An Elegy for Elegance

Lo these many years ago, 13 to be exact (my how the 'ole broad is aging . . .), I was privileged enough to land a job at Elegant Bride magazine. It was not located in New York, as it is now, nor was it like the depictions of magazine publishing you often find in entertainment today ala Ugly Betty or The Devil Wears Prada. But it was thrilling. There is something thrilling about magazine publishing in general in my mind. In my career, I have done just about every kind of magazine publishing there is, newsstand, business-to-business and custom, and who wouldn't be excited to see their name on the masthead of a magazine that can be found in Seattle or Topeka or Boston?

What did I love about Elegant Bride? I loved learning the rules of getting married, my anal retentive soul gobbled up the do's and don'ts, the etiquette for how to be an elegant bride like a drunk on a bender. To this day I can still tell you how to properly address an envelope to a household with two last names or what time of day requires formal attire, not that many people care any more about such rules, much less obey them.

I loved seeing my name of course, but what I loved more was the idea that thousands of people were reading my words. Since first grade I knew I wanted to write, and although writing about how to handle including step parents on your invitation may not have been my seven year old self's dream, these were still real people reading my writing.

But most of all I loved the people I worked with—they continued my education on how to be more of a girl, adding how to be a lady and how to be a professional. That is not to say that I achieved those goals while working there. Nor have I necessarily achieved them at this current moment in time, but those women (and man) gave me the ideals I will forever strive to obtain. They showed me style, savvy, fortitude, humor, compassion, adaptability, charm, grace and that sometimes it is best to quit while you are ahead. I was honored to work with them and grateful that I still call so many of them friends.

Several years after I left the magazine, things were changing and not looking promising for me career-wise (and as I mentioned my co-workers did teach me to quit when I was ahead), the publishing company who owned it sold it to Conde Nast. The publishing giant already published Brides and Modern Bride so I never quite understood why they would want a third magazine, although style-wise Elegant Bride was head and shoulders above those two books, and apparently I was right. It would appear that in a recession one does not in fact need three bridal magazines. So Conde Nast is shuttering both Modern Bride and Elegant Bride (apparently we no longer need to distinguish between brides, just any old bride will do during hard times), as well as the parenting magazine Cookie and the venerable Gourmet.

I don't like change and I most certainly don't like goodbyes, but then I guess most don't. And while no one I know works for Elegant Bride any longer, it is still a prized part of my past that is being razed due to the almighty dollar. I wonder what else I love will be lost because of the transgressions of men in suits who control the purse strings?

Atonement

You know how it happens, you get busy and distracted and the next thing you know weeks have gone by and you meant to call that friend, clean that closet or finish that project. But it doesn't happen, it slips through the cracks and then you start to get to the point where so much time has passed it almost seems harder to do that thing than to just continue on and pretend that it no longer exists.

Unfortunately that is just what happened to me and the blog. It isn't that I haven't had ideas, I have steadily accumulated a stack of magazines with pages dog-eared with topics I wanted to expound on. And yet.

I am consistently amazed at how easy it is for the day to slip away when you are unemployed. Mind you, I have been somewhat busy with some freelance work, possibly something that will even turn into more of an ongoing, long-term gig (fingers crossed), and I am extremely grateful, but that is no excuse. I have been out of the work force for almost six months now and in that time my book shelves have not been alphabetized like I have dreamed of (I blame the spouse who helped me move in low these many years ago—10 to be exact— and who put the books on the shelf with little rhyme or reason), the spawn's toys have only been organized once, months ago, and now the blocks are living with the toy people and the trucks with the puzzles and in my head it is a mighty clash of civilizations that keep me up at night (okay not really, but it does bug me to my anal retentive core), and that dream of scrubbing the baseboards is still just that. And yet.

I do dream of suit shopping with Bill Maher (paging Freud for the meaning of that one), I did a marathon nine hour day of proofing and I attempted to run a 5K. So I have not been idle. And yet.

Earlier this month, one idea I dog-eared corresponded with my boyfriend Jon Stewart mentioning on his show Yom Kippur, the Jewish holiday of atonement. Newsweek editor Jon Meacham wrote his weekly editor's letter back in the September 28 issue (told you I was thinking of you gentle reader, all along . . .) about the consequences of words. I know the power of words to wound and heal and yet I am endless careless with them, waving them about like a cocked and loaded gun. It is shameless really, so that is why Meacham's essay struck me so I think.

Meacham talks of how we delude ourselves when we think that there was once a golden age of bipartisanship. Like the unicorn and yeti, bipartisanship is a myth, a fantasy that we delude ourselves with when times are particularly hard like they are now (despite those bankers on Wall Street raking in their millions). But where I felt truly called to the carpet was when Meacham talks of Obama supporters saying the hostility towards our President is unprecedented. And he is right, my hostility to Dubya was legendary (at least in my own mind) and was, dare I say it, wrong and misguided. The people who demonize President Obama are just as wrong as I was to demonize Dubya, doesn't mean I like him or that my opinion of him has changed or will ever change, but I should have been able to keep my level of discourse on a more civilized plane. And yet.

The level of hostility and hatred that is leveled at President Obama does strike me as different in tone than that aimed at Dubya. Our current president is being judged, by many, for the color of his skin. In my opinion, George W. Bush was being judged by his lack of intelligence and his gung-ho, cowboy attitude toward diplomacy. Many may think I am splitting hairs, but that strikes me as apples and oranges.

So while I am a tad behind, today I will celebrate my own day of atonement and I will try to do better in the future—not only in keeping a civil tongue when it comes to my disagreements with the conservatives in politics, but I will not let things slide in my life. Like this blog.