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This month’s issue of Domino Magazine has a very heartwarming article about a project they participated in.  They took an empty 40 unit apartment building in the South Bronx, 8 designers and donations from many companies and decorated each unit for women and their families affected by HIV/AIDs. 

The designers were all so thoughtful it creating spaces they felt would be calming and an efficient use of the small spaces.  The results are really lovely.  But on a deeper the level, what really struck me, is how it just proves that your home, the place you take refuge from the world and it’s challenges, can so totally impact your quality of life.  Many of these women spent years in shelters and had no place to call home prior to moving into these apartments.

One woman is quoted as saying that now her family eats together for the first time.  For the simple reason they never owned a table before.  How fundamental is that?  The fellowship of sharing a meal with your loved ones. 

I was really touched by the article and the people that made it happen.

On another note – The picture in the lower right hand corner is from a different article in the magazine.  It’s a piece on Olivia Chantecaille, of the cosmetic empire, and her new dressing room.  I have that vanity.  Look – here’s another view of it (peer behind Olivia):

And here it is in my room:

Of course I don’t have an entire room in my house devoted to my dressing needs – just a little corner of the bedroom.  And I don’t actually have a chair to sit at yet.  I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.  Maybe I should just do a slip-covered parsons chair until I find the perfect chair.

Am I the only one that is a little surprised that Olivia shops at JC Penney?  That’s where I bought mine and who Domino magazine credits in their index. 

Oh for the love of bob I’ve been tagged.  I’m always shocked that I’m not the only one reading my blog so ~ to be totally engaged in reading someone ELSE’S blog and see my own mentioned is quite startling.

So five things about me you don’t already know.

Hmmmm – seeing as how I blather on about myself this might be tough….

My father’s proudest moment of me was when I was nine years old.  Yes, I peaked in his esteem at a very early age.  We lived in Ankara, Turkey at the time, as did some friends of ours, the Gomez family.  One Saturday we were at the American Army base (neither family was associated with the military at the time, but we would frequently partake in the diversions the base offered) with the four Gomez girls and two of my sisters along with myself.  All girls outfitted with roller skates with the idea we would spend the afternoon rolling about the base tennis courts.  Mr. Gomez and my Dad decided to pit the families against each other in a race.  My older sister Kate was too sophisticated to even considered participating and my younger sister Trish was off spinning around in circles chasing something.  So it was me against the Gomez girls.  We all stood at the starting line and my Dad started the countdown.  Three.  Two.  One.  GO!! And just as he yelled ‘go’ Mr. Gomez grabbed onto me and wouldn’t let go. 

Off went his girls down the court while I struggled valiantly against him – finally when they were halfway around I managed to free myself and off I went – I sped down the court and rounded the corners and passed the Gomez girls and crossed the finish line!  Neither Mr. Gomez or my Dad could believe it.  My Dad still loves to tell the tale that even beset with obstacles from the get go I could still prevail.  I think it was a valuable lesson to learn.

Okay, that was a long story – let’s move on.   In high school I took four languages.  German, Spanish, French and English (I can count that, can’t I?).  I was fluent in German at one point (and would even think in German and to this day occasionally dream in it) but for the most part I’ve lost it all.  Well except for the English which I still have a tenuous hold.  That’s why one of my goals for the year is to take up one of the languages again.  French is my first choice but professionally Spanish would be more useful.  Decisions, decisions.  Follow my heart or be practical….

  I’m an exhibitionist.  Okay I WAS an exhibitionist.  When I was six years old I streaked the mailman.  Oh it was well plot out – I hid in the bushes in the side yard, entirely disrobed, until he pulled up in his mail jeep and waited until he walked up to the house and deposited the mail into the slot.  Then I bolted out of the bushes, stark naked with my head down and ran across the driveway towards the other side of the yard.  Only to run smack into my mother who had picked that particular fine day to go out and greet the mailman.  I’m not sure who was more startled, the mailman or my mother. 

I have a terrible Diet Coke habit.  I drink a minimum of a six pack a day.  I’m sure my braincells are rotting from all the traces of aluminum but I’m powerless to stop.  It’s the first thing I do in the morning.  I get up and toddle off to the refrigerator for my first Diet Coke.  I have the entire family trained to tuck the last one behind a old jar of mayonnaise so that I’m not ever left without.  By 9:00 am I’ve already had at least three.  It has to be in a can.  And it cannot, I repeat, cannot be Diet Pepsi.  It just isn’t the same.

And, finally, I cannot sing to save my life.  I’ve lipsynched my entire life.  Ever since, in first grade, Valerie Smith told me I had the worst voice and couldn’t even remember the right words to "Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head."  While I’m fairly certain that Valerie did not go on to sing Aida at La Scala her voice has stuck in my head and I just don’t sing.  Even Happy Birthday.  If, at the end of my life, I’m asked to sing to gain entrance into the pearly gates – well I’m just doomed. 

Alrighty then – Sara, Mimi, Cindy and Cindy – you’re it!