hausofsamson-blog - Tumblr blog

hausofsamson-blog · 7 years ago

Photo

Bringing Glamour Back…

Okay, so it’s time for a check-in. We’re a couple of weeks into a shiny brand-new year, and it’s about this time that the tired old resolutions, the ones we never intended to keep anyway, start to fall off, and we are left with what’s important. And no, I don’t mean doing and going and hustling and working and striving. Those are all good things, and there’s a place for moving mountains and crushing goals, but there is also a place for just being.

This came up on a Facebook group recently, and I mentioned lipstick and dangly earrings and pretty shoes and the utter avoidance of yoga pants, and someone chimed in that sometimes, self-care isn’t about fashion.

Mind blown, as the kids say. Epic moment. (I have a tween, so it’s become one of my #goals to say all of the stuff the cool kids say as much as possible, just to make sure she’s #mortified.)

So let me get this straight: Self-care is about more than lipstick?

Who knew? And all this time I thought that my overdependence on Chanel red lipstick (R.I.P Lune Russe and Premier Rouge) and leopard pumps labeled me as the girl who cares about herself, and therefore, the world around her. “Look at me,” the cute shoes seemed to say. “I am on the pedicured feet of a woman who has not given up!”

But in my own way, I had.

The best thing that ever happened to me precipitated all of this, as these things sometimes do. I became a mama, 11 ½ years ago. (See mortified tween, above). And suddenly I had this strong-yet-delicate little love to dress and snuggle and photograph. And oh, how I photographed. I ordered boxes and boxes of hand-embroidered stuff and adorable shoes, many of which were never worn. Must mostly, I nursed and photographed. Photographed and nursed. It was everything I ever wanted.

Until I realized that the candlelit dinners that had been a nightly ritual at my house had stopped happening. And the late-night dinner parties with the good china. And the long dramatic novels set in faraway places and long-ago times. And the Colin Firth and Hugh Grant movies. And… You get the picture.

I may have been painting my nails (some of the time) but I wasn’t feeding my soul. I can feel you rolling your eyes. Or is that a nod of recognition. It’s so cheesy, I know, but it’s true.

I was no longer dropping everything to read the September issue of Vogue the second it appeared on my doorstep. I may have even, gulp, let my subscription lapse and was reduced to picking it up at the grocery store with the, um, Goldfish.

I no longer listen to my favorite British Invasion bands on repeat, singing at the top of my lungs because I still know every word from when I was 12. Instead, we play French chansons and Jamie Grace on the way to Ballet 4 and music theater and art and co-op and…

I no longer snuggle up with a good novel or a stack of magazines and a cup of tea, my fluffy dog by my side, just to read a cold afternoon away.

Again, you get the idea. So, I’m going to banish boring resolutions (except for maybe 1 or 2 really important ones) and my main goal this year is to Do. Those. Things. The things I love and that bring me joy and that make my family and friends thrive. And so, while other people have chosen words like Trust and Hope and Healing as their buzzwords for 2018, I have chosen Glamour. I will live my life a little more like a movie, and a little less like a sitcom. Here, some ideas for how I’m bringing Glamour back in 2018.

Red Nails

Paint my nails, already. And not a low-maintenance ballet pink, either. I like my nails short and red, and I will wear them short and red, even though it takes effort and work and all of those things I never seem to feel I have the time for…

Tea as a Ritual

Yes, my gallon-sized glasses of English breakfast with agave-and-milk is a small act of self-care, of sorts, but gulping down a glass on the way to violin lessons is not a ritual. It’s a routine, and those are very different things. I will break out the pretty mugs and the tiny teapots and have tea, sometimes with the girls, and sometimes with friends, and sometimes completely alone. Because, joy.

Baths

I still choose baths over showers almost every day of the week, but often they are rushed and routine, as repetitive as brushing my teeth. This year, I will strive to take a bath just for pleasure, and not because hair has frizzed or the legs need shaving or because, frankly, I had skipped a day and it’s time. I will use bubbles and oil and scrubby things and all the other pampering products I own but never use.

Fine China Sundays

Most of the time, post-church Sundays are about laundry and picking up the house and preparing for the week. Usually, I also squeeze some time in to lecture my kids about something they did/neglected to do/avoid at all costs. It’s a cozy way to start the week, for sure, but not nearly as charming as breaking out the fancy china and eating that roast chicken in the dining room. I might even go crazy and light a candle or something.

