Category Archives: Girl Talk

Girl Talk

Barefoot

Recently, I wrote about the benefits of taking an Epsom salt bath in a blog post about self-care.  I’m still on a self-care kick and my latest attempt has involved a new DIY pedicure treatment.  Sidebar here: a few years ago, one of my DIY pedicures landed me in the emergency room, the heel of my right foot a bloody mess from using a callous remover that bore an alarming resemblance to a cheese slicer.  This time around, I tried a safer method that promised to not only rid me of my callouses, but to leave my feet as soft and soothe as a baby’s.  I know what you’re thinking.  What a sucker!

In my defense, I read about this product in a reputable magazine, and the gals on one of the morning talk shows raved about its dramatic results.  A couple of late-night clicks on my laptop, and a few days later it magically arrived on my front porch.  What could go wrong?

The directions seemed simple enough.  You slip your feet into plastic booties filled with a clear gelatinous substance and you don’t move for an hour.  Then you slowly slosh and wobble your way to the bathroom, grateful you haven’t fallen flat on your back, and gingerly step into the bathtub.

One at a time, you remove the botties, and rinse the goo off your feet.  Then you do nothing, but wait.  Really, nothing.  In fact, the directions are very clear about this.  You can soak your feet.  You can apply lotion.  But you are not to use any other products.  Because in 5 to 7 days your feet will begin to peel.  That’s right, you’ll start molting like a lizard.

Day 5, my feet look no different.  Same on Day 6.  And on Day 7, I’m still waiting.  How could a product that melts my toe nail polish do nothing to rid me of my alligator heels? 

Then on Day 8, I see a few flakey spots.  More the next day.  And the shedding is underway.

Day 11 – my feet aren’t fit to be viewed by human eyes.  There’s dead skin everywhere – on my floors, in my bed, and don’t ask what’s inside my socks.  The directions for this miracle product warn the process could last up to two weeks.  I’m tempted to use the cheese slicer callous remover that resulted in a trip to the emergency room.  On Day 12 my feet look so gross I soak them in scalding water and feverishly scrub them with a nail brush, swearing I will never do this again.

Day 14 – Cue the harp music.  The miracle has occurred.  My feet are so velvety smooth I want to go barefoot.  Walk in the sand.  Dance in a field of wild flowers.  I settle for wearing strappy sandals to work.

In the end, was it worth it?  Yup.  Would I do it again?  You betcha.

 

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Girl Talk

A Big Ol’ Bag of Epsom Salt

Everybody’s talking about self-care.  It’s the new buzz word.  But it means something different to every woman I know.  It might be daily yoga practice for one haggard working mom, while it’s all about reclining on the couch binge-watching Hallmark movies for another working gal.  My mother is very clear about self-care:  she just wants some quiet time to read a good book.  My office mate’s self-care takes place in the kitchen, with flour, sugar, butter, and a rolling pin.  Me, all I need is a bathtub full of hot water and a big ol’ bag of Epsom salt.

Epsom salt, really?

Yup.

Since Epsom salt is having a moment, I’ve noticed a few new fancy label options that may be infused with lavender or eucalyptus.  And you may prefer that.  But for me, the whole point of Epsom salt is its purity – no dyes, chemicals, or added fragrance.  Just a tried-and-true medicinal that works.  This stuff is chock-full of magnesium and when I dissolve two cups of it in my bath water and soak for 15 minutes, I get the same benefit as a pricey massage.  In fact, a large bag of Epsom salt costs about five dollars whether you buy it in the drug store or super market.  But please don’t let that hefty bag detract you.  You could store your Epsom salt in a pretty footed glass apothecary jar or a kitschy vintage tin to add a decorative touch in your bathroom.

Trust me on this.  An Epsom salt bath will relax you, relieve your aches and pains, and help you get a good night’s sleep.  Now that’s self-care!

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Girl Talk, Life Lessons

Wonder Women

Here’s a re-post for all the wonder women out there!

Girl Power has created a whole generation of wonder women.  And I am grateful that so many of these ladies have had my back in times of crisis or as I was navigating a major life event.

I didn’t plan it that way.  It just sort of happened.

It started with the medical profession.  When my primary care physician was retiring, the doctor coming in as replacement was a young woman, just starting out.  I was told she was “good with women’s issues.”  She wasn’t just good, she was great.  Over the years, she referred me to a female ob-gyn, and a female surgeon who, in turn, recommended a female oncologist.  When it was time to pick an eye doctor and I could’ve gone with the stern-looking older gentleman with the bow-tie, or the gal who was my age and dressed in smart Talbots separates, who do you think I chose?  And yes, my dentist is also a woman.  The bottom-line: I am healthy today because of the collective skill, smarts, and compassion of all these women.

