Might of the Iguana: Think Pink

Top: Bongo, Sears

Belt: B Fabulous; Bag: Sleepyville Critters, Amazon; Black and white bracelet: Mixit, JCPenney; Bow: Carole, JCPenny; Blue bracelet: Cloud Nine, Ocean City; Ring: Mixit, JCPenney

Dress: Everly, Modcloth

Tights: Zulily

Belt: Belt is Cool, Amazon; Flower barrette: Cappelli, ULTA; Pink bracelets: So, Kohl's; Pink pendant: H&M; Light pink bangle: Don't Ask, Zulily; Sparkly bangle: Target; Mermaid keychain: Ella & Elly, Zuily; Dragon bangles: Simply Vera, Kohl's; Heart ring: Candie's, Kohl's; Flower bracelet: Belk's 

Top and skirt: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Tights: Hue, Amazon

Blue bangle: Mixit, JCPenney; Yellow and striped bangles: B Fabulous; Red ring: Making Waves, Ocean City; Bag: T-Shirt & Jeans, Kohl's; Blue ring: Michaels; Boots: 2 Lips Too, JCPenney

Dress: Lily Rose, Kohl's

I don't know much about the might of the iguana because I've never had to wrangle it -- or any other reptile -- unless you count trying to get through Tennessee Williams's "Night of the Iguana" in college.  But in that classic, albeit creepy play, the scaly rapscallion in question isn't so much a pest as a symbol of freedom.  And as such, its likeness in this colorful (Sleepyville!) critter clutch makes fashion freedom worth fighting for.  Take that, school uniforms!

Bag: Sleepyville Critters, Amazon

Now, I didn't go to private school, which means that I was free to wear stretch pants and vests far longer than I should have.  But clothes were always important to me, and I felt sorry for anyone forced to wear a standard-issue, identity-stripping skirt and polo.  Even in the lawless halls of pubic school, I wasn't allowed to wear my hat -- a red and white flower-adorned, floral-print cloche that would've been the envy of Blossom -- on picture day.  I still remember the shame of 1) being called out for trying to break the rules and 2) lacking the nerve to go through with the rebellion.  If only I could've tossed my hat high in the air post picture like Mary Tyler Moore (apparently, my idea of badassery looks like a beloved '70s sitcom).  So private school prisoners and hat fans everywhere, this declaration of outfit independence is for you.  

That said, think pink for now but stand by for flag flair, because Memorial Day's right around the corner.  

Iguana, I love when you become a chameleon.

The Lady and the Tiger: Prints Don't Make the Princess

Bag: Dancing Days by Banned, Modcloth

Pink Rodeo Clown Barrette Brooch

Boots: Simply Vera, Kohl's

Coat: Candie's, Kohl's

Tights: Mixit, JCPenney

Bag: Betsey Johnson, Macy's

Sweater and skirt: Anthropologie, Zulily

Coat: Anthropologie, Zulily

Shoes: 2 Lips Too, JCPenney 

Bag: Marshalls

Fabulous Felt Sea Turtle Barrette

Coat: POPSUGAR, Kohl's

I told you there were more coats!  Here's some schtick about the accessories surrounding the first one:

Yep, I'm wearing a Rodeo Clown Barrette Brooch on my coat and one in my hair.  Because unlike a mullet, they bring the party in the front and the back.  As a bonus, my boots have beloved (to me, anyway) ring zippers.  Which nearly makes for a tidy three ring circus analogy.  You know, if there were three zippers instead of two.  

Now, for the schtick surrounding this title.  Remember that short story, "The Lady, or the Tiger?" from back when you were just a chit trying not to drool on your desk (or even if you always got your full eight hours and never desecrated school property)?  Here's a recap if you're drawing a blank.  (Full disclosure: I misremembered some of the details and had to hit up Google.  Thanks, Internet!)  

