My Love Affair with Mrs Peel...

Mrs. Peel (aka Diana Rigg)

Growing up in Detroit in the 1960s was an exciting time. We did, after all, have more than 3 channel on TV. We had the mighty CKLW from Windsor, Ontario, Canada. This meant there were lots of programs that originated in Great Brittan. At that time, in the mid 1960s, that meant London, Carnaby Street and Mod clothing.

The most important of these shows to me at that time, was The Avengers. We actually got the programs first run from England. Not only did it expand my culture (that’s what I told my mom), it also shaped the
blossoming fashion sense of a 13 year old girl. 

Growing up I had developed a “unique” fashion sense. Since I attended a catholic school, which was darn near impossible. We wore uniforms and were assigned a “color” of knee sox (NO HOSE) to wear, based on grade. I was once sent to the mother superiors lair for wearing the wrong color knee sox and another time for wearing a button that read “What Me Worry?” with a photo of Alfred E Neuman.

Somewhere in 1966, I was in the 6^th grade, I became obsessed with Mrs. Peel and the incredible designs she wore each week. Her style and grace was unmatched and typically British Mod. The timeless designs of John Varon (see earlier post) were perfect for Diana Riggs 5’ 9” frame. There were brightly colored dresses, suits and pants. Not to mention those leather togs.

I would grab a drawing pad and attempt to copy the designs.

I was blissfully unaware that the looks were not quite right for my 5’2” chubby frame. Since my mother (who was an excellent seamstress) made a lot of my clothes, we would modify patterns so that they had a designer quality. I remember particularly an Easter outfit of bright yellow and orange. I even purchase a pair of yellow patent leather shoes and a “Chanel” style quilted bag to match! Mod was my favorite style and still remains dear.

The school at last, relented and allowed us to wear go-go boots and “real” hose. Few of the nuns were happy about this change. Shortly after, in 1967 as the 7^th grade started, we began to conduct “guitar” masses. The times they were a-changin’.

MY LOVE AFFAIR WITH HALLOWEEN

It's nearly October 31st. Soon it will be time to hear the immortal words, “Trick or treat smell my feet!”

Whether you call it Halloween or Trick or Treat. It is an American tradition that has morphed into something completely different than it was when I was a child. Back then, it meant one thing--lots of goodies.

Being a TV generation kid, naturally I dragged my parents to Kmart or Kresge and purchase a Ben Cooper (store bought) costume. Even then I loved playing dress up. My costumes included Dale Evans, Shirley Temple, Rocky the Flying Squirrel and Woody Woodpecker. The masks with these where almost impossible to see or breathe while wearing.

I was blessed to grow up in a neighborhood where EVERYONE celebrated the night! Not in a weird creepy way like some do now. There were no zombies or unattached dolls heads. No blood dripping hands rising up from lawn and no faux gravestones. Most of what we did then was harmless. More innocent and fun-loving back then. Our objective was to make a lot of noise, eat a lot of candy and try not to vomit. Reminder: This was in a time just before Detroit became known for “Devil’s night.”

The festivities would begin at school with homemade treats and dress up. Of coarse, we were scrutinized carefully as I attended Catholic school. In fact, my “go to” gypsy costume was frowned upon as it included makeup and a 1940s off-the-shoulder peasant blouse. Even the cold stares of Sister Kathleen did not deter me. The following day, November 1st, was a Holy Day and it meant no school. So I could stay out a bit later than usual.

Quite a few of our neighbors would hold open house which included homemade candy apples, cookies and cakes. They would giggle and guffaw over our costumes and take lots of photos. This all took place before our quest.

Our journey always started at my house on Edgevale Street. (The house no longer stands). the  crew usually included my friends Robin, Teresa, her sister Debbie and stray children who abandoned their parents along the way. My mother insisted on accompanying us on our hunt. She would not let us eat any candy and made us say, “Thank you.” This is why we would always ditch her.

We would traverse 3 or 4 blocks and quickly had our paper grocery sacks filled. When Mom got tired, I would send her home with the booty and then the real fun would begin. We would chart anywhere from  5 to 8 more blocks. As not to miss out on the guy who worked at Better Made Potato Chips and the lady who gave out small cartons of chocolate milk or cups of ice cream that her husband who worked for Twin Pines Dairy would obtain. I would usually not return home til 10pm.

