April is the pearlest month day seventeen: What to wear to an exhibition reception and what one even is and why bother

Apr17

Well thank God. I thought I’d never have a chance to use all these photos of legs and sweaters collected over the past year at Arts Center receptions.

I call this “Contemplative Anklecross.”

Dana. Murphy. Multiple Frinks.

Legs of Amy Kortuem with Unknown Duck Boots.

People show up at these things looking great. Looking like themselves. Like they could care less whether or not you like their Nordic sweater or down vest or leather jacket or whatever, because they came for a sharp inhale of inspiration and not to see anybody’s outfit. Everybody came to stand around for a while in fluid conversation with friends and friendly strangers, holding a cocktail napkin full of crackers in one hand and wine in the other. Or tea. Whatever. That is IT. They came to stand around and soak up something different from regular busy life. It might be different at different galleries, in fact I know it is, I know some galleries in other places tend a little more showoffy in terms of who wears what and who cares, and that is fine, but here, I would say it’s about being warm enough and keeping your eyes and brain open. I very much love receptions.

Faith, Joel, fans.

SCARF. Scarves.

And this is how you feel after you look at some art. Launa, Lydia, Myra & company.

Couple things to know if you haven’t been to one, and I know for a fact there are two people showing up tonight who are new to the scene, so this is especially for them:

1) You just walk in. Nobody checks you in or anything like that. You walk in, and maybe somebody wearing a name tag might say “welcome,” but that’s it. You are now officially a person at the reception.

2) You can do this any time during the reception hours. Tonight’s is 5-7 p.m. That means you can walk in at 5:01 and you’re good. You can walk in at 6:05 when the artist is midway through her brief remarks, and that is also fine. If that’s the case, you might feel compelled to tiptoe and stage-whisper “sorry!” but it’s not necessary. Just come in. You can also walk in at 6:59 and ask if there’s still time to buy a piece and we will say YES and probably also throw in the remaining cheese and crackers as a bonus. You can come at any time, and leave at any time.

3) Once you’re in, walk up to one of the pieces on the wall. Just walk up to one, you can start wherever, and then stroll around piece to piece and just look. This is the main activity of a reception, each person at their own pace and in their own order, so just jump in and do this. You already know how. Looking at things and thinking about whether you like them, or not, is something you truly already know how to do.

4) The food is generally downstairs. It’s free. The cash bar is a cash bar. If we’re feeling fancy there will be hot water for tea in the classroom.

5) If you’re looking for me, like, to purchase something or to say “may I talk with the director about exhibiting my own work,” I’ll be the one in pearls. Maybe other people will be wearing them too. I don’t control that. As noted, there’s no dress code. I’m just letting you know that I’ll be wearing them.

I get asked a couple times a week if I like this job. And I’m like, well, even on the intense days, it’s pretty much the only job I’ve ever had where my natural tendency to show up for things slightly overdressed in a way that makes over-accessorized five-year-olds LOVE ME seems like it kind of fits. So, yes.

Tonight 5-7 p.m. is the closing reception for Amanda Wirig’s AS THE RECORD TURNS, an exhibition we at the Arts Center have loved. Never before seen so many people walk around the galleries and snicker. You are very welcome to join us. Here’s the Facebook event. As noted, come whenever.

Tomorrow: A little happy birthday to a famous and profane writerfriend who has no use for pearls UNTIL RIGHT NOW.

April is the pearlest month day sixteen: On authority of Aunt Myrt, Jackie O and Ann’s Fashion Tarot

Apr16

Cynthia Bemis Abrams will tell you that Lisa Birnbach’s 1980 The Official Preppy Handbook profoundly influenced her life. So, natch, pearls have long been a part of Cynthia’s mix. But it’s deeper than prep. Deeper, smarter, leadershippier. Here is a guest post.

Cynthia. Pearls implied.

If the rest of an ensemble says you’ve got your act together, pearls will work every time. Decision made. People will think “classy.” Problem solved. In many variations, they’re a staple of my casual, professional and social wardrobe and have never let me down.

