So we got a Meijer.

Big news in the big city to the north of me.... and by big city, I mean the city that I lived in up until about a year ago. The big city in total is just shy of 32,000 people... not huge. So, obviously getting a Meijer was trending like a mofo for about two weeks straight on my FB feed. 

I didn't go to the opening. 

I didn't go the first week.

I was excited because the populous was excited.... and they carry my favorite pair of jeans. But that was pretty much the extent of my excitement. 

So, I went. I went with the babies and my bestie. And it was fun, but then I left. And I reflected. I do that sometimes. 

And I've had a few days to really think about it. I hate change, small change, big change.... I had my Blackberry till they told me I couldn't anymore with my plan. And I cried about it.... I'm not kidding I CRIED about it, for a long while. I'll stick with something till it is not worth sticking with, because I hate change. 

[I'm just letting you know this, because that might be were all these feelings are coming from, and maybe I'll regret it in six months] 

But here is how I feel:

Bigger isn't always better-unless we're talking about pasta, movie theater popcorn, or good pizza. 

I have standards. [which seem to solely revolve around food....]

The Meijer is closer to me than Target... but guess what?? I have chosen Target every damn time since I went. It is HOME to my SOUL. It is where I feel peace. It is where I go to feel accepted. Target has loved me at my worst. Target has loved me when I didn't deserve love. Target pulses through my veins.... and I wouldn't have it any other way. 

I won't quit you.... Target.... and I know you won't quit me. 

So, I'm not impressed Meijer.... I'm NOT impressed. For now. Maybe forever. 

Knowledge. Dropped.

If I could have anything....

I am sorry ahead of time... I'm going to be serious today.... abort, abort if you don't want the real/emotional/deep-ish me today. Tomorrow, we'll be back to normal jokes but today I want to tell you something. If that's ok?

Today I was thinking... I was watching someone make homemade pasta, and for some reason it made me think deeply about something so close to my heart. 

Today I asked myself a question (note to yourself, never stop asking yourself questions.... it's a good thing) what is one thing I cannot have that I wish I could have. Something that is not actual possible.

It took about a millisecond to think of it. And I want to share it, because it means the world to me. And I want you to feel my joy from it (though there is sadness there as well), if that makes sense? 

I want to be in my Grandma Greats kitchen. I want to be there during the school year-when most everyone else in her life was too busy to visit her. I want to be there right after school, when I got someone else to drive my brother home.... when I made it there before Jeopardy... at the tail end of Wheel of Fortune. I want to walk in the door as Grandma Great is talking about Vanna Whites waist size and how I better not let carbs get the best of me like she did (sorry grandma I did let carbs get the best of me and I now know what you mean.. but pizza is life). I want to sit down with her, she'll tell me for about an hour how she wants to die and I tell her it doesn't work that way God and me won't let you. Sorry, not sorry.... I think I created that phrase because of her. No you can't die. We would get passed that, every time and then she would get up. And that's when I knew I was in for a treat. She would ask me, 'Do you have to leave soon?' and she and I both knew I had no where to be but on her couch.... I would follow her to her kitchen, the same way I did when I was a kid in her farm kitchen. It was a different location but she made it work. She hated it, it wasn't home like home had been but it was what she had. A farmhouse to a duplex. She handled it so much better than I ever could have. I bitch WAY to much to be anything as amazing as she was. But I hope someday I am an eighth of a woman she was.... she was everything. 

Then, then you guys, she did the most magical thing in the world. She turned nothing into something perfect. She was a magician. She never taught me to do anything perfectly, she always taught me to acclimate to anything worth acclimating too. Grandma Great was a baking goddess. There is no other title to describe her than complete goddess. She spoke love with her hands and it was beautiful. I always thought she was a magician, she asked you the problem and as she listened she started putting together the recipe of whatever baked good you needed to soothe your soul, and she was never wrong. (accept for those dumb dieting bitches...she hated those in the family) You had a relationship problem? There was a cherry pie with your name on it, from scratch, within an hour. You had a friendship issue, buckeyes. A spouse problem, thumbprints. A sibling problem, caramels. It always was changing depending on what her soul spoke. 

So when I asked myself today, what is one thing I could have, that there was no possible way to have.... it was this: 

'I wish I could walk through her door, one more time, and sit down...and have her make the perfect dessert for missing her.'

I know, that is beyond depressing sounding, but I have found a dessert to make for most every other situation, just like she taught me... but that is one feeling I've never been able to bake for. My kitchen is covered in memories of her, my summers with her, our game show days, every moment in the kitchen I cherish-she was in. So to me I think that there should be an amazingly light dessert to represent her, even missing her it should be light/it should be warm/it should be memorable. 

So that is my 'if I could moment.'

Throw back to Olan Mills repping.

Bow... on.... FLEEK.

Glossy.

Dear Parents of Daughters:

I wore overalls and cargo pants. I was awkward and ill-fitting. I had kindergarten clips in my hair and I hid behind glasses that I hoped would hide my bushy eyebrows and uneven smile. I laughed too loud and thought that was wrong. I was gangly and weird and not like all the petite girls I was growing up around. I did not ever imagine I would grow out of that stage, I thought that stage was just...me.

Gangly.

Then Vogue happened and later, Bazaar.

Placed in front of me was something I did not understand but I wanted to know more. They transformed me, and they still do. 

It makes me disheartened when I read/hear people say, "Don't let your daughters look at fashion magazines." I don't think anyone should just look, but rather they should read. Let her read fashion magazines. Let her open Vogue and know what it feels like to open a new world. A world with stories and dreams. A world without duckfaces or instagram filters, without implants or raccoon eyes.... a world that she can learn that there is more to life than whatever she might thing is reality. 

I almost had forgotten the joy I have always felt when opening up a big, glossy issue and falling into its articles until my Bazaar's Fall Fashion Issue arrived. I reverted back to 15. Back to my teens when I went from awkward to Ford Model and learned I wasn't weird, I was just in the wrong reality.... my world needed to be bigger and I started to emulate the models I saw and because of them I learned how to do my hair and my makeup... and even find jeans that fit. And I went from an awkward Sophomore to a model. Even just for a little bit, it was what I needed to see that I maybe 'weird' to small town mentally limited peons, but to Chicago, New York, Tokyo, Berlin, and Milan.... I was in demand.

From this....

To this.

So please, let her read Vogue, let her fall into Bazaar, let her dream.... for she maybe, just maybe will find herself. Let her go beyond the pictures and see the world that is: Fashion.  

(And if you raise her right.... she still will have all this weirdness going on even when she's pushing 30: