In medieval times, streets flowed with sewage, and cities were smelly places. Women, delicate creatures then more than now, held posies (or “nosegays”) of perfumed flowers or herbs under their noses, as protection from bad odors and, just as often, a barrier to disease.

 

During Victorian times, these small bouquets became known as tussy mussies (“tussy” meaning a bundle and “mussy” referring to their sometimes-disorderly shapes). When a woman received a tussy mussy as a gift from a suitor or friend, she’d pore over the possible meaning of each flower in the tiny bouquet, “reading” the flowers like a botanical essay. For example, and just for fun, here are some floral “translations”:

 

Red Rose = love
Yellow rose = friendship
Azalea = romance
Heather = wishes come true
Ivy = fidelity
Laurel = success
Myrtle = passion
Mint = virtue
Lavender = devotion
Rosemary = commitment and fidelity

Thyme = strength and courage

Camellia = admiration or perfection; a good-luck gift to a man
Snowdrop = hope
Sweet Pea = delicate pleasures
Tulip = love
Violet = faithfulness

 

Yesterday afternoon, Posy’s friends and loved ones celebrated her life and expressed their love for her at a memorial service. She was, as someone said, “an earth mother” to whom people from all walks of life gravitated. You couldn’t define her many friends or friendships with a solitary word; but as flowers and herbs gathered together from her garden of life, we created a tussy mussy tribute to our beloved Posy. 

For your Friday amusement and musings:

Celebutante Lindsay Lohan is asking former Vice President Al Gore to shift his attentions from cleaning up the environment to helping her clean up her act.

Rumor has it that Angelina Jolie, who has always marched to a different drummer, plans to wed Brad Pitt in Africa, to the beat of tribal music. Her agent denies it, however, saying the story’s “all made up.”

First Lady Laura Bush made a grand entrance at the White House holiday reception this week, wearing the same holiday-red, $8,500 Oscar de la Renta outfit as three of her invited guests. Don’t you hate it when that happens?

Britney Spears delivered a holiday message to her fans via her website, explaining away her, um, overexposure and thanking God for Victoria’s Secret.

Yesterday, the man who once crowed that he read “three Shakespeares” gave a nod to the Iraq Study Group report. President Bush assured the assembled press corps, “To show you how important this one is, I read it.”  The world is now watching Bush take his high-stakes, performance-based comprehension quiz.

‘Tis the season for miracles, so be sure you make time in your weekend teevee-watching schedule to see this.

George W. S. Trow, cultural critic and author of “Within the Context of No Context,” has died. The Los Angeles Times called his seminal work “a scathing analysis of contemporary American culture…heavy with yearning for a bygone social order, when adults were adults and trivia were actually viewed as trivial.” The line’s been blurred, hasn’t it, between what’s trivial and what’s significant.

                                                                                                                            Euphoria, by Posy Adler

Early this morning, under the light of the beautiful full moon, my friend Posy let go of her life on this earth.

The time we shared was short but fabulous and, greedy me, I find myself wanting more.  I wish we still had years and years ahead of us, in which we could play, laugh, talk, and have lunch or tea. Nevertheless, I will always cherish the rich memories we created in our too-brief but wonderful times together.

 

I remember, for example, the warm autumn afternoon we spent at the beach. How wonderful, to be able to take a walk on the sand, and then enjoy a leisurely lunch together. We had a fabulous time talking about everything – and nothing. 

Posy loved making people laugh. When I last visited with her, she was resting comfortably in her night clothes. “You have no idea how liberating it is,” she said, “to take off your brassiere for the very last time!” Her eyes twinkling, she added, “Just think: I’ll never have to floss again!”

What 90-year-old do you know who can make Santa blush? When she sat on his lap, Santa asked her if she’d been naughty or nice. Not one to give away her secrets, Posy just winked.

 

Posy was also an artist and a teacher. I loved taking art field trips with her to the Laguna Beach Festival of the Arts, the sculpting and painting classrooms in her living complex, and even to her in-home studio. How fortunate I’ve been, to have a personal docent to guide me to a deeper understanding of life’s artistic pleasures. 

 

We enjoyed looking out her kitchen window and wandering through the back yard to see her beautiful plants. Her birth name was Roslyn, but her nickname, Posy, suited her perfectly! She nurtured me in the same way she tended to her garden; under her loving care, everything and everyone blossomed.

 

I am so grateful that Posy took an interest in me – encouraging my dreams, applauding my accomplishments, understanding and helping me learn from my mistakes. I am a grown woman, and I’ve proved myself strong in the face of hardships. Still, I needed a mother’s tender loving touch and guidance. Then, suddenly – as a gift from the Universe – Posy came into my life. And since that happy day a few years ago, she’s become everything I ever dared imagine or hope a mother – a friend – could be.  

There’s no need to say goodbye, because I will always hold her close in my heart. I will miss her profoundly, but I will love her forever.