"The Lady, or the Tiger?" takes place a long, long time ago, in a kingdom far, far away.  A cruel king forces alleged criminals into an arena and commands them to choose door number one or door number two.  One of the doors has a tiger behind it, and the other has a lady, or, more precisely, the man's ideal woman.  If the tiger comes out, then it means that the man is guilty, and the tiger kills him.  If the lady comes out, then it means that the man is innocent, and the lady marries him.  The king happens to have a daughter.  This princess, who is heartbreakingly beautiful, has inherited his cruel streak.  Yet as is so often the case in these stories, she falls in love with a man beneath her station.  The king finds out and tosses the man into the arena.  The princess is in the audience.  Unbeknownst to her beau, she knows what's behind each door.  She also knows that the lady behind the door is of the man's social class and is gorgeous, perhaps even more so than herself, making her a bitter rival.  The man looks up at the princess, and she very discretely indicates the door on the right.  So, trusting his love, the man picks that door . . .   

And that's where the story ends.  We never find out if the man gets mauled by the tiger or betrothed to the maiden.  All we know is that he doesn't end up with the princess, a woman who may have sent him to his death or safely into the arms of another.  It's an age-old moral conundrum.

Now, as a wearer of not one but two tiger prints (in outfit number two), I'm, in a sense, the lady and the tiger.  Which doesn't mean anything but kind of sounds like it should.

Eclectic Unicorn Necklace

Speaking of fantastic (albeit gentler) beasts, I loved making this Eclectic Unicorn Necklace.  It started out as a bargain buy.  I planned to embellish the wooden crescent, but it turned out to be much smaller than I expected.  No worries!  I just happened to have the perfect size ceramic heart beads to slip along the gold-tone chain, then, for the piece de resistance, an adorable unicorn charm to chain to the crescent.  I like the contrast between the wood and the candy shop extras.  It's -- as so many things turn out to be -- very kawaii meets commune.  

Getting back to our story, though, I don't remember what I thought happened at the end when I first read it in high school.  But now I think that the princess steered her love toward the lady.  Or at least, that's what I like to think.  Even if experience has taught me that more often than not, people throw each other to the wolves.  Because an arena is like a circus -- and any place there's an opportunity to exploit human frailty. 

Still, maybe's that's why I made this unicorn necklace, and so many others before it.  I want to believe in goodness and magic even if everything else points to evil.  There's good and bad in all of us (aha! Being the lady and the tiger does mean something!), but that's no reason why the bad should win.

Except for with Cats.  Catty or not, it's a bad business.  

Maybe that's because it's in cahoots with the tiger.

Red Barn Yarn: Sevens to Betsey and Then Some

Dress: Xhilaration, Target
Shoes: Chase & Chloe, Zulily
Bag: Fred Flare
Purse Charm: Carole, JCPenney
Belt: Belt is Cool, Amazon
Sunglasses: Relic, Kohl's

 Fabulous Felt Red Barn Barrette

In general, I'm not big on big brand names.  But I do love a good Betsey bag.  By bargain hunting and being lucky enough to receive many as gifts over the years, I've amassed quite a collection.  Now I have, not seven, but twenty-two (even if one is a lunch bag).  So, I thought it'd be fun to round them all up for a photo shoot.  (My apologies to the shoe montages of yore; I know it's tough, but try not to be jelly.  Unless, of course, you are jellies, in which case, get out here, I've been looking for you!)  

It's hard to say which bag is my favorite, but if pressed, then I'd have to go with the (smaller) rainbow, followed by the roller skate and mushroom.  Curiously, I get the most use out of the pretzel.  The brown makes for a nice neutral.

But we're not spending this entire post in handbag heaven.  Instead, we're floating on over to another kind of great hereafter with Fannie Flagg's The Whole Town's Talking.

