LJ Idol Week 11: Haute
As a child, I often sat in front of my mother's vanity, legs tucked underneath me upon the blue and white cushion as I played with her perfume. The bottles were of cut glass, and to my young eyes they were the loveliest things I ever laid eyes on. Surely this is what it meant to be a lady, I thought, taking the small glass stopper from the bottle and using some of my mother's perfume. I dabbed it on my wrist as my mother taught me and waved my hands in the air like a conductor to take in the scent of my mother's elegance. At some point, I would snap out of my reverie and realize that I had done it again: I used my mother's perfume when I was not supposed to. To remedy this, I did what any five-year-old might find acceptable: I filled the perfume bottle back up with water, truly believing my mother would never know. In this way, I made my first attempt at becoming the lady she was, and still is.
Yet my admiration for the class and elegance my mother displays as easily as breathing did not end with her perfume bottles (although I did learn that my water trick was fooling no one). No, I began to realize growing up that my mother possessed something I rarely see these days, and that is good taste. My mother has impeccable taste for interior design, her clothing, and food. She can transform a modest house into a cozy cottage, a shirt into an outfit, a holiday dinner into an event. Her Thanksgiving dinner? Renowned. Martha would put her spatula down out of sheer respect. Her flair for picking something as simple as a faucet has contractors shaking their heads because they can't believe that the room they thought would never come together is actually way more beautiful than they ever realized it could be. Most people see something for what it is, but my mother sees it for what it can be.
I often watch in awe because I am as far from elegant as it gets. I say this not to be self-deprecating, but simply because it's true. I live in sweats and a ponytail. It took me days to notice that I managed to take off part of my toenail, leaving one of my toes looking haggard. Make-up? What is that? I wear the same ratty shoes everywhere, and I have been carrying a brown purse with black clothing for several weeks now. Style? Not so much. Haute? I had to look that one up in the dictionary.
Yet the thing that makes my mother the most classy, elegant, and respectable woman I know has nothing to do with how she cooks, dresses, or designs a kitchen. It's the fact that she takes care of her family no matter what personal sacrifice she has to make. The fact that she is respected by all that know her. Her generosity even when selfishness would be acceptable. How she roots for the underdog and asks for people to buy a chicken for the underprivileged for her birthday instead of giving gifts. The level of class and generosity she shows the world on any given day makes me proud to be her daughter, and in this way, I hope I can be even close to how elegant she is.
This is my entry for therealljidol. If you enjoyed it, please remember to vote for me when the polls open on Saturday! As always, thanks for reading.
Yet my admiration for the class and elegance my mother displays as easily as breathing did not end with her perfume bottles (although I did learn that my water trick was fooling no one). No, I began to realize growing up that my mother possessed something I rarely see these days, and that is good taste. My mother has impeccable taste for interior design, her clothing, and food. She can transform a modest house into a cozy cottage, a shirt into an outfit, a holiday dinner into an event. Her Thanksgiving dinner? Renowned. Martha would put her spatula down out of sheer respect. Her flair for picking something as simple as a faucet has contractors shaking their heads because they can't believe that the room they thought would never come together is actually way more beautiful than they ever realized it could be. Most people see something for what it is, but my mother sees it for what it can be.
I often watch in awe because I am as far from elegant as it gets. I say this not to be self-deprecating, but simply because it's true. I live in sweats and a ponytail. It took me days to notice that I managed to take off part of my toenail, leaving one of my toes looking haggard. Make-up? What is that? I wear the same ratty shoes everywhere, and I have been carrying a brown purse with black clothing for several weeks now. Style? Not so much. Haute? I had to look that one up in the dictionary.
Yet the thing that makes my mother the most classy, elegant, and respectable woman I know has nothing to do with how she cooks, dresses, or designs a kitchen. It's the fact that she takes care of her family no matter what personal sacrifice she has to make. The fact that she is respected by all that know her. Her generosity even when selfishness would be acceptable. How she roots for the underdog and asks for people to buy a chicken for the underprivileged for her birthday instead of giving gifts. The level of class and generosity she shows the world on any given day makes me proud to be her daughter, and in this way, I hope I can be even close to how elegant she is.
This is my entry for therealljidol. If you enjoyed it, please remember to vote for me when the polls open on Saturday! As always, thanks for reading.