Make Music

Okay, anyone who knows me knows that this is something of a joke because I am tone deaf and couldn’t possibly make music, but I love alliteration and it sounded so much loftier than “play music.” This may not seem like much of a goal, but when your husband listens to classic rock and your kids listen to one song on repeat for months, it becomes a thing. It’s time for me to take the music back, on occasion. I will play Duran Duran and Scritti Politti and Frou Frou and the Lumineers and I will play them loud and often and I will also sing at the top of my lungs, even though the sound brings tears to people’s eyes. Because it makes me happy.

And, as I’ll remind my husband, when he complains, happy wife = happy life.

0 notes

hausofsamson-blog · 7 years ago

Photo

Vintage Beauty

Part One

I’ve been at war with my hair for the last year now. Since my early 20’s, I’ve struggled to maintain a head full of blonde hair, though I am naturally dark brunette. I’m always too blonde, too ash, not blonde enough, too dark, one daughter happy that I am blonde and I match her, the other daughter not happy because she is brunette and “mommy is not like her”. War within myself to accept the fact that I am pushing 40 and maybe platinum blonde needs to stay in my memory and not on my head. My husband, with whom I have been with for 12 years, just clued me in to the fact that he actually prefers brunettes, not blondes. Could you have mentioned this long ago, I inquire of him? I’ve been seeing two hair stylist this last year, bouncing back and forth between the two of them trying to get the perfect “ombre” - both blonde and brunette. Exasperated, I book an appointment with a new hairdresser at The Ocean Waters Spa at the Plaza Hotel in Daytona Beach, an unusual move for me. After 30 minutes of extensively going over pictures of celebs who had gone ombre, Christina, Saint Hairdresser, and I decide on three colors: copper, dark brown and caramel to break up the overwhelming blonde. I am pleased with the outcome, and 2 hours later, give Christina a hug as I leave the Plaza Hotel. Pulling out of the valet, my mind turns back from ‘Celeb-Ombre Me’ to ‘Mom-me’ as I calculate how much time I have left until carpool pick up of my 3 little ones, Raegan (7) Olivia (5) and Brett (3). In my peripheral, I catch a glimpse of Starbucks, and in an effort to make a tight U-turn I ram my 2003 Cadillac Escalade right into the curb, blowing my tire instantly. I drive this Escalade like an Army tank. It’s a beast and a hauler, clocking in at 160K miles and still going strong. Though I have a Mercedes (my 2nd car, a gift from my husband), I rarely drive it. The Caddy brought home all three of our babies from the hospital and though it is rotten inside out, has ��Olivia” etched in pen on the passenger side headrest, has raisins and goldfish forever squished between the seats, I love this car. So, here I sit on Atlantic Avenue in Daytona Beach, wondering how a “tiny bump” into the curb has managed to gash open my tire. A man is having lunch with his wife and comes over asking if I need help. I’ve already got my cell phone in hand and I’m dialing AAA. I thank him kindly, but wave him on. Tow truck should be here soon. “Do I need a tire change or a tow?”, the lady asks. I have no idea if I even have a spare tire and don’t bother looking - just send the truck. One hour wait I’m told, so I head to Starbucks, which got me into this mess in the first place! Picking up the phone, I dread telling my husband whats happened. It was never in my plan to tell him that I was going to the Plaza Hotel & Spa to get my hair done - now I would have to fess up. “I got a flat tire, but don’t worry, AAA is on the way, and I will be back on the road soon”, I texted him hoping he was in surgery and not able to respond. (he's a Plastic Surgeon) “Where are you?” he texts back immediately. “In Daytona. I’m waiting at Starbucks. All is well”, I reply. The phone rings and I pick up. “What are you doing in Daytona?”, he asks, knowing I rarely leave my Ormond Beach 10 mile radius, unless it’s to go to the office or Homegoods. “Getting my hair done at the Plaza Hotel”, I embarrassingly admit. I'm sensitive to the fact that he has been doing surgery since 7:30 am; grueling, intense cases that are physically and mentally draining, and I feel badly to tell him I am not at home working, or with the kids, or doing something more productive with my time than getting my hair done. He’s so easy going, but I think I can hear it in his voice that's he’s somewhat perplexed that in the middle of the day I am not working on our newly launched skincare line, our Plastic Surgery practice, or my Ph.D, which is dragging on and on, and now our two younger kids have gone into late stay so I could get my hair done. Wife-fail? Check!

