What's in Store for 2024?

Top: Nine West, Kohl's; Skirt: Candie's, Kohl's

Bag: Betsey Johnson

Necklaces and bracelet: Betsey Johnson

Barrette: Marshalls

For one thing, hopefully, me opening my eyes for pictures!  This shot was sadly the best of the bunch that the husband took of me on New Year's Eve before we headed out with my parents.  But my disappointment got me thinking.  About how I hate New Year's resolutions because I feel that they exacerbate my perfectionism.  Which is a problem as one of my biggest struggles is accepting that things don't always have to go smoothly or look like a postcard or turn out the way I expected.  I'm much better about that stuff than I used to be but still have work to do.

So I take back what I said about wishing I'd opened my eyes.  Even if, metaphorically speaking, I'm opening my eyes -- and heart --to imperfection. 😏👀

New Year, New Nothing

Top, skirt, and bag: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Boots: JustFab, Zulily

What I see when I walk into Kohl's.  Does the checked dress look familiar?

Comb: Ella and Elly, Zulily; Ring: Mixit, JCPenney; Everything else: Simply Vera, Kohl's

It's true!  This New Year's Eve, the husband and I had my parents over as we always do.  I wore my Kohl's clothes as usual.  And, as I do every time I make my lattice chicken casserole, I fretted that it was underdone (it was).  Instead of watching a movie or playing a board game, we watched Ryan Seacrest's New Year's Rockin' Eve and toasted each other with sparkling cider at midnight.  But I wouldn't have it any other way.  Let other people try to switch things up and stress out over making resolutions.  I'll be here in the Trove with my traditions, wearing an over-the-top outfit and hoping that I don't give anyone salmonella.         

That said, the husband did do one slightly new thing, which was to spell out 2023 in Pillsbury crescent roll dough on top of the casserole before I baked it: 

He took this pic because he was concerned that I'd obliterate his handiwork with shredded cheddar and French fried onions, which I (although not on purpose) most certainly did.

See?  Some things never change.

I hope your New Year's was and is just how you like it, whether that means hang gliding through the stratosphere of your inhibitions or becoming one with the fabric of your favorite armchair.

I'm picturing the one from Frasier and hope you are too. 

New Wave Rave: Rock Around the Clock of Seagulls

New year, new you is an understatement for Oona Lockhart.  Having a New Year's Day birthday is one thing.  But in 1982, when she turns nineteen, she embarks on a brand-new life.  One minute, she's preparing to jam with her band; the next, she wakes up to find she's fifty-one.  That's right.  By some cosmic hiccup, Oona has become a time traveler.  At the stroke of midnight on each birthday, she "leaps" to another year in her life.  If time is money, than Oona's a pauper -- even though she's a millionaire.  (Time travel may be tough on the soul, but it's gold when playing the stocks.)  Her only guidance comes in the form of the letters she writes herself the year before, although they raise more questions than answers.  Because this is the story of Oona Out of Order, and it's one wild ride.  

Written by Ukrainian-born novelist Margarita Montimore, Oona Out of Order is different from anything I've read, not so much because of the time travel (I see you, The Time Traveler's Wife and The Midnight Library), but because of its vibe.  Although it's women's fiction, it doesn't have that pink gumball chick lit taste, which I appreciate (despite having a palate for said gumball), if only for the novelty.  Instead, it glitters with the grit of New York City's club scene, sex, drugs, and rock and roll ruling the earlier years of Oona's life.  Through it all, she grows and changes, the only constants her mom and music.  Both anchor her through the confusion and heartache that come with hurtling through the space-time continuum.  There's also a bit of a mystery going on, and I could kick myself (as per usual) for not figuring it out.  But I'll be a good little blogger and not breathe a word in case you decide to read this.     

Woven with what-ifs and dark romance, Oona Out of Order haunts you long after you're read the last page.  It would make a great movie, its poignant message intensified by a killer wardrobe and soundtrack.  Beautifully written, it keeps you guessing -- and entertained -- as you join Oona on each new journey to unlock the keys to her life and heart.                    

A Key West Christmas, Christmas isn't Over Until Mrs. Claus Sings, and Other Random Holiday Things

Sweater: Kohl's

Fabulous Felt Pink Palm Tree Barrette

The Christmas palm tree is finally ablaze!  And January 2 or not, I couldn't help but snap a pic next to it in last year's flamingo sweater.