The Whole Town's Talking is the last in Flagg's Elmwood Springs series.  Set in a fictional small town in Missouri, the Springs stories are folksy and familiar and center around ordinary people who learn extraordinary things.  Flagg begins her narrative in the late 1800s when dairy farmer Lordor Nordstrom founds the then fledgling Swede Town.  Although Lordor is an innovator, he's shy and self-deprecating, and the new settlement doesn't offer many options in the way of a wife.  So he takes out an ad in the paper and meets the beautiful and gentle Katrina.  The two engage in a short courtship and, after a few sweet rom com-worthy mishaps, become man and wife.  Flagg goes on to chronicle the growth of the Nordstroms' dairy, the metamorphosis from Swede Town into Elmwood Springs, and the lives of the Nordstroms' descendants as well as the descendants of their neighbors.  The most endearing character is Aunt Elner.  A woman who doesn't worry about anything, she spreads hospitality like sunshine -- and keeps a can of pet worms on her coffee table.  (For the record, I'm no Aunt Elner.  I'm more like her neurotic niece Norma.  And not just because I'm skeeved out by worms, but because I worry about everything.)  Flagg shows us how Elmwood Springs reaches its heyday in the 1950s only to surrender to the sprawl of suburbia like so many other towns by 2020.

Yet the one thing that links Elmwood Springs and its inhabitants from generation to generation is its cemetery.  As people pass away, we get to see where they go when they die.  I know, I know.  It sounds morbid.  And it is.  At least a little.  In this way, it sort of reminds me of "Our Town," which is my favorite play.  But, like "Our Town," it's not just bittersweet -- it's thought provoking.  Because no matter what your own ideas about the afterlife, you can't help but compare them to Flagg's version and wonder who's got it right.  Which is a little comforting and a little scary.  When I said as much to the husband, he said, "Oh Tracy, it's just a story, one person's interpretation of things."  Which is true.  But it still sort of puts it all out there, opening a Pandora's box of possibilities -- and questions.

That said, The Whole Town's Talking is also warm and funny, a real crazy quilt of heartland characters.  (And yes, I know that I've used the crazy quilt metaphor before, but like all quilts, I like it, as its fluff keeps me and my prose cozy.)  There are several mentions of barns in it, too, which struck my fancy and led me to make this Fabulous Felt Red Barn Barrette.  I like barns because they remind me of Red Door perfume, which reminds me of my late grandmother, who wore it and called it Barn Door.  Now I wear it too, and I always save the pretty glass bottles.

My grandmother is on my mind more than usual because her birthday is this week.  Here's a picture of her when she was young:

Isn't she beautiful?  I especially love her hat.

Before I leave you, here's a shot of a dew-dappled elephant ear.

Because if the whole town's talking, then there'd better be someone -- or something -- down here listening. 

Catch a Tuna Christmas

When I heard that I was going to see a play called "A Tuna Christmas," I jokingly asked if it was about "The Office's" Jim Halpert.  Once ensconced in the second row of Cape May's Robert Shackleton Playhouse, I learned that it was not.

Still, the homespun satire that unfolded wasn't entirely different from the NBC sitcom in its not-always-gentle exposure of small-town folks' quirks and foibles.  Tuna, as it turns out, referred to a fictional small town in Texas - the third smallest town, to be exact.  Its tirelessly colorful cast of two dozen (mostly) narrow-minded local yokels was played to perfection by just two actors, Jody Cook and Turner Crumbley, no small feat considering that the mountain lion's share of the characters were women.  Cook and Crumbley mastered lightning-fast costume changes and personas that turned on a dime to deliver characters that we've all encountered, if not at the Tuna Tasty Creme, then at the nearest Walmart or church social.  Straddling the middle ground between cringe-worthy and sympathetic, they offered an introspective view into the hearts and minds of everyday people.  To be sure, "Tuna" explored censorship, prejudice, and heartbreak, so peppered with the spice of local radio, community theater, Christmas decorating wars, ne'er-do-well husbands, on-the-loose critters, and unfulfilled dreams that flavor the most trenchant of country chronicles.  

This isn't your grandmother's yuletide tale.  Ribald and real, "Tuna" is a slice of life that makes you laugh even through its sadness.  Having expected two hours of ho-hum holiday entertainment, I was engrossed.  Whether you be city folk or a cowpoke, you'll want to give "Tuna" a try.