The tow truck arrives, I know this company, ‘Lucky’s Towing’, they have towed me before. The driver has a friendly smile and spots my very-obvious spare tire right away. He attempts to change it, but neither my tool kit nor his has the appropriate lug nut, so we load my cherished Caddy onto the truck, and make our way to Pep Boys in Ormond. On the way there, I ask way too many nosy questions and find out the driver is by profession, a Chiropractor. He has all sorts of stories about growing up in Hawaii, about his brother a talented local tattoo artist, and his wife who wishes he would work as chiropractor instead of a tow truck driver. Between my husband and I, we have 3 cars: my beloved Caddy, my Mercedes and my husband’s Jaguar. The caddy never needs anything but a $35 oil change, but the Benz and the Jag constantly need TLC. Josh, the manager at Pep Boys, knows us well. He tells me I’ve got a 2 hour wait to put the spare on. Sitting in PepBoys, staring at my phone for 2 hours seems like an awful idea, so I head out on foot to Virgola; a little Italian Wine & Oyster Bar that is a 5 minute walk down the street. It’s 3:00pm now, and I think a glass of chilled Sauvignon Blanc is in order. The kids are going to have to go to late stay even longer. Part TwoI never make it to Virgola. Instead I am intercepted by Ms. Priss, a Boutique consignment store on the main drag in Ormond Beach. I’ve passed Ms. Priss hundreds of times, as it’s on my regular route around town, Ubering my children to school, gymnastics, piano, swimming, and playdates. It’s a cute shop; pink with striped awnings. I decide to go in. I barely make it in the door and know Virgola is not going to happen today. The glass case by the door is full of lovely sparkly jewels and clutches. A miniature Louis Vuitton retail bag catches my eye. I ask if the store has anything “vintage” and am delighted to find it’s full of vintage Escada, Chanel, Jimmy Choo, St. John and more. I try on several vintage pieces, quality garments made in India that must be from the 70’s or 80’s, and find a stunning vintage beaded Adrianna Papell top that would pair nicely with some cut up jeans, a silver vintage clutch, Escada jeans, and a 1980’s hot pink beaded prom dress, which I swoon over, and anticipate someone in my social circle will host an 80’s party at some point in the future, and it will be perfect. I look at the tag and find the dress is Made in USA, a delightful bonus. I find 3 vintage Kenneth Jay Lane jewelry pieces; a large cocktail ring, a snake ring, and a 2 headed rhinestone ram bracelet in ivory. I spot a large vintage Estee Lauder gift with purchase tote that is dark green and would make a nice weekender bag.

The only vintage thing I currently own is my mother’s black patent leather clutch from the 1950’s - it is my favorite, and most cherished piece in my wardrobe.An hour passes and I have not even made it through half of the boutique. Josh calls to tell me the car is finished. Already? Darn. I have enjoyed talking to the two owners/managers of Ms. Priss. I make my purchase, and on the way out the door, I promise to return and do some serious damage to the “wall of jeans”. They smile warmly and thank me for coming in. As soon as I get back to the car, I put on my snake ring - (I’m in love) and head to get the kids. It’s now 4:30pm and I know they will be hungry and tired after such a long day at school. The snake ring catches both my girls eyes as soon as I pick them up, “Mommm, you are wearing a snaaaakkke ring?”, they exclaim in disbelief, not normally my cup of tea. My blonde daughter is disappointed I am more brunette (I have forgotten all about my trip to the salon this morning), but my younger daughter is delighted; we are now brunette twins.