My New Year's Eve ensemble was quieter.  Unless you count the uncorked pop of my champagne bottle purse.  (Speaking of which, there was a fizzy, noisy mess when the husband opened the sparkling cider.  Perhaps the grocery delivery people enjoyed a game of catch -- or just pulled a prank -- with it.)  To celebrate, my parents came over.  We had takeout, took in a Jim Gaffigan special, and then turned on New Year's Rockin' Eve to watch the ball drop.  Also, there were hats.  

Sweater: Macy's

Go for the Golden Girl Necklace

As for my old Go for the Golden Girl Necklace, I'd planned to wear it even before I heard about Betty White's passing.  Which turned out to be weird but fitting.

And that, dear readers, is a wrap on the holiday season.  

At least until the carnival-level revelry of Groundhog Day.  

Day One, Fun Run: Sneakers That Ignite a Spark

Sneakers: PUMA, Zulily

Despite this title, I'm not running for charity -- or for any other reason -- this New Year's.  Still, I did get some new sneakers.  I've never been much of an athletic shoe girl, but I must admit that the architecture of the sneaker offers ample surface area for the kind of color and pattern play I enjoy.  Also, I thought that these neon numbers might motivate me to do more than the occasional jumping jacks.  

Not so with Trevor Benson in Nicholas Sparks's latest, The Return.  That's right, I'm segueing from shoes to a book review.  Then again, it's probably not the first time.

Trevor runs six miles a day even though he hates it and passes up most of his French fries because he can imagine his arteries hardening.  Which is to say that he's as tightly wound as any Sparks hero -- even if, in the first few pages, he insists that he's not a hero in that aw-shucks-yet-unreliable-narrator way.  Still, Trevor has good reason to be uptight.  He's an ex-Navy doctor who came home minus an ear and with PTSD.  So, he's literally running from his problems.  The book's called The Return because Trevor's back in New Bern, North Carolina -- the setting of many a Sparks saga -- to fix up his late grandfather's house.  Yet as he refurbishes the old cottage, he discovers that he doesn't know the whole truth about his grandfather.  Lovely but odd cop Natalie Masterson and troubled teen Callie, no last name, are key in helping him solve the mystery.  Both are running from something, too, connecting these three souls in their struggles.

The Return flirts with romantic suspense even more flagrantly than earlier Sparks novels The Guardian, Safe Haven, and, more recently, See Me.  Although sleepier than any of those barn burners, The Return features the most mysterious -- and at times eerie -- of budding romances.  It also includes that less-oft-discussed but nonetheless noteworthy Sparks staple of low-grade stalking, a phenomenon that gives me the creeps even as it makes me laugh (neither, of which, I surmise, is a response that Sparks was going for).  Finally, Sparks-speaking-as-Trevor vacillates between the usual corny and a new hint of jaded, but then divorce (Sparks's, not Trevor's) will do that to you.  Snarkiness aside, I liked The Return.  Sparks is a classic storyteller.  The way he describes idyllic yet haunting small towns and weaves past and present to show true love delivers.   

That said, let's take a brief break to look at my second pair of new sneakers.  They were a Christmas gift from my sister, and the reason that they're popping up now is because they're called The Fuzz, and love interest Natalie is Johnny (Janey?) Law.

Sneakers: Katy Perry, Amazon

As usual, this sneaker sidebar is my way of making light of something serious -- even if the something serious in this case is fiction -- something, ironically, that Trevor's therapist says he does, too.  But humor -- and funky footwear -- make life's icky stuff easier.  And The Return is crammed with icky stuff, making good on its promise of Sparks's signature sadness.  As for the ending, about half of Sparks's books end happily, a gamble that keeps readers coming back to find out if they'll need that economy-sized box of tissues or if they can save it for This is Us.  I won't spoil the ending of this one, though.  Consider it my New Year's gift to you.

On that note, this year, more reading, less running.  Even if reading is just running in place.

One Year More and Beads Galore

A new year means new adventures -- and new necklaces!  And one of the best things about making new necklaces is the supplies.  Here are some bits and bobbles I've amassed recently.  Some are craft store scores, others are jewelry clearance rack rescues, and a few are from my sister's supply stash.  "Take what you want," she told me, "I'm just never going to make jewelry."  So I did.  (I left behind a David Lee Roth button, which she then disposed of.  Both of us now regret it.)  I like looking at it all and imagining what it'll become.  Will the finished pieces best suit a hippie or a harajuku lover?  A fairy tale fan or an '80s enthusiast?  Or some magical mash-up of all these personas?  There are no limits, like a no-holds-barred, never-ending, grown-up game of dress up.  And that's what I love. 