Now let’s talk money.  After working with several fast-talking, young, male financial advisors who left me confused and skittish about stocks and annuities, I got lucky and luck was a lady. My new financial advisor, a single woman like me, finally demystified the whole investing process and gave me confidence to boot.  Recently, I chose a well-known and successful Boston realtor – then a family member recommended an excellent real estate attorney, who in turn connected me with an accountant.  All three of these professionals are women and their collective acumen helped me move from a small condo to a house of my own.

I hope all this doesn’t sound like I’m anti-man.  Believe me, I like ‘em and I’m still hoping to marry one someday.  All I’m saying is that there’s a profound truth in that familiar quote about the iconic dancers Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.  She did everything he did, only backwards and in high heels.

 

 

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Girl Talk, Life Lessons, Mothers and Daughers

When Mother and Daughter Become Friends

Mother’s Day is this Sunday, May 8th.  In honor of my mom, who’s also my best friend, I’d like to share a post a wrote about her a few years ago.

When I was a child, the constant dialogue I had with my mother took the form of instruction: wash your hands, eat your carrots, look both ways before you step off the school bus.  All else was in some way a teaching moment, like when I learned how to tell time, or asked what makes the leaves turn color in the fall.

The nature of our conversations shifted when I had something to offer in return.  And by the time I was a ‘tween I could tell she enjoyed my company because she’d pick me up from school and take me with her on errands she could’ve done earlier in the day without me.  I remember going shopping with her when she needed a new dress for a cousin’s wedding.  And it was fun.

Once I was in high school, I’d come to know her not only as my mother, but also as a person.  When we sat at the kitchen table sharing a pot of tea, she would tell me stories about her childhood or her courtship with my father.  We’d often discuss a movie we’d seen or a current event.  She’d want to know my opinion.  And I could make her laugh.

I knew I was an adult when she began asking me for advice. At first it was about the menu for one of her dinner parties.  Then she wanted my input on choosing new wallpaper.  But it mattered most when she, as an only child, was the sole caregiver to her aging mother.

Despite living 200 miles apart, not a day goes by that we don’t speak on the phone.  And we Skype every Sunday.  Maybe my mother and I are unusually close, but I don’t think we’re such an oddity.  Because when I look at the women I know – from every race and ethnic group, scattered across different regions of the country, spanning several generations – there’s often a common thread: the profoundly intimate relationship between mothers and daughters.  And it’s not just because they are mother and daughter – it’s because they are friends.

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Girl Talk, Life Lessons, Mothers and Daughers

A Red Swing Coat

On a recent spring shopping spree with my mom, I was reminded of another one of our shopping expeditions.  Following is a re-post about that earlier outing.

She stepped out of the taxi, so vibrant, so cute, in her hot pink woolen swing coat.  Her lipstick was a perfect match.  She opened her vintage black patent leather kiss lock purse to pay the driver.  Then she was on the move.  She clearly had places to go.   It was many years ago, but I still remember that older lady in the bubblegum pink swing coat, and how I thought: I want to be her someday.

Now let me preface this by saying that my mom has not yet reached the age of that older lady in the pink swing coat.  She has a way to go yet.  But during one of our recent shopping expeditions, the topic of dressing one’s age came up.

Me, I’m of the belief that looking fashionable has no age limit.  My mother, however, was concerned that the pair of dress pants she was trying on were not exactly age appropriate for her.  “Are they too trendy?” she wanted to know.

Forget that we were shopping in a store that caters to women of a certain age.

“No,” I asserted.  “They fit you like a glove – and you look great.”

She shrugged, “I don’t know…”

vintage-red-swing-coatJust then, the older lady in the pink swing coat came to mind.

“Do you like these pants?”  I asked, “Will you enjoy wearing them?” and before she could answer, I added, “Then who cares what anybody else thinks.”

I shouldn’t have had to convince her to buy the pants.  It’s a shame that we, as women, are always questioning ourselves, especially about our appearance.

As for me, I’m still planning to wear a lively swing coat someday.  But I’m not a pink girl.  So mine will be red.  And with it, I’ll wear lipstick that’s a perfect match.

red poppy

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Girl Talk, Life Lessons

Eight

October is nearly over.  But it’s not too late. 