Over the next few weeks, it’s business as usual, but I wonder what other little shops around town might have some hidden vintage treasures. I am an avid reader of the Daytona Beach News Journal. Let me be honest, here. I ONLY read the paper to get my horoscope. It’s like dessert at the end of the meal. I faithfully digest most every section of the paper, never reading the sports section, and work my way to the Life, Food, Health, Entertainment and Faith sections where the horoscopes are found. Lately, there are many articles on Beach Street clean up after Hurricane Irma. Shops have been flooded and thousands of dollars of income has been lost since Beach Street has been closed for nearly 2 weeks. There are always articles on Beach Street though. Public officials and concerned citizens weighing in on homelessness, what to do with the constant panhandlers, efforts to revitalize the distressed area, etc.I am not really a fan of Beach Street. I don’t find it particularly inviting or safe, and it’s not all that pretty, though there are some nice little retail shops that place potted plants and items for sale outside the door, cozy-ing up the curb appeal. Wine-Me, the wine bar, has nice outdoor seating that is inviting and pretty. Overall, I wish the landscaping was more charming, and I would love to see a Tea Room on the avenue. However, as a lover of china, I frequent Sisters Decor and Nicole’s Beach Street Mall. I love the two sisters who own Sisters Decor, I can’t tell you their names, but they are delightful. The man who works there is charming and nice, I presume he is married to one of the sisters? The china selection at Nicole’s Beach Street can’t be beat - entire sets of vintage china from Europe, some as many as 150 pieces, for a few hundred dollars, at most. Most sets are under $100. You can pick up rare antique German or English tea cups and saucers for as little as $6-7. I’ve gotten lovely furniture and a tea cart there as well. I’ve not really ventured into the other stores along the avenue, but I see in the paper, and hear on the radio, there is to be a ‘Hurricane Irma Relief Party’ the evening of Friday September 29 from 5-9 on Beach Street. I’m wondering if there are any good vintage items to be had? Part ThreeBefore heading home from work on Friday, I decide to detour to Beach Street to support the Hurricane Relief Shopping Party I’ve heard about. I’m really looking for vintage items I can add to my newly formed collection of ‘all things vintage’, inspired after my trip to Ms. Priss. The stores are busy getting ready for that evening’s promised deluge of shoppers, but the owners are friendly and warm and stop to kindly greet customers. I head into my favorite store first, Sisters Decor, and spot a lovely Christian Dior (Chr. Dior) bow necklace in the glass case. I can’t pass it up. I ask one of the 2 Sisters to hold it for me as I continue browsing. I find a darling little Cloisonne bird, 2 vintage mink hats, and a gorgeous mint two-stem vase. While in the store, I google the name found on the bottom of the vase and I see it is a female designer from the 1960’s. I hem and haw over getting it, but in the end I don’t, kicking myself later, as I am still thinking about it. I purchase the vintage Dior necklace, Cloisonne bird, and 2 mink hats, and on my way out the door, I asked one of the 2 Sisters if she could keep her eye out for vintage rings for me since I am in the process of acquiring pieces for my collection. She said she would, but also tells me about Evans and Sons 2 doors down.

I have never heard of Evans and Sons, but since I am already there, I thought I would stop by for a quick look-see. Inside I meet Alan and Chris, owners of Evans and Sons, a mother and son pair. They are both delightful. I spend about 30 minutes with them, looking at all of their vintage pieces, listening to stories of their travels, and learning about their 30 year history in the same exact shop location on Beach Street. Alan is warm and friendly with a large personality. Though I do not ask further, Chris, a stylish woman, has a very classy accent, somewhere from Europe; France or other. She is delightful, with coiffed hair and is extremely polite and well spoken. The Evans shop is a luxury treasure box; full of high quality gems. It is not in my price range today, rings are in the thousands, so I thank the owners for their time and wave Au Revoir. Once outside, I send my husband a text. “ Can I buy myself a ring for my birthday?” it reads. “It’s $1,900”, I proactively tell him as I know that will be his first question. “Are you serious?” he answers immediately. “No, I’m not” I text back with a smiley emoji, but really I am.

I carry on down the way and dip into Riverfront Olive Oil & Vinegar Company. Riverfront is a well organized little shop where you can sample an array of oils and vinegars. The shop owners are friendly and after I sample a handful of oils, I leave with a nice bottle of Tuscan Herb infused Olive Oil.