Undertaking the enormous project of converting photos and slides to digital files, I’ve had the chance to enjoy a rich look at mid-century Minnesota lifestyle and fashion, complete with cameo appearances of pearls. They contain clues to my fashion DNA, which is really helpful because otherwise the Lutheran women in my family have fallen way short in handing down fashion advice.

My Great Aunt Myrt was a stylish, gentlewoman who was in perpetual motion.

Aunt Myrt.

She is remembered in the family for chatty letters and birthday remembrances and gracious hospitality. She and Uncle Dewey lived in Duluth, where he was a lineman for Arrowhead Electric. Legend has it that Aunt Myrt declined many of my grandmother’s invitations to come visit Minneapolis, as Myrt felt Minneapolis summers were just too hot.

My grandmother Berniece perfected her own Mid-Century Modern look courtesy of her employee discount.

Those were the days when millinery departments served your hat, gloves, scarf and needs. Grandma and a dozen other ladies held down Millinery at Donaldson’s Department Store in downtown Minneapolis. This kitchen knew how to sling pearls.

In my early 30s, wearing a strapless ball gown and sequined jacket, there was only one choice for jewelry. With this picture, I figured out that I can wear pearls.

There are things I know better now than I did at 30. For example, an important principle of leadership is enabling others to act, which means recognizing another’s strength and leveraging it for the greater good. Plenty of well-heeled women have mused about pearls. Maybe it’s age but I am now to the point where if someone I respect is going to give me good advice, I’ll take it. That’s why I consult Ann, via text photos, from department store fitting rooms from around the world.

Coco Chanel: “A woman needs ropes and ropes of pearls.”

Lady Sarah Churchill: “I feel undressed if I don’t have my pearls on. My pearls are my security blanket.”

Grace Kelly: “I favor pearls on screen and in my private life.”

Jackie Kennedy: “Pearls are always appropriate.”

Jackie. 1962.

Always appropriate, whispers Jackie O.

Always appropriate, Aunt Myrt reassures me with a wink.

Always appropriate, Ann directs, with accessory suggestions, thought-bubbles and encouragement.

Oh the fun we had that day! The day Ann’s Fashion Tarot overhauled Cynthia’s closet.

Cynthia Bemis Abrams is a Bloomington, Minnesota City Council member, a leadership trainer and communications strategist for private clients, and the person who took me to see Stevie Nicks a couple years back at Mystic Lake. Here is a post on Cynthia’s blog, co-written in the afterglow.

Tomorrow: What to wear to an exhibition reception, and what one even is. A public service announcement.

April is the pearlest month day fifteen: If they mean something good then just let them mean it and go ahead and wear the things

Apr15

And then there are the pearls given by a love, unprompted, to show how yearned-for you were during a long time away. Wear those without thinking too hard about it. Wear those lots. A guest post by Angie Caven.

I was introduced to pearl by the mother of the two children I regularly babysat during college. I was 21 years old and about to marry my high school boyfriend, Trav, a month before we’d planned because he was leaving early for his deployment to Iraq. The original wedding plans had been made, dress had been ordered, invitations ready for the mail, and we were to get married October 1! But a quick visit to the Armory one afternoon changed that plan and it was time to come up with another. Trav’s mission was being bumped up three weeks and he was to report the morning after our wedding, so his officer advised we “get married quick” so we could do all the proper paperwork before they left. As I explained my new predicament to the mother of the children I watched, I could see her wheels began to turn. The next time I watched the kids, Liz had a cute box wrapped up for me with something blue, something new, and something borrowed. The borrowed were the pearls she wore for her wedding! I was honored. But, at the same time, unsure. The only people I knew who wore pearls were my grandmother and her friends.

The Tuesday came that Trav and I got married under a weeping willow in Sibley Park (which is no longer there, hope that’s not a bad omen) and I proudly wore the borrowed pearls with my stylish Hawaiian pink dress.

A pink park bride.

Fast forward to Trav coming home from his apparent modeling tour…

Modeling Trav.

