IMPORTANT AUTHOR’S NOTE: I love my comments section- and the people who write them. The comments add enormously to my enjoyment- and to that of all my other readers. To that end, I’ve always wanted to make the process quick and easy.
However this past week, Letter From Elba came under siege from cyber-spamming robots. My comments section was getting 300 spam emails a day (in Japanese no less) and it was impossible to constantly weed through and delete them all.
Thus I have had to add a captcha feature to the comments section of the blog.
Do not worry. Before you write a comment, all you have to do is fill in a number within a simple math formula. (Example 6 -?= 3. ) And then you can put in your wonderful comments as usual. So easy even I can do it. None of those goofy, slanted italic letters to try and read.
Please don’t let this safety measure put you off. Your comments are funny, thought-provoking, insightful, opinionated- and sometimes- in Bernie Kerman’s case- all four at once.
This blog is not an one-way street. Sometimes the comments are better than the post. So give it a try, guys. It’s a piece of cake. I promise. Thank you.
And now, back to our show…
For the first time in seventeen years, dear readers, I find myself back living in the city of Chicago. And it’s been quite an odyssey. First I was (unwillingly) relocated from my beloved house in Winnetka and transplanted on to East Lake Shore Drive. A tony street only one block long. (It’s the continuation of Oak Street east- after it crosses Michigan Avenue.)
An East Lake Shore Drive address is a status symbol- and a pain in the ass.
No one seems to know where it is, and I spent valuable me time endlessly arguing with cab drivers and air conditioner repairmen who insisted that Lake Shore Drive ONLY runs north and south.
After several minutes of listening to this pushback I’d get exasperated.
“Look,” I’d fume to who ever was on the other end of the phone-and the argument. “Do you know where you live?”
Yes, they’d concede. They did.
“Well, I know where I live and it’s on EAST Lake Shore Drive. Do you want my business or not?”
The Benjamins would always carry the day and they’d make that extra effort to find me.
Exotic Far East (Not Lake Shore Drive) Sidebar: After a year of this nonsense I was resigned that nobody- other than the privileged few that actually lived on East LSD- would ever know how to locate me.
But I was in Hong Kong- having a cheongsam made- when the tailor surprised me.
As he was measuring me for the dress and marking where the slit for the skirt would go (“Here, good,” he said, pointing to a scosh above my left knee. “Madame Chiang Kai-shek.” “Here,” he said pointing to my thigh. “No good. Suzie Wong.”) he asked for my address.
Reluctantly I gave it to him. And waiting for the inevitable “Lake Shore Drive only runs north and south” nonsense.
“I know exactly where you live,” he said. “I’m at the Drake Hotel all the time.”
Go figure.
Getting back to my wanderings…
A bad divorce (Redundant. Even when they’re civil, they’re still traumatic.) liberated Nick and me and we lit out for Colorado. Where we both lived happily ever after…
But Life is full of banana peels and never say “never.”
And thus, long story mercifully shortened, I have just moved into a beautiful new apartment in the city – and not on East Lake Shore Drive.
It’s sunny, charming and vintage. (Come to think of it, a pretty good epitaph for me. Kids, take note.)
And I love it.
But the move involved tons of packing and unpacking, and I’m still drowning in a sea of books. And paintings.
And lingerie.
La Perla Sidebar: My lingerie drawers- when done correctly by an expert- should be divided into four sections: White, nude, black, and Licensed To Kill Secret Weapon For Your Eyes Only.
(No one has seen the latter category. Ever. I bought enticing little lacy, satiny numbers in the hope that some day I would actually need to bring out the big artillery. Alas, that day has not dawned. Yet.)
Right now, all my gorgeous, provocative silken little nothings have been unceremoniously dumped willy-nilly into drawers in my dressing room.
But my tee shirts are faring a little better.
I don’t wear tee shirts. I collect them.
And as I started to put a stack of untouched-never-been-worn ones away, I realized that I was looking at an 100% cotton time capsule.
My life was there- courtesy of Hanes and written in curly script or sequins. And they took me back.
The first one I carefully re-folded has a transfer of a color photograph. It’s circa 1990 and I had it made as a party favor for all the little girls at Natasha’s twelfth birthday.
It’s a picture- snapped by her trainer- of Natasha at a horse show. She and her pony, Napoleon, are freeze-framed forever going over a jump.
Napoleon cleared it neatly. But Natasha flipped off from one side to another and then plunked right down in the saddle again. Amazingly, she did not fall off.
And this shot captured her with her left leg straight above her head as she careened off to the left side and a split second before she hit the saddle again.
It was a freak bit of horsemanship- and photography. A real “Sports Illustrated” moment.
And I have it preserved for all time on a white tee.
My next shirt proudly says “Very good. Very George. The official George Stephanapoulos Fan Club.”
This was a gift from the fan club’s founder and chairman- Polly Arenberg. After she made me the Aspen Correspondent for her official George S. Newsletter, that is.
I have no idea why this particular fan club was started. For that we will have to wait until Polly herself- and her impeccable communications skill- weighs in. I think that I was her Aspen roving reporter because I had spotted him there a few times.
After all, everybody comes to Aspen sooner or later.
(I have a theory that if you sit outside Doney’s ristorante on the Via Veneto in Rome and/or Paradise Bakery in Aspen, sooner or later, you will see everyone you ever knew.)
My last shirt simply says “Statue of Liberty New York.”