I have heard of Moxie Vintage but never had the pleasure of going into the store before. Many friends have mentioned the store when donning festive 1920’s attire for parties, but I had never ventured in. I head in, specifically looking for a Caribbean themed dress to wear to the upcoming Museum of Arts and Sciences ‘Passport to the Caribbean’ Fundraising Event. I stroll through racks of 1920’s to 1990’s clothes, thoughtfully organized by decade. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the most perfect 1950’s poodle skirt for $19.99, darling pink with a white statuesque poodle. I carry on to the fur section. Racks of the most beautiful vintage furs: minks, rabbits, and probably other types I am not familiar with, are overflowing. I would not buy modern fur, but I am smittened by a vintage mink stole I see luxuriously draped on its hanger. I try it on and fall in love. A rabbit fur jacket, that looks like it would fit my 7 year old, hangs beside the vintage mink stole. I try it on for fun, the sleeves end at my elbow, but really I have my heart set on the stole. It feels luxurious and soft to the touch and I find myself wondering who owned it previously, considering there may have been many owners over the decades. What was she like? What did she do for a living, or was she a traditional homemaker given the times? What grand events and parties might the stole have witnessed during the 50’s and 60’s?I love old things: old china, vintage lace tablecloths, lace napkins, handkerchiefs, old musty books, and I love old people - ‘senior citizen’ sounds more polite. I feel most at home with them. I am terrified of high schoolers, even more terrified of middle schoolers, and I enjoy children, but I especially love seniors. In college, I had to engage in many hours of community service and I chose nursing home visitation as my outreach. When I was 7, I befriended Mr. Donnelly, our widowed neighbor who was in his 80’s. I would go to his house almost every day after school and he would make mac n cheese and salisbury steak TV dinners for me. I’d often help him around his home; cleaning the bathrooms or climbing on kitchen cabinets to dust the tops of them. We never had a TV growing up, so every weekend I would spend most Saturdays watching My Little Pony and Care Bears in his living room. You could do that sort of thing in the 80’s. I guess I must have told him fairly early on in our friendship that I liked Lucky Charms & Cap’n Crunch because he always had a stash of junk cereal for me. He had no grandchildren and I no grandparents, so it was a match made in heaven. I remember being devastated when he died. I was in high school by then, so he must have been in his 90’s. He had fallen off his bike while out on an afternoon ride, and though the injuries did not seem to be life threatening, he passed away a few weeks later. But we were talking about the stole. I began talking myself out of the vintage fur - really, where will I wear a vintage mink stole in Florida? While in the store, I google “is it acceptable to wear a mink stole?” knowing the controversy over wearing furs. I see many articles with yes it is and no it’s not. I decide to “think about it” and leave the store empty handed.

Down the Avenue, I tuck into Arlequin Antiques and Art, a speciality shop offering a fine selection of European Art. The store was badly damaged in the hurricane and about a foot of water had wrecked their treasured shelving, furniture and carpet. I find a special Egyptian gold framed Papyrus picture which reminds me of my years living in Cairo, Egypt. I scoop it up at first glance, carrying it around the store. The owners, a mother and daughter pair, named Colette and Caroline are welcoming and friendly. Arlequin Antiques holds an astonishing amount of antiques, vintage jewelry, art and a wonderful selection of blue and white china/porcelain, all varying prices for all budgets. I am an avid lover of all things blue and white and have collected many inexpensive pieces myself, but Arlequin has pieces that date back to the 1800’s, originals from Europe. You could say, the real deal. I find a gorgeous covered oval serving bowl, priced at $900, dating back to the late 1800’s. Again, not in the budget for my spur of the moment shopping trip on the Avenue. I enjoy conversing, learning about Arlequin antiques’ 30+ year history on Beach Street. I appreciate seeing an armoire and a rare vase that has been in the store since its opening. I must have asked far too many questions, as I came to find out the mother (speaking in a lovely French accent) and daughter had spent years traveling all around Europe finding rare art, china and porcelain, and a host of other treasures, all lovingly carted back from Europe and housed in this little treasure trove, all waiting for local people like us to come in and purchase. I buy the Framed Egyptian Papyrus and thanked the gracious owners for the lovely conversation and store tour.