October is Breast Cancer Awareness month.  If you haven’t scheduled your mammogram – or if you’re overdue for your mammogram because of the ongoing pandemic – this is your chance to take care of yourself and to take control of your health. 

Fact: one-in-eight women will develop breast cancer during her lifetime.  Covid-19 or no Covid-19 – this staggering statistic has not changed.  I ought to know – I am one of the one-in-eight.  And so are some of my family members and friends.  That’s why I’ve written on this topic before,  https://dolcezitella.com/2016/01/14/how-i-got-to-red/ and https://dolcezitella.com/2016/10/20/inked/ and why I will continue to do so.

The number eight has another meaning for me.  August is the eighth month of the year, and this past August marked my eighth anniversary of being cancer-free.  Even though the five-year anniversary is an important milestone for breast cancer survivors, eight years is the big benchmark for women who’ve had my specific type of breast cancer.  Having reached this milestone, I feel immensely grateful and blessed.  But I take nothing for granted.  I remain diligent and timely about my check-ups and testing, knowing that if I hadn’t been so diligent and timely a little over eight years ago, I might not have benefitted from early detection nor experienced such a successful outcome.

Stay on track.  Schedule your mammogram.  No excuses.

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Girl Talk

A Big Ol’ Bag of Epsom Salt

Everybody’s talking about self-care.  It’s the new buzz word.  But it means something different to every woman I know.  It might be daily yoga practice for one haggard working mom, while it’s all about reclining on the couch binge-watching Hallmark movies for another working gal.  My mother is very clear about self-care:  she just wants some quiet time to read a good book.  My office mate’s self-care takes place in the kitchen, with flour, sugar, butter, and a rolling pin.  Me, all I need is a bathtub full of hot water and a big ol’ bag of Epsom salt.

Epsom salt, really?

Yup.

Since Epsom salt is having a moment, I’ve noticed a few new fancy label options that may be infused with lavender or eucalyptus.  And you may prefer that.  But for me, the whole point of Epsom salt is its purity – no dyes, chemicals, or added fragrance.  Just a tried-and-true medicinal that works.  This stuff is chock-full of magnesium and when I dissolve two cups of it in my bath water and soak for 15 minutes, I get the same benefit as a pricey massage.  In fact, a large bag of Epsom salt costs about five dollars whether you buy it in the drug store or super market.  But please don’t let that hefty bag detract you.  You could store your Epsom salt in a pretty footed glass apothecary jar or a kitschy vintage tin to add a decorative touch in your bathroom.

Trust me on this.  An Epsom salt bath will relax you, relieve your aches and pains, and help you get a good night’s sleep.  Now that’s self-care!

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Girl Talk, Life Lessons, Mothers and Daughers

Shopping With My Mother

This weekend my mom will be celebrating a special b-day – her 80th birthday!  She’s not only my mother, she’s my best friend.  She doesn’t look eighty, and she doesn’t act eighty.  Here is a re-post from January 2016 to give you an idea of what I mean.

“What other colors does it come in?”

This is how my mother shops for clothing.  When she sees something she likes – be it a blouse, or a particular style of pants, not to mention shoes – she’ll buy it in several different colors.  It’s insanity, I know, but now she’s even got me doing it.  Yes, all I’ve learned about shopping, I’ve learned from my mother.

You’d think living over two hundred miles apart would’ve put a crimp in our shopping expeditions, but it hasn’t.  When I’m home for the weekend, our shopping marathons lead us to fine stores everywhere.  And when she’s visiting me, we often drive up to the outlets in Kittery for a full day of shopping in the great state of Maine.

Then there’s the long distance shopping… I’ll find a voice mail message when I get home at night: “I got something for you today.  It’ll arrive tomorrow by FED EX.”

I’ll call back to tell her, “Thanks Mom, but you didn’t have to do that.”

“I know, but it was so perfect for you – and they were just giving it away.”

“Why’d you FED EX it? I’m coming home in two weeks.”

“I couldn’t wait – I wanted you to have it now.”

When I offer to pay for said item, she flatly refuses.  And I don’t have the heart to point out to her that whatever she supposedly saved on the sale, she’s more than spent on the FED EX charge.

Her other big rationalization for committing what can only be described as consumer carnage is that she wasn’t even looking for this latest treasure.  “I fell over it!” she’ll insist.

