A version of this outfit is what I picked out for a lady today. She came in with a dress similar to this one but with a halter neckline and said she was wearing it for an upcoming dinner event. She was looking for a cardigan to go over it but was finding only cotton ones that looked too informal and junior-y, and she was on a budget. She requested help. My coworkers called me over (an honor I took very seriously).
I asked her what shoes she was wearing, and she described a pair like the above. After 5 minutes of making sure she had seen all the designer and junior cardigans we had (you need to know all of your options), I suggested a pashima wrap in accessories. It was the only thing I could think of besides an overcoat that would be elegant enough and still provide warmth. She was so excited. She already had one! It was purple! Did I think it went with the dress? Since I happened to be wearing a green sundress with a belted purple cashmere cardi today, I had to say yes, which was the truth, even though I was in the middle of highlighting the benefits of a cream shawl. She was so elated about being able to wear the purple, I'm not even sure she heard me.
Then she asked what bag to wear. I said the requirements were that it had to be pretty small and sparkly--beaded, sequined, or having a high sheen. When we looked, I realized we had only one bag in the store that matched that description, and she didn't like it. All the rest were casual bags. I asked her what she owned. She said she had a smallish bronze bag that was really shiny leather and had some fringe detail. I said that would work.
Then she asked about jewelry. I recommended earrings because of the high neckline and showed her a great pair of gold hoops with flower detail. But wait! She already had the perfect gold hoops! And all I could say is, "Well, you've got it covered. You already have everything you need." The bad news? I didn't sell a thing. She walked out of the store empty-handed. I suppose I could have tried to push dangly earrings after all that, but it didn't seem right. The good news? She left really happy and feeling confident about what she had. I, too, felt great. I had helped her assemble a great outfit, even if she already owned everything in it. We'll call this ensemble, "Priceless."
"You can't leave New York. You're the Chrysler Building. The Chrysler Building would be all wrong in a vineyard." Carrie to Big
Well, technically, I shouldn't be writing. I've only watched one episode since the last post. But, since it was the last episode of season four and a big one, I felt it deserved its own space. Carrie finds out that Big is moving to Nappa Valley to live on his recently purchased winery. The last moments between them are really nice. The day he goes, he leaves his favorite record, the one his parents always danced to when he was young, Henry Mancini's "Moon River," for Carrie for when she gets lonely. He also leaves an open plane ticket to California for when he gets lonely. The sap that I am, I nearly cried.
Samantha suspects that Richard is cheating and goes undercover to catch him. After barging in on him, well, in a very compromising position with a young gal, she breaks things off, feeling heartbroken. Charlotte volunteers at a museum, only to see Trey there with his mother. Deciding it's time to move on, she accepts a date with a young, smitten guy who has also recently gone through a divorce. Things start out really well, but when the man finds out how wealthy she is, he freaks out, which causes Charlotte to question whether she's really ready to deal with the drama of dating again. Miranda has her baby and names him Brady Hobbes (Steve's last name and her last name).
For a dramatic episode, it seemed quiet. Big leaving was a significant event, but it didn't cause the drama it could have. Carrie nor he ever cried. They didn't have goodbye sex, though Carrie was ready to. Miranda had her baby that night--how convenient! No, they just hung out and said their goodbyes peacefully. It was actually like they knew that it wasn't goodbye. Since I'm an English teacher on the side, I'll just say it was a comma, not a period--like they both knew a larger secret, which was that they would always be important in each others' lives. When Carrie tells the gals Big is leaving, Charlotte says that she's surprised. She always thought they would end up together, and I couldn't help but feel that the same way. The comfort between them after everything just ain't everyday, if you know what I'm sayin.
I got to thinking about goodbyes--to stages in life, to people, to places. Some things are very easy for us to leave. I had no trouble getting on the plane from Lima, Peru to Montana. Lima's pollution nearly suffocated me, seriously. My asthma (which I didn't even know I had) was so bad that I had to take medicine daily to be able to get through conversations without coughing. Even though I loved the Peruvian food, the people, and the nearness of the ocean, I knew it wasn't meant to be. It was a resting place. Sometimes I miss it, but overall I know that I can never live there.
New York, on the other hand, as I've said before was harder to leave, and I still can't quite give up the desire to return someday. Maybe I won't, but saying goodbye has never been easy. It's almost like I never have. I feel the same way about Montana--New York's opposite, if I ever saw one. All it takes is listening to the A River Runs Through It soundtrack, and I'm transported back to my home countryside. I can almost feel the high desert wind on my cheeks and see the snow-tipped peaks I grew up surrounded by. In those moments, I swear to myself that I'll go back to stay one day soon.
Saying goodbye to people is as funny as places. When I broke up with Arnold I felt elated. I felt like a huge weight had been lifted. Yes, I cried. There were only two weeks before our wedding, and the tiring task of explaining things to everyone, including Arnold during our daily phone conversations, and apologizing to all involved brought me to tears nearly every day for a month. But saying goodbye was easy. I knew it was the right thing to do. There wasn't any draw back to him as a place of safety or happiness. It was just time to leave, and I knew we would never get back together--maybe never even see each other again. I was fine with it.
I'm not sure there's an equivalent of New York and Montana in a person or ex. Saying goodbye to Jorge and Travis as friends was very difficult. I cried every time I talked to them for a while after breaking up, but it wasn't because I missed being a couple or couldn't say goodbye. I just missed them as people. When Brad and Billy broke up with me, it was harder to say goodbye. It always is when it's not your choice. But that was the thing: I think it was hard because it wasn't my decision to go. I'm not sure it was because I didn't want to be apart from them. I didn't have a strong relationship with either guy, and our histories weren't long enough to feel a real absence when they left.
That's not the same as Carrie and Big, who have formed a deep connection that seems to sustain itself no matter what happens in either of their lives. They try to say goodbye but keep coming back to each other. I know it's fiction, but I'm sure that happens in life with some people too. I'm glad I don't have an equivalent of their relationship from my past. If I did, it would probably be bad news for Hank and I. After all, I'm not really sure you can say hello to something or someone if you haven't said goodbye to the thing or person that came before.
To their credit, Carrie and Big have tried. And that's what is so darn romantic about the whole thing--perhaps the one thing that keeps millions of viewers tied to their seats. They seem to answer the question that everyone's dying to ask: What do soulmates look like? Well, what if they're just the people you can't seem to say goodbye to, no matter how hard you try--the ones your soul seems to know you love even before you do?
I hope you'll be back. I will.
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