The year I was in 8th grade, my mother deemed me “too old” to go trick or treating. I was in Girl Scouts and we participated in a scavenger hunt. It was not much fun and most of the girls disappeared to smoke or make out with boyfriends. The following year I attended a party where I played “7 minutes in Heaven” with a guy who did not like me. He said I was not funny enough.

My night would usually end up at home with mom administering liberal amounts of Ponds cold cream (to remove makeup) and Pepto Bismol. We would carefully sort the candy and goodies. Mom would quickly pilfer any Black Jack gum, peanut butter kisses or Mary Janes she found.

I have compiled a list of Best & Worst treats from back in the day.  Do you agree?

Worst  Treats

• Necco Wafers--very dry like communion wafers
• Milk duds--these pull your fillings out  
• Peanut butter kisses--these do not taste like peanut butter 
• Kraft caramels--not bad candy--too small and they always melted quickly 
• Black jack (gum)--BLAH!!

Best Treats

• Candy cigarettes--not really candy but VERY cool!
• Wax lips/fangs--again not candy but COOL!
• Any regular size chocolate bar--I hate those fun size bars!!
• Cracker jack--always got a prize
• Toy--some were better than others

What’s it like to be your age, Mom?

You know the old saying…“If I had known I was gonna live this long, I would have taken better care of myself.” These days I have a difficult  time remembering just how old I am. I'm pretty sure that has some deep psychological meaning.  I believe, my views and opinions are basically the same as when I was 25. I look in the mirror and gasp!  It’s my mother looking  back at me. When the heck did that happen?

I have never had a problem with age, until very recently. Not even when I turned 30 and my adorable 16 year old babysitter gushed, “I hope I look as good as you do, when I am your age.” I have instigated a proper curse.

Getting older now means more visits to the doctor and medication for things that seem rather copiously invented by the drug companies. How can I be perfectly fine, walking around humming one minute and seconds away from death, the next?  I’m pretty certain that it is a HUGE scam. I'm still investigating.

I can  remember a time when if the phone (we only had one) rang during dinner, we let it ring. I remember my dad deciding what the family watched on TV after dinner. I can remember the dramatic shift my mothers' wardrobe made when she stopped wearing dresses and began wearing  pantsuits. I can remember "Dime Stores." I guess that really makes me old. What can you buy for a dime today?

I remember watching the Beatles for the first time on Ed Sullivan with my cousin, Suzie and sitting on the floor screaming at the TV. I remember wearing go-go boots with my Catholic school uniform. I remember watching the clips from the Viet Nam war and crying.

There is a physiological theory that time actually does go faster the older you get. I’m not a scientist, but I can tell you--its true.

My daughter recently asked, ”What’s it like to be your age?” I remember asking my mother that same question. She threw her head back,  laughed and said, ”Just wait.” I’m certain she’s having a good chuckle, wherever she is.

Getting older puts you closer to that final countdown--death. Having made a life-long study of religion, I’m still not certain what (if anything) lies beyond.  I do know 2 things to be true.
#1 You will reap what you sow.
#2  Refer to #1

The Rest of the Story...

In 1967 my parents decided to remodel the basement. In a dark corner was a cedar closet. My mother who was known for being a "snappy dresser" had carefully packed away her clothes from the 1940’s through the early 1960’s. One rainy day in August, she sent me down to pick out what I wanted before she gave the rest away to Goodwill.

It should be noted that at this time I attended Catholic School and was forced to wear the obligatory "plaid uniform from hell." So naturally, anytime I could get a break--it was more than welcome.

When I did not return for 3 hours, Mother came to see what was going on. I had tried every item on for fit.  I was completely overtaken by these wonderful items! There were broomstick skirts, embellished cardigans, Capri pants, and peasant blouses! Not to mention the boxes full of costume jewelry. I was in HEAVEN! I'm quite certain there was not one item sent to the Goodwill from that lot.

Needless to say, I was hooked. I have spent my spare time since, scouring the countryside for vintage items. 

Please check out my Etsy Shops:

Cedar Closet http://www.etsy.com/shop/CedarCloset?ref=si_shop

Cedar Tree Vintage http://www.etsy.com/shop/Oldefashionedgirl?ref=si_shop