And the gift he brought back for me were pearls he purchased on leave in Qatar. I loved the gift but wondered when and where I would wear these beautiful pearls. I saved them for special weddings and parties, but soon those started to become few and far between. We have now had two children of our own and spend a majority of our time on the river, hiking the local woodlands, and camping. These aren’t the typical places, the wildlife don’t seem to notice and give compliments. Being inspired by Ann’s April Pearls, I decided to simply take the pearls out of their red velvet box and just wear them. Now my youngest, Abigail, who doubles as my late night photographer, also appreciates a strand of pearls and twirly dresses, wherever she goes.

Photo by Abigail.

Angie Caven is an outdoorsywoman, a potter, and a mindful military spouse. For a while we worked together at the Arts Center of Saint Peter. Lotsa the neat new stuff happening at the Arts Center? Basically Angie’s ideas in the first place. She’s too classy to post that. But if there was a “Like and Also Originally My Idea” button, she would be entitled to click it. Thank you, Ang.

Tomorrow: Cynthia bounces back from a Lutheran fashion upbringing.

April is the pearlest month day fourteen: I suppose I could have stayed home and baked cookies

Apr14

Let’s go ahead and dump this whole thing out. This whole velvet-lined-with-little-drawers box of things you can’t wear without showing your coordinates on the axes of gender and power.

I should note that this is a personal coordinate system. I’m not looking up any other lists, I’m not flipping through Lean In or The Beauty Myth. I’m just thinking about my own closet and my schedule and what I truly would/would not wear for, say, a board meeting tonight. I’m thinking about how if I were to go, say, sleeveless, IF, I’m right now considering what other things I’d need to wear to make clear that while my arms may be exposed, you can trust me to make prudent fiscal decisions.

[For the record, probably the counterpoint would be pants. Long wide-legged pants with some kind of subtle pattern and really big cuffs. I don’t have any. Meeting is at 6 p.m. Could shop over lunch.]

But, the pearls.

As stated, they’re potent, they’re imbued with meaning whether you’re personally attached to your real-or-faux strand or not. You’re stuck with what they imply and it either contrasts or amps up whatever else you’re doing, wearing, signifying. Germaine Greer bothered to write a whole thing about this and wound up calling them “tears.”

Pearls are tears; Diana Spencer wore her jewelled ligatures as signifiers of subjection. Condie Rice is George Bush’s creature, and when he steps down he will take her with him. The consensus is that she will not find another job in politics. Hillary has taken to wearing pearls in defeat, which leaves only Michelle.

[Germaine Greer, “This is the age of power pearls – and no one exploits their potency better than Condie Rice,” The Guardian, Aug. 24, 2008]

Ok. Well. That helps explain why attempts to redefine pearls by contrasting them with something else — pearls with leather! pearls with sweatshirt! — might have visual appeal but fail to actually change the meaning of the things. The contrast just kind of intensifies and makes clear that the pearls mean a certain thing, a set of things, and the sweatshirt doesn’t alter those things, it just says “oh, what, these?”

Pearls with hoodie! You don’t have to say it. I’m convincing no one.

While I appreciate this equation for what it is, personally I’d like to know how to plot a totally different point on the axes. And for that I think we have to look at complement instead of contrast. Complement to the extreme, like total saturation of a wardrobe, saturation with the vibe that is “pearls,” in a way that neutralizes. Dilutes. This might actually be more effective, I’m thinking, than contrast. A more joyful and therefore more powerful kind of “oh, what, these?”

Shown here by the unstoppably adorable Karla.

“You know what I love? Pearls and pretty aprons.” So right, Karla.

And by Karla and Anna.

Tough to discern here but we’ve got pearls, aprons, silver hair. Silver updo! My God, the ownership.

Also by a woman I’d not met until she walked into the Coffee Hag on Monday. Abree Royce. She let me shoot after I blabbed on about how her whole look knocked me out. Never mind the absence of pearls. Pearls implied. Very clearly implied.

Custom vintage dress from eshakti.com. (Custom!!! select your fabric! your collar style! OH you guys.)

So I’m saying, I’m sorry, but the answer is not what I thought it was back on day six. This is not AT ALL about contrast. It’s about — I think, possibly — total saturation. It’s about over-the-top adornment with stuff that’s supposed to say “demure” and “hopeful” and “completely lacking agency” and “I wish someone would give me an allowance to buy some matching earrings,” so much so that none of it says anything at all. So much so that they are simply, just, pearls.

