could've been a young woman in the ‘40s and ‘50s. With June Cleaver, Audrey Hepburn, and Debra Kerr as my role models, instead of Britney Spears and Old Christine.
Rather than Shawn Cassidy and John Stamos posters on my walls, I’d have black-and-white 8x10s of gents like Gregory Peck, Cary Grant, and John Forsythe that I’d written a real letter on real stationery to request. (And speaking of well-mannered gentlemen with an air of chivalry so rarely seen these days, happy birthday to my sweet C.)
Mmm… Dresses with pearls every day, a perfectly coiffed coif, alabaster faces with scarlet lips and eyelashes for miles—no matter where you were going.
When tulle ruled and organza was day wear; when hats were de rigueur for church, tea, and weddings; when your shoes and your belt and your purse matched; when “Darling” was an appropriate name for everyone; when souffles for dinner were perfectly normal.
When hankies were the norm, as were dashing men in white dinner jackets or three-piece linen suits opening doors and guiding ladies with a hand on the small of her back.
Champagne for no reason whatsoever, darling, preferably pink, and Gatsby-esque everything.
I love it all.
Thankfully, Victoria magazine came back—that helps me forget what decade it is every time I pick up an issue. I have well-loved DVD copies of An Affair to Remember, Sabrina, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, even Out of Africa ("My Limoges!")—those are all good for a little bit of time travel to more elegant days.
Speaking of travel, given the chance, I stay (or at least dine) in historic old hotels like the Benbow Inn in Northern California or the Union Bluff in York, Maine (though it was haunted, but that’s another story).
I watch Bachelor Father every possible weekday morning to see Bentley Gregg, the very definition of charming, deliver his sugary-sweet lines in a white dinner jacket to a well-made-up lady dressed in organza, tulle, or both.
And whenever I can, I buy dresses like this one. Tulle, a ribbon tie, AND glittery sequins. Swoon!
The Easy and Elegant Life, which is the second gracious and charming blog I’ve fallen in love with this month, is also an excellent reminder of gentler times.
There’s a good bit of Big Band music playing here as you read this, hopefully; there is as I write it. So have a glass of champagne for no good reason, darlings. Put on a big sparkly party dress with some red lipstick, twirl around your living room, and dream about those days with me.