As promised yesterday, I will share my handy packing tips I picked up while watching an Internet video of a British butler packing for his “Sir.”  Now why would I be watching such a video, one might ask.  After too many 2 AM scrambles before an 8 AM flight, with a bed full of clothes and a suitcase that looked much like this one, I was desperate.  Living with a man who would happily pack in a manila envelope if his dopp kit would fit, I was finished with his snoring away as I frantically shoved everything I own into an expanded 22″ the night before a trip.  And don’t even mention carry on to me. It sends chills down my spine.

Anyway, after one of these nights where I arrived at the airport bleary-eyed, wet-haired, without a drop of caffeine in my veins, I vowed never again.  Now in my defense, I have come a long way from the days when I packed a 26,” which my son affectionately referred to as my fourth child Hartman, as he lifted all 75 pounds of it into the trunk.  I would often follow with a hanging bag and a hat box. Embarrassing but all true.

So before my next trip, I googled how to pack a suitcase.  Rather than Over Packers Anonymous, up popped a video of a friendly looking Jeeves who had me at, “This is how it is done for Master Brown.” I figured it it was good enough for Master Brown, it would be good enough for me.

This is what he said:

–Try to stick to one or two color families (black/white or brown/ beige) as that minimizes shoe and accessory choices.

–Pack heavy items such as shoes, larger toiletries and books (travel guides and leisure reading) on the bottom of the case, heaviest items toward the spine. (Makes sense as that is where it all falls anyway when the gorillas the airport pick it up and toss it toward the conveyor belt.)

–Cover all bigger items and those you care most about not wrinkling with saved dry cleaning bags or thin tissue.  (Jeeves was so cute with his large squares of  cream-colored tissue paper carefully placed between master’s cricket pants and smoking jacket.)  I stick with dry cleaning bags and they work great.

–Pack pieces within pieces after making a firm base above the heavy bottom items.  For this one, I put my work out clothes and PJ’s on top of the shoe base to make a more even surface and then start layering on that.

–For layering, again start with heaviest items, for instance jeans or a pair of wool slacks and lay them flat on the PJ’s etc. with half of the pant laying across the suitcase lengthwise and half of it out to the left or right.  Place the next item on top of the pants and fold in the other half of the pants on top so the inner item makes a cushion and prevents wrinkling. Continue layering items, sticking in t-shirts and softer items (like underwear) at crease points until you have filled the case.

He actually used the straps I always leave tangled on the bottom of the case to tighten it all at the end and much to my surprise, it prevents shifting and added wrinkles.

And if all of this is just too much trouble, pack like my daughters.  Take ten minutes to grab from your closet, roll it all in balls, stuff it in and wear what you forget on the plane. They always look much cuter and more rested than I do when we arrive at our destination.

I do get some satisfaction that they invariably ask to borrow some little something from me. And of course I always have it.

My friends and daughters often ask for my fashion advice.  Whether it is where to get the best white t-shirt in Chicago (Feel Good at http://www.estreetdenim.com/email/default.asp) or can I wear white to a wedding (officially no), I am their go to resource for clothing questions.  I am always flattered to be asked but I have to admit, since high school when I was nominated “Best Dressed,” it has always stymied me a little that I get this recognition.  My high school nod was based on a wardrobe that I either made on my own Singer or purchased at Montgomery Ward in my hometown of Charleston WV. Since then, I have certainly upped the ante on price tags as my circumstances have allowed but my fashion mojo has always been based on the same philosophy:  Like the Marines, depend on “a few good men.” Buy well-made pieces (whether they come from Bergdorf Goodman, T.J. Maxx or a local consignment shop) you can wear over and over, mix and match, and dress up or dress down.

In addition to my basic soldiers (maintaining the Marine motif) I always throw in a few unique, one of a kind pieces like the skirt pictured above.  I have worn this to several events, with boots, high pumps, low pumps, sandals, sleeveless top, long sleeves and even a surgical bootie after some foot repair.  My favorite comment I have received on this skirt was, “Only you could pull that off.” Rather than take that as, “Who do you think you are, the Pink Swan?” I saw it as my style isn’t completely predictable. My approach is, keep the outfit simple and add a funky necklace or bracelet or do the opposite, wear the funky skirt but everything else should blend into the woodwork.

Basically, my fashion philosophy is:

— Choose timeless pieces and build your wardrobe around them.

— Essential of any wardrobe:  crisp all cotton white blouse, white t-shirt, classic black blazer, good fitting pair of jeans.

— Wow them with your accessories or wow them with one piece of clothing.  Never both.

— The right shoes make or break the outfit.

— Put everything on and take one thing off, except like your blouse, obviously, but sometimes your underwear is optional.

— Buy fancy dresses when you aren’t desperate for one. You will never find one when you are.

— Although Paul McCartney’s new wife broke this cardinal rule last week in People Magazine–no stockings and sandals. Never. Not even nude colored. Not seamless toes. Never. End of subject.

— Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, even if your fitness or body type allows you to go younger, stay age appropriate.