Tomorrow: Unless they mean love.

April is the pearlest month day thirteen: and i would so own them

Apr12

In which Juana Arias gets graced. A guest post.

it happens that i have 2 sets of pearls. that i don’t wear. which is the whole thing with these posts and this month. i don’t remember what made me decide i wanted pearls. i do know i was young. and i did not come from a family where you got pearls at 16. or at graduation. when i graduated i was given an alarm clock. which, i can tell you, has all kinds of implications that i don’t intend to get into here. i don’t intend, but i might. cause there’s a lot of blank page in front of me and not a lot of planning has gone into this. the thing about that alarm clock is that i still use it. daily. and i still dislike it as much as i did the day i got it. also, the other thing about it is it has my name on it. like, engraved. so, there’s no re-gifting it or dropping it at the thrift store, and the second-generation-removed-from-the-depression-era voice in me reminds me that we don’t throw things away that work. or can be fixed.

but, again…the pearls. that’s what i’m here for.

i’m sure i was in high school when i decided i wanted them. when i saw them on some woman far removed from my reality and decided that i wanted to be like her. and that the pearls might get me closer. but there was this thing in me that also knew i couldn’t just go get them. that they were tied to another person. that that other person would have to decide when it was time for me to get them. that it was a gift that you earned, or aspired to, or grew into. I’m not really sure which. much later in life, i would learn that waiting for others to decide your time was a foolish way to spend it. your time, that is. but that’s such a serious lesson to learn, and not at all the dreamy-ness of waiting for your pearls. i can tell you, though, i knew, really knew, that my pearls would be different. how? i had no idea. but they would be. for sure. and because of that they would be meaningful and beautiful. and i would so own them. and they would grace me.

i think i was in my early twenties, and just passed the first time i learned the lesson of waiting on someone else, when i knew what would make my pearls different. i read a fascinating article in the national geographic about black pearls. and there it was. the answer. they would be black. and, natural. and not cultured. and i would find each of them, on my own, in whatever exotic locale i had to travel to to make that all happen. i’d be lying if i said something on this order didn’t happen every month when my copy of nat geo arrived. but, this was different. i was really gonna do this. this might be one of the very first times i ever became really obsessive about meaning and beauty as it pertained to my body. my aesthetic. my person. perhaps even as it pertained to my fashion sense. which, i assure you, is not so much fashion as it is sense. sensory, senseless, sensible.

i shared this endlessly with my partner. of course, implying that this involved him. which he didn’t pick up on. but, his mother and his sister did. and, so, much to my surprise i was given a box, from a major retailer, for my birthday. and i became the owner of black pearls. and then i wondered what i was supposed to do with them. these shiny, grey, perfectly round, things. wear them? where? i felt as though i hadn’t thought this through. maybe the next time i dressed up? not even the faux hawk helped, i promise. so they stayed in the box. it’s where they are right now. in the box. in his house. along with so many other things of mine that i didn’t (and don’t) know what to do with. that i thought could just stay there. in my home. and wait for me to come back. and they are. but i’m not.

which, of course, brings me to the other set of pearls. the ones i was much more direct about. the ones i decided i wanted him to buy me. the ones i waited for, but wasn’t going to wait any more for. because it was our 7th anniversary. we were back in the place we were married. and we had survived so many years of medical everything. there was a daughter. and i was tired of waiting for the second one to arrive. and those pearls were it. natural, freshwater, tiny. little seeds of lovely. silver bead accents. they were different. not black, sure, but they were their own being. confident. quiet. strong. full. i could own that. that could own me. and, more importantly, i had my own little pearl, now. so they had meaning. her name means ‘pearl’ in greek, ‘little’ in german, and she was still alive. so this was that thing for me…the beauty and meaning in my daily life. the symbol. the reminder. the thing. the pearls. and her sister. the one i was tired of waiting to meet. who wouldn’t want her to be all that, too? the embodiments of all that.

it came as no surprise when he gave them to me. i wore them all the time. everyday. i don’t remember when i stopped wearing them. when, some other thing graced my neck. now they’re lost in a handful of necklaces that have meaning for me. and they’re lost, because of their meaning. it’s likely that i might even have a hard time looking at them because of all that meaning. all that time. all that waiting.