Do you, or perhaps someone you know, offer crocheted or knitted afghans for sale? I have a much-loved but very tattered throw that needs replacing. While I can probably find a boutique online, I’d prefer to support someone’s cottage industry.

Even in sunny So Cal, we girls like to be swaddled. A new afghan would go so nicely with these.

This morning, Liz Jones sent me this artistic interpretation of my nonfiction project, THAT’S HAUTE: SECRET LIVES OF TROPHY WIVES. What a spectacular Sunday morning present! 

I’ve really enjoyed getting to know Liz while working with her on this project. She’s easy-going and lots of fun to talk to, and I’m in awe of her many talents. She’s a writer, an illustrator, a musician, and, as you can see here, she’s also a computer magician.

Take a close-up look at the intricate detailing on the individual images — Liz has done an exquisite job with every picture element. And if you want to know the story behind the objects represented here, follow the link below the graphic. 

I chose grayscale to represent the elements from my childhood – a metaphoric, Kansas-to-Oz contrast to the color images that symbolize my book project.

 

Each of the childhood images are actually in my book’s introduction, with the exception of the silver hand-held mirror, which looks like the one my Nana brought from Nottingham, England when she was a little girl. I’m the little girl holding the mirror, looking into my future. Here’s an excerpt from my book’s introduction, to help explain the grayscale images:

 

  Even when I was a little girl, I was spellbound by stories about wealthy women. Their glittery lives were as far removed as imaginable from the gritty realities of my own. As an evangelist’s daughter, much of my childhood was spent in the back seat of the beat-up sedan that pulled my father’s tent. We rarely stayed in one home for long. So the posh homes I saw in magazines looked like castles to me, and sports cars like Cinderella’s carriage. I read books about socialites who served their guests caviar in crystal dishes; meanwhile, I spooned pork and beans from a can. I shuffled to school dressed in hand-me-down outfits and second-hand shoes two sizes too large, but in my dreams, I wore designer couture and stilettos wherever I went. I was the proverbial cinder girl, sitting in the ashes while dreaming about the ball.

As I grew up, I was still captivated by the differences between these women’s lives and my own. I was fascinated by articles about women who wrote seven-figure checks to decorators and party planners, then signed them with gold-leafed Mont Blanc pens. On the other hand, as a teacher in an under-funded school, I had to submit two-page request forms whenever I ran out of pens, overhead transparencies, or chalk. The contrast in our lifestyles couldn’t have been more dramatic. […]

 

Inside the mirror, you’ll see reflected some of the many things I’ve experienced or seen while writing this book: heart-shaped Godiva chocolates; a coveted Birkin bag, spilling over with flowers my husband gave me for my recent birthday; a purse-sized pooch; me, sitting at a bistro table at an outdoor café in Newport Beach; a yacht sailing on crystal-blue Pacific Ocean waters; a beautiful interviewee, who’s wearing a LBD (little black dress) and bedazzling jewelry; a bottle of Bollinger’s champagne, some of which has already been poured into our Waterford crystal glasses. Haute stuff!

So here it is, the end of the November, which is supposed to bring a monumental, positive shift for us Scorpios. I’m not seeing it, but really, I’ve not had a lot of time to look.

I haven’t yet addressed my holiday cards, but at least now I have them on hand. I browsed the shelves for a very long time, trying to find something with just the right message. In the past, we’ve picked out silly cards, suggestive of our SoCal lifestyle (Santa surfing on a longboard, garland-entwined saguaro, etc.); but just as often, we’ve chosen cards with spiritual symbolism. This year I chose one with a simple message: PEACE. That’s all I want for Christmas, for me and for our war-weary world. (For the record, what you see here isn’t my card; I just liked the way it looked.)

In the midst of this joyful season, sometimes there is sadness. That’s the case for me right now, as my very good friend and surrogate mother, Posy is dying. (You may have seen her in a couple of previous posts, here and here; the photo at left, I took just a couple of weeks ago.) It’s a peaceful, relatively painless transition for Posy, but even so, it’s surely going to be painful for the many, many people who love her, including me.

I wrote Posy a letter in which I tried to express how much she means to me, and I read it to her the night before last. We laughed together — a lot — but after a while, I couldn’t hold back my tears and neither could she. But when I I left, she was sleeping comfortably, my letter clutched to her heart.  How fortunate I am, to have been able to say most of what I needed and wanted to say while she was still lucid and communicative.

I’ve been helping her family by calling some of her many, many friends, each of whom wants to cry with me and share stories about time spent with our lovely friend. It’s bittersweet, as you might imagine, but it’s a small gift I’m privileged to give.  

My sympathies go out to my LJ friends who’ve recently lossed a loved one: I’m sending prayers of comfort to

Hold your family and friends close today. Share your love and work for peace. 

I’m listening to: Elvis Presley’s “Peace in the Valley“