She frequents craft fairs, not only to support the local artists, but also to pick up some truly unique, one-of-a-kind items.  She’ll present me with a stunning ceramic bowl or piece of stained glass that’s been stuffed into a shopping bag with bubble wrap and wads of tissue paper.  When I innocently comment, “You didn’t get a box?” she’ll reply, “Box, schmox – he would only take cash – it was tough goin’.”

Despite all the shopping, one of my mother’s greatest gifts to me is not something she purchased, but rather something she taught me.  How to always, always, be generous.

Happy Birthday, Mom!  XOXOXO

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Girl Talk

Girls Who Wear Glasses

The following is a re-post from May 2016.

“Men don’t make passes at girls who wear glasses,” Marilyn Monroe famously alleged in the 1953 comedy, How to Marry a Millionaire.  Phooey, I say!  Because I’ve been on the receiving end of the pick-up line “I like your glasses” enough to know that’s just not true.

For me, the decision to wear glasses was a no-brainer.  I needed them to watch movies and to drive.  And, well, basically to see.  For a while, I wore contacts but eventually went back to glasses.  Eyewear is, in my opinion, the most under-utilized accessory a woman has at her disposal and I love wearing glasses.  Because the right frames can do more to make a fashion statement than a great scarf or even a fabulous pair of shoes.  After all, your eyes are the first thing people notice.

retro glassestortoise frames (2)geek frames

 

 

Geek frames are undeniably cool.  Rayban Wayfarers are timeless.  Cat eyes are pure glam.  And right now tortoise is everything!  What kind of image does the phrase “sexy librarian glasses” conjure up?  And when you’re not feeling or looking your best, your shades are more dependable than any miracle under-eye cream or concealer!  Yet some women still resist wearing specs.  Go figure…

Case in point: my friend’s thirteen-year-old daughter is nearsighted like me.  When she had trouble acclimating to her contacts, I suggested she wear glasses instead.  She just wrinkled her cute little nose in disapproval.  Then on a shopping expedition, I jokingly handed her a pair of big Jackie-O sunglasses.  I coaxed her into trying different styles and as she posed wearing geek frames, cat eyes, and school boy frames, she liked what she saw in the mirror.  She eventually ditched the contacts for a pair of oversized geek frames that look great on her.

 So whether you go vintage or modern, choose oversized or teensy wire rims, you’re sure to find specs that are right for you.  And remember that men do make passes at girls who wear glasses!

red poppy

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Girl Talk

The Winter of My Discontent

The other day, my friend from Sarasota left me this message:  “Hi Chris – it’s me.  Calling from sunny Florida,” she chuckled.  “I hear it’s pretty darn cold up there in Boston…”

It’s no secret – I don’t like winter. For so many reasons.

If you’re like me, you’re faced with a never-ending string of bad hair days.  If I wear a hat, and dare to take it off when I go indoors, I end up with flat “hat hair” or wild girl “static electric hair,” and neither is a good look.

When you have bad hair, you need to step it up in the fashion department.  Not so easy when you’re dressing from the bottom up.  I check the weather to see what I’ll be trudging through in the morning.  Snow?  Ice?  Slush?  An ankle-deep pool of dirty water?  One thing is certain: the appropriate footwear will be ugly.  Still, I attempt to pull together some sort of ensemble.  Do I wear narrow pants so I can tuck them into the boots?  Or do I try to hide the boots beneath wider pant legs?  Is wearing a dress feasible?  Or will tights look stupid with the boots?  Fashion is pretty much out the window.

Then there’s outerwear: gloves, ear muffs (can I get away with not wearing a hat?), a scarf, and a coat.  Do I risk the woolen coat getting splattered with road salt?  Will a parka protect me any better from being pelted with sleet?

In winter, I spend a fortune on skin care.  One moisturizer is for my “delicate eye area,” another for my face, and still another to wear overnight.  There’s body lotion for my alligator skin.  And hand cream for my cracked finger tips.  And a thicker, greasier version for my poor feet that haven’t seen the light of day since September.  These products may work, but with so many different scents, I smell like a mixed bouquet of three-day-old flowers.  More than one magazine article has warned me of the dangers of becoming addicted to my lip balm.  But you’d have to pry it out of my dry cracked hands.

All this planning and dressing and moisturizing is hard work.  I’m so exhausted I don’t even want to leave the house.  I think about my friend in sunny Florida, and dream of summer, when I can throw on a cotton t-shirt dress and pad around in a pair of flip-flops.

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