Juana Arias is Clay Studio Manager at the Arts Center of Saint Peter, a ceramist, a fiber artist and a graduate student in art at Minnesota State University, Mankato. Chick also makes these.

Cable Knit Ceramic Tumbler [small]. Blue interior.

Here they are on Etsy.

Tomorrow: If you’re doing this, go all the way. Add an apron. An APRON.

April is the pearlest month day twelve: A reason? You want a reason to wear them? Why, how about a house fire.

Apr12

Does she wear them? Now she does. All the time. A guest post by artist, teacher, and damned tenacious pearl-wearer Michelle Kaisersatt.

Pearls. My first intro to pearls – Katharine Hepburn. I loved the way she dressed! (still love her style…) She was elegant, sassy, both in style and in personality, and she was cutting edge. All of that rolled into one big flair in apostrophe! One of my favorites was a dress she wore with a chiffon scarf flowing behind her back, secured loosely with a short strand of pearls about the neck. Stunning!

Then came Julie and Julia. You know the movie. The one about the blogger who cooks her way through a self-induced challenge while using Julia Child’s recipes, all within a one year time line – while also blogging about it. I believe for Julie’s 30th birthday her husband gave her a strand of pearls. (Julia always wore pearls!)

Enter into my life…. I am pretty picky. I will admit it. My hubby bought me a piece of jewelry for Christmas many years ago, and because it was uncomfortable around my neck, I asked if I could take the 14k gold necklace back. I spent the whole afternoon searching and I came back with a 14k gold and blue sapphire ring. It wasn’t a necklace, and let’s just say the taste it left was not sweet, for him.

Flash forward to 2012. My hubby and I have been married for 30 years. He gets wind through (at least) two viewings of Julie and Julia, how pearls are a woman’s best friend. So he asked if I would like to have a string of pearls for ‘the’ 30th Anniversary gift. Official gift for 30th anniversaries is indeed ‘pearls’! Since my darling husband knows my particular choices, he went out and did some serious shopping. Finding options for me to look at, try on, and interject my thoughts about. In the end, he chose and purchased the gift. That is what thirty years of heavenly bliss (seriously) will do for you!

As Ann will state, they do sit in the silk lined box, in the special drawer, waiting for those special moments. Except our life added a little twist to the story. We had a house fire in March of 2014, losing…e v e r y t h i n g. (Yes, heavy sigh.)

One of the first things my husband grieved openly about…the wedding dress I had sewn from scratch (with hand-sewn pearls on the sleeves and bodice) that was also sitting in a white box in the closet and is now only a memory, and the string of pearls which he had given me for our thirtieth! The sweet part of this story is that he searched and searched for a replacement necklace that was very similar to what I had had in the white silk lined box in my jewelry drawer. We found one that was perfect, and we went and bought it together. He was so excited for me to have that piece of jewelry back, and he gave me an early birthday present of a pair of pearl earrings to go with it.

It is one year later. These have even more meaning to me than the previous gift did. It is a mile marker. A testimony to all of the trials and tribulations we have shared together. So I decided to wear them as often as I could. To defy the white silk lined box the opportunity to hold them more than I would wear them! And. I. Love. Them! I wear them with jeans.

I wear them with my red cashmere sweater, to try and emulate the 50’s. And this past holiday, over Easter, I put on my white blouse with a turned up collar, added a colorful scarf tied in front like an ascot to defy style, and donned my pearls for the finishing touch. Kathryn was smiling down at me – as was my hubby!

Tucked behind the scarf, but you can feel them, right? They give off a feel.

Michelle is a fine, fine artist who makes urns, keepsake vessels and more. She blogs over here at A Mindful Life.

Tomorrow: Sweet dreams of pearls just showing up. Just like that, showing up. And then, undreamy lessons.

