Blog

Grandmother's Gucci

It may scream hypebeast to some, but for me, wearing Gucci is about so much more than flex. 

My late grandmother, Joy, loved Gucci, especially the handbags, which she collected and prized above all else in her wardrobe. If you really know Gucci, you’re probably aware of the Gucci Accessory Collection’s ubiquity in the 80s and 90s. And if you know Detroit, you know you could find the Gucci Accessory Collection bags at Jacobson’s and Hudson’s, the long-gone department stores where my grandmother bought many of hers. The Gucci Accessory Collection was somewhat of a diffusion line for the luxury brand and the more affordable price point allowed my grandmother to start her collection, which eventually grew into pricier bags. She cherished them all. 

My grandmother inspired my love of purses when I was a kid. “Got your purse?” she’d ask before we headed out the door on our way to the TCBY in Grosse Pointe or to the Hudson’s at Eastland Mall. She would comically draw out the word purse so it sounded more like puhhhse. It never failed to reduce us both to giggles. On the days we stayed home, I often entertained myself by riffling through her closet, admiring her clothes, hats, and bags. I loved slinging one of Grandmother’s Guccis over my shoulder and pretending it was mine. 

I credit my grandmother with teaching me the value of quality clothing and bags and how to take care of the items I am fortunate enough to acquire. Her Gucci collection — vintage now— still looked brand new when she died. My grandmother was a stylish woman who believed in treating herself to nice things. What can I say? I learned from a...G!

Once I realized this pandemic wouldn't be going anywhere any time soon, I started my maskdrobe. (I mean, I’m not one to miss a sartorial opportunity!) This Gucci mask is my favorite because I had it custom made from the dustcover of one of my grandmother’s bags. Even though it left the bag without its original protective sheath, I think she would approve of my repurposing.

When my grandmother became a great-grandmother, she elected to be called GiGi. It’s a moniker adopted by lots of great-grandmothers, sure, but I choose to believe it was a subconscious nod to her affinity for the double Gs in her closet. GG will always stand for Grandmother’s Gucci to me.

Keeping Calm and Carrying On: A Black Runner's Thoughts on the Murder of Ahmaud Arbery

Keep Calm and Carry On. That’s what the signs say down the street from where I live. My neighborhood is about a mile away from where these signs begin at the border of Bunker Hill Village. I sometimes go for runs along the main street that runs between my neighborhood and Bunker Hill Village, more often than not continuing on through the village to run its tree-lined streets. I like running there, especially when I need a break from trail running. The sidewalks are perfect for running. Pristine, wide and flat, with nary a crack or rut, they trace past impeccably manicured lawns and picture-perfect homes. Birds sing, squirrels dash, and everywhere the eye lands is filled with lush and beautiful foliage. I can’t think of a better street for a peaceful jog.

Going to NYC This Summer? Get Stuffed.

I was planning to write my next blog post about an artist I met in Detroit a few weeks ago, but I just returned from a short trip to New York City and I had another experience I couldn’t wait to share. And since there’s sort of a sell-by date to this story, I figured I’d better dazzle you now.

Body and Soul Cleansing: A Total Detox From Negativity

Spring has long been associated with renewal and rejuvenation, so it’s no wonder cleanses and body detoxification programs are popular this time of year. For some people, an expanded waistline is an unfortunate reminder they may have overindulged on food and drink during the winter and holiday months; for others, sluggishness and a general sense of feeling “icky” may be all the motivation they need to hit the detox juice. Whatever the reason, dietary cleanses can be a worthwhile way to recalibrate ourselves. A good detox purges the body of gunk, leaving it squeaky-clean and primed for healthy dietary habits. And with summer’s shorter hemlines and longer days fast approaching, what better time than spring to get back to looking and feeling our best?

I’ve been detoxing twice a year for a couple of years now, but it wasn’t until I was about to do my annual spring cleanse recently that I realized I needed to detox more than just my body...

Click here to continue reading this essay in the May 2017 issue of Soulivity.

