Mama Drama: Going Postal

 Whimsical Waters Necklace

Dress: Zulily

Shoes: Worthington, JCPenney

Bag: JCPenney

So last week, I received an email from a customer informing me that she still hadn't received a necklace that she'd purchased in March.  Needless to say, I was gobsmacked.  As always, I'd shipped the package within three days of purchase and emailed the customer the USPS.com tracking number to let her know that it was on its way.  True, I didn't receive a response or get Etsy feedback, but that happens more often than not, so I thought that no news was good news.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

Not knowing what else to do, I logged onto USPS.com and plugged in the tracking number.  The red No Record Found that flashed on the screen made my heart sink.  There was only one explanation: the package had gotten lost in the mail.  In my nearly ten years of selling on Etsy, this had never happened.  I couldn't make the customer a new necklace.  The one in question was one of a kind, made from eclectic fabric flowers that I wouldn't be able to find again.  Instead, I issued a full refund along with my heartfelt apologies and the offer of a free item from my shop.  Thankfully, the customer accepted all of the above with grace and good humor.  Better yet, she loved the necklace she chose as her consolation prize, right down to the packaging.  Which meant everything to me.  When I send something across the country (or, once a in a while, across the world), I feel like I'm putting good out into the universe, and I want to keep those vibes going.

Still, I can't help but wonder what happened to that package.  Is it lying in an alley somewhere, pigeons pecking away at the illustrated envelope?  Or is some postal worker wearing the necklace to a summer shindig, margarita in hand, even as I type this?  In the future, I'll always track the package myself to find out if it reaches its destination, if only so I can contact the customer instead of her (or him) contacting me.  But the fate of this one will just have to remain one of life's mysteries.

In happier news, I saw Mama Mia: Here We Go Again last weekend, and it was fabulous.  So fanciful and colorful!  Plus, I always love a story with flashbacks, which is pretty much the whole deal with this one.  As you probably know, in the first Mama Mia, Donna's (Meryl Streep) daughter, Sophie (Amanda Seyfried), wants her father to walk her down the aisle.  The only hitch is, she doesn't know who he is.  He can be one of three guys (Colin Firth, Stellan Skarsgard, or Pierce Brosnan) that Donna wrote about in her diary.  So, Sophie invites them all to her wedding, they show up, and chaos ensues.  In the sequel, which is partially set in 1979, we return to the idyllic Greek island of Kalokairi to see a young Donna (Lily James) fall for her three handsome suitors and sing her (broken) heart out about it.  (As a bonus, we also get to see her buy her signature overalls at an outdoor market).  The air crackles with the delicious angst of young love in an exotic setting, and the songs play in your head long after you've scarfed down your popcorn.  Yet even more intoxicating is the sense of freedom and adventure.  Donna is an unapologetic risk taker, exploring the world fresh out of college without a plan or a safety net, bewildered by those who follow more well-worn and traditional paths.  And she's absolutely ecstatic doing it, even when her world seems to crumble.  It makes me wish that I would've done something like that at twenty-two instead of combing Monster for a "normal" job.  But then again, I guess it all worked out.  This strange little public diary of a blog is more my type of adventure.

Anyway, I stumbled upon a treasure trove of ocean-themed jewelry-making supplies not long after I saw the movie.  When I spotted these dolphin-shaped beads and the groovy druzy rock pendant, I thought, ooh those would make a cool necklace.  Beachy and boho and blingy and blue.  Just like Mama Mia!  

Speaking of beaches, here's a shot of the faux surfboard attached to the Conex box that is the Sol Berrie smoothie stand on the less glamorous but beloved island of Brigantine.

Bold and inviting, it's the kind of picture you want to dive into -- one dutiful hour, of course, after downing your smoothie.  Or, you know, thirty seconds after downing your smoothie, pineapple-mango froth still dribbling down your chin.

How's that for unapologetic?

Movie Moment: I Don't Know How She Does It

I Don't Know How She Does It made me a little bit nervous.  As I'm sure it was meant to.  According to Mindy Kaling's list of romantic comedy stereotypes (even if this movie isn't exactly a romantic comedy), its heroine Kate Reddy (Sarah Jessica Parker) is a cross between the beautiful klutz and the busy working woman who is obsessed with her career and never ever has any fun.  As a finance executive, wife, and mother of two, Boston-based Kate is relentlessly plagued by a never-ending to-do list that catapults her into one fiasco after another (enter beautiful klutz syndrome) and makes her the subject of smug stay-at-home-mom Wendy Best's (Busy Phillips) barbed commentary (delivered documentary-style from a treadmill at the gym).  Although Kate's freelance architect husband Richard (Greg Kinnear) is mostly understanding, we sense that he is one play date away from a meltdown.

The heat is turned up on Kate's pressure-cooker life when she scores an account designing retirement fund plans for hotshot New York financier Jack Abelhammer (Pierce Brosnan).   Far from being put off by Kate's klutziness, the widowed Jack is charmed by it, a feeling that grows as Kate shuttles between Boston and New York for their meetings.  Kate is soon in the precarious position of forging a workplace friendship with a colleague who has a crush on her, a situation that causes her to unwittingly serve as emotional caretaker for Jack.  In this way her career resembles an illicit affair, not because she reciprocates Jack's feelings, but because it usurps her time and attention from her family.    

Of course, Richard lands a plumb design job just when Kate begins traveling, creating the kind of intense conflict for which movies like these are made.  Now, Richard is a pretty good guy.  Certainly not some stereotypical tyrant who would lighten the load of Kate's dilemma by way of his sheer awfulness.  It's his very mild-manneredness that complicates things, echoing the mindset of the husbands in those Second Shift studies.  Which is to say that he seems to think that it's fine for his wife to work - as long as it doesn't get in the way of her real work, which is in the home.

It should be noted that not every part of the movie is serious.  The plot is laced with classic Carrie Bradshaw-style narration that "Sex and the City" fans will enjoy, if only because it reminds them of Parker's plucky appeal as an authority on angst.  There is also plenty of witty dialogue, punctuated by well-placed jokes.  Finally, the spoiled and catty Wendy Best is funny.  Yet at the heart of her quips is a bitterness that I can't help but feel channels the movie's central message, which is this: Kate may travel a treadmill of never-ending conflict between work and home, but Wendy is trapped on a treadmill of catering to her kids and in-laws.  She's angry because she's jealous of Kate.  Although stressed and conflicted, Kate never comes off as angry.  The comparison between Kate and Wendy poses the question: What do these women really want, and how stressed are they willing to be to get it?  At first I had trouble answering this question.  During most of the movie, I just wanted Kate to quit her crazy-ass job already.  But ultimately I understood that for her, her job was her identity and therefore worthy of fighting for on her terms.

So, a lot of deep thoughts swirling around here.  I Don't Know How She Does It, by the way, got terrible reviews. (It closed fairly quickly after opening this past September.)  I admit that it wasn't great.  But I don't think it was as bad as people made it out to be either.  It was just up against the challenge of tackling an unpopular topic and falling somewhere between light fare and full-fledged drama in the process.