April is the pearlest month day eleven: Dr. Julene D. Nolan, Psy.D., NCSP, has no time for your (my) whining

Apr11

A guest post from my stylish friend Dr. Julene D. Nolan. Is she a doctor of pearlology? POSSIBLY.

Mike, neckwear, Julene.

My family was not a pearls family. Our coming of age was celebrated with one of two gifts – luggage or wristwatch. We were raised to be worker bees, all nine of us. My parents knew that we would need to monitor time closely or be able to move out or move on quickly and in a way that would be taken seriously. The older kids graduated in the mid to late sixties and uniformly received luggage for the boys and watches for the girls. But then the seventies and eighties came and things got fuzzier and looser and I began to hope for luggage. Certainly they would know me well enough to realize that a wristwatch was wrong for me. Of course they would recognize my wanderlust through all of my achingly crappy poetry about a young woman in a faraway place.

The day of my older sister’s graduation came and she got it! SHE GOT LUGGAGE! Then my older brother – a watch. Times had changed. People were more than a gender stereotype and watches and luggage had come to mean different things than they used to mean. I was certain a Samsonite was in my future. On the day of graduation my mom handed me a box. The small hard plastic case betrayed the serious miscalculation on the part of my parents. The petite Timex bracelet style watch was shiny and lovely and completely not at all what I wanted. But as the last of nine children to graduate, my folks were goddamned tired already.

My pearls came from my hubby on one of his exotic trips to Shanghai. He was brought up in a pearls family and his sisters received the tapered strands of perfectly polished oyster secrets as a 16th birthday present. They wore them stunningly in their graduation pictures, which portrayed young, ambitious women with a sense of style, and femininity; women who knew how to choose stemware and color and good linens. So when hubby told me that he had bought me pearls I was a bit worried. I don’t have the breeding for pearls. I don’t have the body type for pearls. But then he gave me this.

They are colored pearls, all heavy and serious but playful and odd shaped. Like me. He knows me better than my parents ever did.

And now that the half century club has welcomed me with open arms and achy joints I have to pay more attention to things like health and movement. That creates an entirely new fashion conundrum that Ann needs to solve. How do I pair these pearls them with this……

Geez. My best guess for Jules is to choke the fit-bit with a many-times-wrapped strand. Which, actually, could add extra weight in a fitnessy way. Tiny pearly kettle bells!

Tomorrow from the street team: A fire, a longtime love, a good denim jacket.

April is the pearlest month day ten: Pearls versus dry socket

Apr10

So my friend Stephanie gets her wisdom teeth out today. Just the two remaining ones, I think she told me. Why not all four at once, back when she did this the first time? I don’t remember her answer. I don’t remember because I think I was distracted thinking about how much more of an ordeal wisdom tooth extraction is compared to what you think it’s going to be. The hassle of arranging for a ride afterwards, the drag of not being able to use a straw, the thinking about how long to keep your leftover pain medication around for future possible pain. So basically, first of all, GOOD LUCK STEPHANIE. Good luck to a woman who cares about her teeth.

Sonicare Diamondclean! Courtesy Stephanie’s Facebook, with permission. No seriously with permission.

The only advice I can offer is to dress for the occasion. This is something she knows how to do.

The occasion here is thirst.

It’s one thing to wear the clothes/frame/earring, it’s another to hold a face pose for a whole holiday. So I’m saying that Stephanie has style skills.

What she might not realize, because the research just isn’t really out there yet, is how wearing pearls during and after this procedure might help speed healing. Y’all might remember how I employed a similar strategy while attempting tighter control of my blood sugars by wearing an embellished insulin pump.

Or, when I tried to luxe-up the mammogram experience by taking advantage of the spa-style amenities in Mankato Clinic’s mammogram waiting room.

Or when I decorated my banged-up shins.

Despite the lack of publicly available research to support the hypothesis that dressing for medical success leads you to the desired end result of obliviousness, which is as good as healing, I am undaunted. And I hope today Stephanie wears those wrap-around pearls she has, which are like a gleaming icon of oral health, or whatever she chooses to make her feel most strong and whole and superior to dry socket.