Boho-kawaii pop princess (could've been prince, sorry, David), suit up

Happy New Year: Black Sky Affair, Do Me a Solid

Black Cutie Necklace

Sweater: Derek Heart, JCPenney

Skirt: Decree, JCPenney

Bag: Candie's, Kohl's

Shoes: Chase & Chloe, Zulily

Orange bangle: Mixit, JCPenney

Yellow bangles: B Fabulous

Mint bangle: Decree, JCPenney

Barrette: The Tote Trove

Blue heart ring: Delia's

Cupcake ring: A Self Portrait, Etsy

I don't drive at night.  It's not that I can't or even that anything awful happens if I do.  I just prefer to be on the road when the sun is shining.  It wasn't always this way.  In my twenties, I'd drive from Brigantine back home at all sorts of unlit hours after hanging with the husband (then boyfriend) without a thought.  Of course, before that I used to get on I-95, another fear-inducing activity, to see a guy I briefly dated who lived in North Jersey.  So maybe I was never a gutsy driver, just someone willing to put the pedal to the metal for love.  Anyway, one night about ten years ago, after the husband and I had moved in together, I went to my parents' house for dinner.  I was driving back to Brigantine and, as usual, got on the Atlantic City Expressway.  But I went out the in instead of the out.  I know, I know -- pretty awful.  Luckily, there was no one else around, and I was able to make a quick K-turn and be on my way.  But the experience shook me, and I decided not to drive at night anymore.  Between then and now, I've broken that rule a handful of times, sometimes with white-knuckled results.  The other night I found myself in a (potentially) similar situation.  I was leaving my parents' house just as darkness was beginning to fall.  The fact that it was still somewhat light out was helpful; it gave me the chance to get on the road and ease into driving before the sky turned completely black.  But even once that happened, I still felt relaxed, singing along to the radio and in control as the miles melted.  And I thought, maybe this should be my New Year's resolution, to drive at night, at least once in a while, when I know where I'm going and am wide awake and not at risk of being distracted by billboards.  Then again, I don't really believe in resolutions.  And even if I did, then I would rather go with something like buy duplicates of all the beauty products I use daily and stash them in my glove compartment (which isn't as much of a cop-out as it sounds; on Christmas Eve I made the husband turn around on the way to my parents' house because I'd left my Cherries in the Snow lipstick in another purse.)  Still, I'm not going to go all dramatic and "resolve" to do anything.  I'll just be more open-minded about venturing out after the sun's said goodnight.  And, of course, about stocking up on lipstick.

That said, this week I focused on something else dark and dangerous -- or at least, something that seems that way but most certainly isn't.  I'm talking about this Black Cutie Necklace (no horse jokes, please.  Unless they're about bronies).  I don't know about you, but sometimes, in some outfits, I find myself looking for a solid-colored necklace.  But Tote Trove Lady, you may be thinking, that doesn't make any sense.  You're all about being a crayon box full of color!  (Because in my imagination, you too have a thing for alliteration and cutesy metaphors.)  And to that I'd say, well obvi.  But when you love color as much as I do, then you have lots of colorful tops and dresses, and every so often, instead of adding even more bands to the rainbow, what you really want is a nice, monochromatic piece to anchor it all and make it look even brighter.  And more often than not, the shade for the job is good old-fashioned black.  So that's why I made Black Cutie.  What she lacks in color she more than makes up for in chunky statement beads -- bows, roses, and a heart, a treacly trifecta if ever there was one.  I'm really happy with how it (she?) turned out.  Especially how its (her?) inkiness pops against the sweater's bright stripes, as sharp and unforgiving as a goth chick tearing into a wall of Care Bears. 

The next time I'm night driving, I'll channel that dark goddess's chutzpah.  Minus the coffin purse and Happy Bear carnage.

So.  Whether you drive, take the train, or hoof it, safe travels.  And happy New Year.