Five little words. But they speak volumes.
I took a ferry ride out to the Statue not long after 9/11- and straight from a visit at Ground Zero.
Although I had read and heard so much about the devastation done to New York City and its people by that horror, I had no real idea what it all meant until I went to the site and looked at the huge gaping hole where the towers had so recently stood.
It was as if you saw the foundation of the Hancock Building and the Sears Tower combined- with nothing there any more. Just smoke eerily still coming out of the ether.
It was a picture of unimaginable emptiness that spoke of unspeakable loss.
I was overwhelmed with sadness for all the lives lost and I needed that trip to Miss Liberty to recover.
You couldn’t go in her. She was still shut down tight due to security concerns. But my boat ride out there was uplifting and restorative enough to reaffirm how great it was to live in the USA.
Well, got to get back to the unpacking.
And Joan, O Organizer of Organizers: May Day! May Day! May Day!
Ez to post a comment. I love looking back at my memorable tees, especially my Ojibwa staff shirts.
Thanks, bro. Yes, I can see why you treasure those shirts-and the memories. Later.
Attention ELBA! Received your communique Venez m’aider! ( the original “come help me”). The command ship THE OPTIMIZER is in the area. Calm down and aid will arrive. BTW, I’ve seen ALL the lingerie as I have received this distress signal before. Indeed x-rated and not for the faint of heart!
Thank goodness, help is on the way! The good ship H.M.S. Never The Bridesmaid was going under for the last time with all hands on board, I was starting to suggest songs for the ship’s band like “Nearer My God To Thee.” (And yes, those unmentionables are ooh la la.)
Ellen, I have the perfect solution to preserving all your great memories. I make t-shirt QuilTees. Your life in a blanket. Check out my website, http://www.QuilTee.com. Instead of having all those great mementos of life tucked away in drawers and boxes, you can wrap them around you in a cozy, comfy blanket!
What a great idea, Laurie! I WILL check it out. And heard the birthday boy had a great bash the other evening. Congrats-and hope to see both IRL soon.
And I have no idea why your comment came in in italics but it looks nice and I’m letting it alone!
E,
I need not comment on all the memories which have been noted already but instead mention what a wonderful job you did putting your new home together solo! Your address may not be Winnetka or East Lake Shore Drive who cares. It’s your home and reflects comfort and happiness. Have a Ginger Ale and smile…..
Make that ginger ale a Diet Seagrams and you’re on! And how about Ping Pong for egg foo young soon, neighbor?
Absolutely and very soon!
Groovy. Name a night soon. Have a great Sunday! Love and thanks.
Several friends tease me about the number of T shirts I buy. I tell them the “T” stands for “temporary.”
Nice touch, Ansel Adams. And when you’re through with them, see Laurie Matasar’s comment and make them into a “memory quilt.” Love the photos on FB, btw. They’re so National Geographic.
What a weird way of getting to reach you. However the good side is you’re worth it. Hope you have a long-time engagement in your new abode.
allan
Not as weird as getting 400 Japanese emails a day. I went to Luxbar for a quick dinner Friday night and when I came out, there were 79 new ones waiting for me!
Thanks for your good wishes, buddy. They mean a lot. As do you.
Dear Ellen:
How well I remember it all … well, almost all except aIl except I don’t have the George S. t-shirt from the Stephanopolous fan club. This club was so very famous in its day, and was well known from Highland Park to Chicago, San Francisco, Palo Alto, including some special alumni of the Stanford Business School as well as all around Washington D.C. I should remember as the mother of Polly Arenberg mentioned quite prominently in To A Tee … and as a frequent contributor to the annals of the Fan Club. I was glad to read about it once again … and Ellen, I may have to borrow that t-shirt some day or another.
Best, Joan
Well, how can I say no to a request like that? After all, you did contribute the contributor. So any time you want to borrow the shirt, it’s yours. And thanks for piping up this morning. Polly seems to be MIA in Palo Alto. You’re a good mom. (And you write a good comment, too.)
1. Got my little arithmatic quiz correct!!!
2. Did you know that the Panama Canal runs north and south and NOT east and west?
3. I love your little essays!!
4. I wonder who has more Ojibwa T’s….Ken or me?
Bernie, I knew I could count on you to figure it out. This blog would just not be the same without your comments. “My little essays” thank you and I thank you. And you’ll have to ask Kenny. It could be close.
I wish I would have started a business from all the shirts that were acquired in my Ojibwa days from trading shirts. It was most guys’ goals durring the off-months to get their inventories(usually college teams shirts) in order and once the buses pulled into camp the wheelin & dealing started.
I think you should contact Bernie. He sounds like he’s got quite the selection. Thanks, Mark. (And I’ve got a great “Pure ‘Bwa ” shirt and I wear it to bed.)
Hello Ellen of the Impeccable Communication skills:
On behalf of George Stephanopoulos fans circa 1994 everywhere, I am honored that your “Very Good, Very George” t-shirt has survived all of the lives and fab places you have been and lived. We wanted to honor George with a fan club (pre-Internet that is) because we felt he embodied all that was good about young politicos at the time. I love that our super-glam Aspen correspondent still has her shirt in good working order!
Read about our early days here: http://news.stanford.edu/pr/93/931011Arc3113.html
My G. S. Tee and I thank you for this communique. It was worth the wait. Please say hello to the adorable Julian. Very proud to be part of an historic endeavor. With love from your Aspen Correspondent.