Now you might think after all this advice that  I am a great packer.  Not so. Just because I shop abiding the “few good men” mantra, doesn’t mean that I know which one I will want to go out with when I am staring into an empty suitcase.

Next post I will reveal my tell-all secrets to packing I learned from an English butler I watched on a twenty minute Internet video.  Seriously.  I did that. And I am still late for planes.

I have read mixed reviews (e.g. http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/20/books/review/book-review-the-paris-wife-by-paula-mclain.html) of The Paris Wife but I have to say I am enjoying every page of it.

First of all, consider the title.  If you have chosen to be a wife, why not be one in Paris?!  Now I understand the French can be notoriously rude to Americans, especially if we try to engage them with our horrible version of their delicate language. And of course French husbands are famously unfaithful, can have prominent noses and smell too strongly of Bleu De Channel. But you can’t beat other aspects of the parisian wife lifestyle.  Intimate sidewalk cafes, evening strolls by the Seine, the art museums, the shopping, the adorable tiny cars, wine at lunch, the shopping, wine at teatime, the shopping, the food, the wine, the shopping.  You get the picture.

And beyond the romance of imagining yourself as a Paris wife, this Paris wife is married to Ernest Hemingway! Now here again, he may have been no dreamboat to live with and perhaps a little egotistical and for sure a man’s man who loved more than a few fingers of scotch, beautiful women and indulged an insatiable lust for adventure. Aside from that, the author, Paula McLain, paints an intimate portrait of the world Hemingway and his wife Hadley inhabited in Paris in the early 1920’s. Carousing with the fabled “Lost Generation” in the City of Light, Ernest and Hadley are part of quite a crowd– Ezra Pound, Gertrude Stein, F. Scott and Zelda.  I mean, really.  Can you imagine it?  All these young, ambitious, struggling, soon-to-be-famous artists come to life on the page and play out the stories that put us to sleep in eighth grade English but entice and haunt us as adults.

Pick it up.  Especially in hardback.  As you can see it has a great cover, but it’s hard to beat what lies beneath it.

For those unfortunate few born north of the Mason-Dixon, I would like to provide a brief explanation of the expression, “Bless your heart.”  Used most often by southern women, the comment is attached as a suffix to a response given to another party in casual conversation.

I was thinking after yesterday’s post of my own little goblins, grown now and living on opposite coasts. They are good kids. The best really.  I am lucky.  I tell them that as often as I can but when they were little, I probably didn’t.  I was too busy worrying about their clothes being clean, their school work, their choice of friends.  All that important” being a good mom” stuff that dominates your days as a young mother.  You are overwhelmed with the responsibility of these precious little lives and focusing too much on the speed of the cars that whiz past your house and whether they remembered their helmet when they dashed out of sight, late for school.

Oh, I hugged and kissed and loved my kids.  Sometimes kept them maybe too close for fear that if I let go, they would be sixteen instead of six.

And then they were. And eighteen and college-age and twenty two and out of the house. Gone. I have always said I am better at giving them roots than giving them wings but in spite of me, off they flew.

My son was reminding me the other day of something I did when they were little. In the rush of the morning’s “eatyourbreakfastdon’tforgetyourhomeworkwaitforyoursisterkissmegoodbyelookbothways” I used to slip a note in their lunch bags.  Often it was scribbled on one of the 3×5 index cards I keep by my desk but sometimes I simply printed it in crayon on the napkin I always folded on top. If I was feeling especially prosey, on a day like today it might have said, “Boo, I love you!”  Or on short on groceries days it might have said, “Roses are red, violets are blue, pretend this bologna, is homemade beef stew.”  Sometimes I would throw in a “Good luck on your test!” or “Don’t forget  after school sports!”

Most often it was just a little reminder that I loved them no matter where they were or what they were doing.  I still write them “roses are red” ditties when the spirit moves me or send cards to say I love you every chance I get.

But there’s something about a note in a brown paper lunch bag that says it so much better than Hallmark.

I understand we are all up to our reality TV gills with the next big talent America will produce.  I watched the first couple seasons of American Idol, I fade in and out of Dancing with the Stars depending on where I am sitting when it comes on and who is dancing.  BUT my son insisted I watch the new X Factor to see Drew Ryniewicz perform. And I was blown away. She is only 14 and all talent, all heart.  And of course, one of “Simon’s” girls. Tune in on Wednesday at 7:00 Central. The show is worth it for her.

Try this link and decide for yourself. I know it is long but it says as much about the importance of family as it does about her…and of course, it speaks volumes about moms…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TanlK2J4eoA

He is the light of my life and the reason I have found an extra chamber in my heart. This is what we wade through diapers, terrible twos, dance recitals, baseball games, broken arms,broken hearts, driver’s permits, lost pack packs, D’s in Physics and college applications for.

This is it.  The gift for being a parent is being a grandparent. Pure joy and innocence; unconditional love and pride. Our second chance at loving a baby purely, openly without the angst of the right way to do it.