Twee Party: Bow Blouse, Take a Bow

 Unicorn Horn Barrette

Dress: L'Amour by Nanette Lepore for JCPenney

Blouse: Target

Shoes: BCBG, Macy's

Bag: Call it Spring, JCPenney

Belt: Wet Seal

 Prancing Pegasus Barrette

Top: She Said, JCPenney

Skirt: Marshalls

Shoes: Candie's, Kohl's

Bag: Eleven Peacocks, Etsy

Ribbon belt: Craft supply box

Scarf: Gifted

 Funky Fruit Friends Barrettes

Blouse: Marshalls

Cardigan: DKNY, Macy's

Skirt: Material Girl, Macy's

Shoes: Unlisted, Marshalls

Bag: Betsey Johnson, Macy's

 Sailor's Sweetheart Barrette

Blouse: UK Style by French Connection, Sears

Cardigan: Candie's, Kohl's

Skirt: Marilyn Monroe, Macy's

Shoes: Candie's, Kohl's

Bag: Wet Seal

Belt: Wet Seal

Scarf: Express

 Swallow My Heart Barrette

Dress: JCPenney

Blouse: Oxford & Regent, JCPenney

Shoes: Rocket Dog, DSW

Bag: Gifted

Belt: Apt. 9, Kohl's

 Prickly Pals Barrette

Pink top: Marshalls

Black top: Marshalls

Skirt: Candie's, Kohl's

Shoes: Guess, DSW

Bag: Xhilaration, Target

Belt: B Fabulous

 White Unicorn Barrette

Dress: Target

Blouse: Kohl's

Shoes: Payless

Bag: Xhilaration, Target

Belt: Candie's, Kohl's

 Cheery Cherries Barrette

Blouse: Alloy

Tank: Worthington, JCPenney

Skirt: Stoosh, Macy's

Shoes: Ami Clubwear

Bag: Call it Spring, JCPenney

Belt: Wet Seal

Scarf: Wet Seal

 Dainty Doughnuts Barrette

Blouse: JCPenney

Tank: Old Navy

Skirt: L'Amour by Nanette Lepore for JCPenney

Shoes: Candie's, Kohl's

Bag: Betseyville, Marshalls

 Fresh Fruit Friends Barrette

Blouse: Alloy

Cardigan: So, Kohl's

Skirt: Material Girl, Macy's

Shoes: Betseyville, Macy's

Bag: Xhilaration, Target

Sunglasses: JCPenney

 Foxy Friends Barrette

Dress: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Blouse: Marshalls

Shoes: Ami Clubwear

Bag: Apt. 9, Kohl's

Sunglasses: Mudd, Kohl's

Belt: JCPenney

 Pretty Pegasus Barrette

Blouse: Kohl's

Cardigan: Merona, Target

Skirt: I Heart Ronson, JCPenney

Shoes: Bongo, Kohl's

Bag: Princess Vera, Kohl's

Belt: Apt. 9, Kohl's

Hearts and Flowers Barrette

Dress: Modcloth

Blouse: Marshalls

Shoes: Ami Clubwear

Bag: American Eagle, Payless

Some weeks ago I consolidated my ten shop sections into a mere three, one of which is called Twee Party. You know, like Tea Party, but without the watercress.  (The other two sections are Carnival Candy and Rustic Romance, oldies but goodies with the same inventory but more of it).  According to the good folks at dictionary.com, "twee" is mostly used by the British and means "affectedly dainty or quaint."  I like to think that it came about when some fish-and-chips-eating cherub tried to say "tree" but lisped over a biscuit.  As advertised, the stuff in the Twee Party section is extra sweet too, the kind of pinky pastel, super kawaii accouterments that rely heavily on desserts, unicorns, woodland creatures (and yes, that is a fox canoodling with a deer; here in the Trove we don't discriminate), and other fantasy fare hearted by ten-year-olds and this nearly thirty-three-year-old.

Anyway, New Year's seemed like the perfect time for a post about bows and tying one on, even if the drink up for discussion isn't the kind found in a flute, but the kind served with crumpets. Sure, thirteen outfits is a lot, but New Year's is also the perfect time for a parade, especially because these barrettes (which are, incidentally, made from plastic plates plucked from toy tea sets) have been awaiting their marching orders since Veteran's Day.      

That having been said, New Year's is a sort of faux holiday, its only hallmarks hangovers and resolutions.  Everyone always wants you to tell them your resolution, but to me, that's a personal thing.  Just one "I'm trying to be less of a klepto" and a resolution becomes a revelation, as in, "So, Jerry's the one who took our pink flamingos!"  That's why I always come up with a fake resolution, something generic and boring that can be bandied about at New Year's Eve parties without exposing any of my foibles.  Not that I've ever been guilty of filching lawn ornaments.  My only crime is liking lawn ornaments, and I have the Christmas palm twee (er, tree) on my porch to prove it.