7-Elevenses: My Week of Breaking Like a Brit

It’s no secret amongst the people who really know me that I’m a bit of an Anglophile. I don't know why or how my Anglophilia developed, but I’ve been drawn to English culture for as long as I can remember. Oliver! was my favorite film when I was a kid, Haley Mills my favorite actress. And when I was in 5^th grade, my friends once made fun of me for listing Duran Duran before New Edition on my list of favorite bands. I’m sorry, but Ralph Tresvant didn’t have anything on Simon Le Bon. No competition. None.

Facing Dementia with a Sonny Disposition

My granddad, Sonny, back in the day. He's always cut a fine figure!

After a few months absence, I’m back in Belleville, Michigan. Or as I like to call it: The B. In case you missed my first post about The B, it’s a small town about 30 miles west of Detroit. So I guess that makes it The D’s country cousin.

Since last summer, I’ve been coming back here every two months or so to assist my granddad with my grandmother’s care and to help him out around the house. My grandmother was recently given an official diagnosis of dementia, devastating news since we’d been hoping her memory loss was the result of some new medications she’d been prescribed for other health issues and most of all, that it would be reversible. Instead, her decreased brain function is permanent. And it’s much worse now than it was when I was here in October.

A Grand Old Time

Whoever coined the phrase “kids say the darnedest things” got it wrong in my opinion. I think it’s old people who deserve this distinction. A few examples from my personal experience:

 

When I announced it was teatime and asked my grandparents if they would like to join me. My grandmother demurred but my granddad had a question. 

Him: Do you have crumpets?

Me (already amused): No, I don’t have any crumpets, Granddad. Anyway, do you even know what a crumpet is?

Him: No. But I know you're supposed to have them with tea.

 

When I walked into my grandmother’s bedroom and she gave me a strange look (not an uncommon occurrence these days since she has dementia).

Me: How are you feeling, Grandmother?

Her: You have hips.

Valentine's Day by the Book

I could always tell a relationship was doomed to fail when I discovered a guy I was dating didn’t read. The longest relationship I’ve ever had besides my marriage was with a non-bookworm who only occasionally read, and even then it was comic books. Three years of me trying to work him up to graphic novels, hoping from there he’d at least transition to genre paperbacks. Any book would do as long as it didn’t have pictures. Based on his favorite films, I even bought him books as gifts, the spines of which remained dishearteningly uncreased.

This, my friends, is why you should never settle.

On Blogging: Reasons, Not Excuses

 

It's been a long time (long time)

I shouldn't of left you (left you)

Without a dope beat to step to (step to, step to, step to...)

 

Or in my case, a dope blog, amirite? By the way, you’re most welcome for the Earworm o’ the Day. 

For real though. I haven’t blogged since November and I have no excuses. Excuses are flimsy. But reasons, reasons are solid. Reasons sounds like I’ve actually thought it through and am not trying to make myself feel better about slacking off. So no, I don’t have any excuses for not blogging for three months. But I do have reasons. And some of them are pretty good.

What a Trip to the Emergency Room Taught Me About the 2016 Presidential Election

November 8, 2016, 9:06 pm: A Simpler Time

I just never thought he would get this far. 

It's possibly the most repeated phrase of 2016. We said it when Donald Trump became a serious contender for the Republican nomination, and again when he clenched it. Then there's the sad horror of having to say it again, once we knew without a doubt he'd won enough electoral votes to become president of the United States.

In the wee hours of November 9, I walked out of a midtown Houston bar where I'd been pre-celebrating what I'd thought would be Trump's embarrassing defeat. I'd been at the bar since 6:00 pm on Election Day, watching the results with my husband, Matt, and a few friends. As the night wore on, like-minded strangers gravitated to us and we assembled into a party of sorts in the semi-private upstairs room. We watched the electoral votes come in; each number added to Trump's tally subtracting from us a little of our cheer and confidence. As our anxiety grew, we comforted each other with false hope. "It won't happen," we said. "It can't." It would become the night's refrain.