My phone is ringing off the hook at this point, my children wondering why I have been delayed from work, when I will be home, and will they be late for gymnastics? Our sitter, Elizabeth, is due to leave, but kindly lets me arrive home a bit late. When I get home, the children looked at my bags and innocently ask, “What did you get us, mommy?” Wanting to pick up a little something for the children and my husband before leaving Beach Street, I popped into Angell and Phelps, an aroma filled chocolate shop, but the line is too long and I can’t wait. With 3 sweet faces staring at me hopefully, out of the bag comes the two mink hats which I gift to my girls; and for Brett, the Cloisonne bird. I think for sure he will hate it as soon as I hand it to him, its main colors teal and pink, but he gently holds it, examining it, then quickly finds a perfect place on the bookcase in the Formal Living Room where he places it so it can be displayed. Raegan loves her mink hat, but I believe Olivia, rather suspiciously, is on to me. Part FourThe following Saturday morning I wake up with the stole on my mind. I gather up the girls and tell them we were going for a mother-daughter day. We had been invited to join the girls friends’ at Cobb Theatre to watch a movie, but I decline, wanting to introduce my girls to something a little different. I tell them we were going out for an afternoon of “firsts”; places we had never been to, things we had never seen. I warn them ahead of time they will have to use their imaginations or they might be disappointed. We were not going to all the usual kids places; and they would have to rely on their senses and creativity to enjoy themselves. I tell them we will stop for French onion soup on our way back home. They are naturally curious as most of our outings are fairly predictable, and they must have asked me a million times where we were going, but I keep mum. Back to Beach Street I go, girls in tow.

We stop first at Nicole’s Beach Street mall as I know they have a large selection of vintage dolls and toys. Instructing they could each pick one thing, Raegan proceeds with caution, but Olivia wants everything in site. A vintage Minnie Mouse, then a purse, a vintage Barbie, then a pair of earrings, then a vintage Cabbage Patch doll, and a host of other things over the next half half hour. Finally they both decide on earrings. I can spend hours looking caringly through the china, but with the girls in tow, we move on. With the stole on my mind, we head to Moxie Vintage. The same nice looking young guy is there again today, manning the counter and store. I had not spoken to him on my previous visit as the store was filled with customers and he was engaged. I spot my mink stole and model it for my daughters. “It’s so soft”, encourages Olivia. The girls enjoy looking through the clothing racks, Raegan finding the same poodle skirt I had seen before. “Mommmmm looook”, she squeales, holding out the skirt. Raegan loves animals, particularly dogs, especially poodles, as our family has owned two on different occasions. The girls pick out earrings again, and we make our way to the register. My little Olivia, forever curious like me, asks the nice looking guy at the counter, “Is this your store?”. I thought for sure he would say no as he looks about 20, but surprisingly, he warmly smiles and says yes. I pay for my stole, affordably priced at $60. On our way out, Olivia knocks over the business card display and a big crash ensues, cards feathering down to the floor. He graciously tells her not to worry as they both crouch down to retrieve the cards. I immediately wonder if my mother, now 80 ever owned a stole and I send her a text message to enquire. She responds that she thought they were lovely and she does remember them being en vogue, but she indicates they were “for the wealthy” and she never owned one. I had a suspicion she wouldn’t have. Having been deeply religious since she was a teen, and always talking to us about not acquiring worldly goods, I presumed correctly she would have never owned a luxury fur. Later on that night, I ask my husband if his mother ever owned a fur. He lights up and specifically recounts the occasion his mother purchased her first fur, well into her married life. It was a “big deal” as he recalls; a momentous occasion. I adore my mother in law and imagine she might have felt the same bit of flutter as I have felt acquiring my vintage stole.

I wish to carry on to additional stores, but the girls are tired and hungry. Hopeful, I ask if they would be interested to eat at a place on the avenue, but they are expecting French onion soup, a favorite, so we begin heading back to the car. On our way there, a young tatoo-filled couple with brightly colored hair pass us on the sidewalk. I know Olivia is going to say something inappropriate so I do my best to distract her.Olivia is an old soul; she genuinely loves people and is never-endingly curious about them. She is observant and friendly. She notices everything and it blurts out of her adoringly cute mouth. “Mooommmm, they are SMOKING”, she says in disgust. I nod and say something forgettable and try to silence her as quickly as I can. Back in the car we head to Stonewoods, formerly Vince Carter’s. I had been to Stonewoods several months prior with my husband, attending a Pharmaceutical meeting with him. While there, I had seen French Onion Soup on the menu and had tucked it away in my memory bank. Our friend,