I call this Haute Bloody Gums.

Tomorrow: The street team speaks out.

April is the pearlest month day nine: Shut up shut up

Apr9

People say marriage is hard work. One thing that’s especially hard is when your spouse, who is not AT ALL a member of your blog’s target demographic, has the audacity to read your posts and offer feedback. Insightful feedback. Feedback that says I-understand-you-and-I-get-where-you’re-coming-from, which, you know, to the untrained ear sounds like “compassion” and being “known” and “loved” by somebody for a “really long time,” but to the married ear it just sounds like showing off.

So, fine. Fine. So the first time I wore the pearls was for this.

Ultimate 1987.

Probably imagining they would come off more like this.

Courtesy W magazine, latest issue. Yeah yeah.

Also, the pearls were not a coming-of-age family gift or inheritance, like I may have let seem the case in previous posts. They were a gift from a boy who drove a red Nova I believe and introduced me to the fine music of Steely Dan. I know that part for sure. I’ve had no problem making that music part of my regular life over the years, no problem at all, and I have nothing but nice memory-feelings toward the boy. So you can see how it’s maddening that the failure of these pearls, every time I’ve tried to wear them, their complete failure to turn the room into a dark sparkling ballroom, or turn my sweater set into a feather cloak, or turn whatever moment I’m inside into a lush-lush Steely Dan-feeling moment complete with a horn section, you can see why I shouldn’t have to be the one to figure out the thing that is APPARENTLY in my mind regarding what is I want from the pearls.

Right? You guys.

Oh so HERE WE GO.

You know what. I’m just not having this conversation right now. I am just. Not.

Tomorrow: Let’s get back to the easy stuff like outpatient surgery and the healing powers of well-chosen accessories.

April is the pearlest month day eight: Association of Writers and Writing Programs in Minneapolis RIGHT NOW

Apr8

Writerfriends! Can’t make it to AWP, the planet’s largest writers’ conference happening right now in Minneapolis? Or, you’re going, but you’re dreading Sunday night post-conference/before you return to real-life day job and in that terrifying limbo you’ll wonder OK OK HOW CAN I MAKE WRITING my whole main life?!?! I am throwing a little party for you.

Sunday 7 p.m. at the Arts Center. This sounds like I’m using my personal blog to promote the Arts Center but it’s kind of the opposite. We are proudly presenting, at the Arts Center of Saint Peter, poets unknown to our regional audience but known and admired by me, personally, because their work is funny and aching and killer and I want you to hear it. I really do.

Here they are.

Here’s the Facebook event which you can feel free to join.

You can come just for the entertainment, or if you yourself are a poet or writer or songwriter or practitioner of some other lonely art, you can come to connect with four great people who’ve published books of poetry which is not an easy thing to do. Right? Hard-copy books. Of poetry. Plus, they’ll be armed with AWP swag and AWP stories, so if you couldn’t get up to the conference, on Sunday night you can hear it and feel it vicariously. I mean I hope so. I mean if their writing is any good, right, we’ll feel it.

One big thing we’re missing, those of us not going up to AWP, is the Prince Purple Poetry party.

Here is what I would wear, if I were going.

Why the tie? I don’t know. Because I have it. Because somebody in my MFA program, which is how I know one of these poets, told me I wrote like a man. Troubling as a compliment delivered by a feminist to a feminist, sure, but would that not make you think OH HELL YES I’m wearing a tie to the party?

Hey. HEY. Now that I’m seeing this I think I’m onto something separate, something post-pearl.

You think?!?!?! I mean I happen to have both of these. The red and green one obviously for Christmas. Next CHRISTMAS can you see this and can someone please have a party where I can gesture in this way with my reading glasses? Please.

But back to now and writerfriends and Sunday. If you’ve gone to AWP, please join us. If you haven’t, please join us. Cash refreshments 7-7:30, readings 7:30-8:30, after-party and opportunities to connect with these fine writers and great people immediately following at Patrick’s. Really hope to see you there.

Tomorrow: Scott made me so mad by being right about my blog that I’m blogging about it. And THAT, people, is how to keep magic happening for twenty-four years.