Heather Post

, who serves on our County Council, had given the girls a book on Etiquette. As we read through it, we came to a funny page about “how to eat french onion soup”, how to not slurp, how not to let the cheese string out a foot away from your mouth, etc. They giggled themselves silly at this page, so I promised them one day I would take them for french onion soup. I kept my promise and we tried 2-3 places but the cheese came shredded in the soup, so there was no “stringy” cheese to be had. Stonewood lays a flat, thick layer of cheese, so I knew this was our place for the girls to finally experience the etiquette of eating french onion “stringy cheese” soup. We sit and have the loveliest bowl of french onion soup. Our waitress is kind and chats warmly with the girls. She brings “sticky stix” for the girls to play with while they wait for the soup to arrive.The girls make all sorts of clever shapes and I try my hand at making a rainbow, octopus, and a few other mediocre creations. The girls enjoy their stringy french onion soup and all is well in the world. We head home, bellies full, having completed a nice afternoon of “firsts”. Final ThoughtsSo what is the point, you ask? I never intended to write this piece. After all who cares about reflections of ones shopping experience on Beach Street? It’s 3am as I finish writing. My eyelids are heavy and Olivia, the early bird, will be up before 7. But I believe in what I have just written, and have largely written this piece for the shop owners themselves. I’ve been a small business owner and let me tell you, it is tough. You are often a one man/woman band, cash flow is often tight and you depend on every single customer to come through your door. Hours are long and you will have never worked so hard in your life. And that is how you feel on a good day. Imagine the despair when your shop is flooded and you are working 16 hour days to clean up and try to get your shop re-opened. It’s easy to second guess yourself and wonder if this venture you've headed out on is worth it. So, I write this piece as an encouragement to all small business owners on Beach Street, and any other forgotten Main Street USA. And, truthfully, I do hope it has inspired a few who may see this to shop small local business if possible in favor of the big box stores. Like you, I have read for several years about our failing downtown Daytona Beach Street. I have read countless articles on revamping and revitalizing Beach Street. Thousands, if not millions, of dollars have been spent on trying to bring life back to this somewhat dreary and bleak portion of the city. I do not have the answers for how to do that. I have never worked with the homeless, and I don’t know a thing about downtown redevelopment. But I can tell you that if you will peer closely enough, the avenue on Beach Street is a delightful place; a little hidden gem, full of rich history, of store owners who are warm and engaging and long to connect with you, of proprietors that have a robust understanding of the world, our town, culture, and invaluable business experience with whom we can all learn very much. From a business perspective, I imagine what Collette and Chris might know and would have experienced in their 30 + years on the avenue. And I imagine what they might long to see again. Shops full of inquisitive and appreciative shoppers, friends gathering for brunch on the avenue, mom’s looking for that perfect gift for their little one. A date night out, dinner and drinks with colleagues and friends. There are lovely shops, wine bars and restaurants that are already welcoming patrons, but they need more of us to regularly show up and support them, not once a year when an event draws us to Beach Street. A vibrant main street can attract new businesses to the area and attract young professionals looking to live downtown. From there, the arts, culture and other aspects of city life, can begin to improve. The newly expected Brown & Brown building will do wonders to revive this area, and I so appreciate the intentional placement of their new headquarters downtown on Beach Street, coming in the near future. But in the meantime, we citizens have to patronize the shops. We have to intentionally go there and purchase from them and tell our friends about them. Instead of supporting a business we have no ties to, and who does not give back to our local community, we have to get in our cars and drive down to Beach Street. I like to call it ‘The Avenue on Beach Street’. It sounds much more luxurious and like a place I would actually want to frequent. Instead of going to Orlando for the day to buy from large retailers, or shopping online, I invite you to just try Sisters Decor who carry a constant variety of affordable home offerings: gorgeous crystal chandeliers, beautiful wall art, unique furniture and other home furnishings. You will be pleasantly surprised at how affordable it all is and what lovely pieces you can find. If you can shop with an air of curiosity, and inquisitiveness, you will find something you love for yourself or something you will want to gift to a friend. And I can guarantee you will have delightful conversation. I challenge you to spend one weekend visiting the various shops on Beach Street (or up in Ormond Beach at Ms. Priss, or any other small business that operates in our area.) Enter with an open mind, and I know you will leave with a little nugget of something special. But if you happen upon any vintage Chanel, Dior, or Louis Vuitton, back away slowly. It’s mine and I’m coming for it.

1 note · View note