The Life Behind The Style
There’s a new style icon making the rounds in fashion, and she’s not 22. She probably has a signature perfume she’s worn for 30 years, a coat she paid too much for and would do it again, and absolutely no interest in being told what to wear.
Lately, fashion has been flirting with what some are calling nonna style. Think of it as a coastal grandmother after she’s had her espresso, traded the beach house for Milan, and decided a silk scarf and proper handbag wouldn’t kill her. It has the same grown-woman ease, but with more polish, more intention, and better shoes. Which, frankly, feels about right.
And while I’m always a little amused when fashion suddenly turns grown women into a trend, I do understand the appeal. What makes that woman interesting isn’t just the scarf or the handbag. It’s the life behind her. The confidence, yes, but also the history, the friendships, the losses, and the perspective that comes from living a full life. And last week, living mine felt more important than forcing myself to write Monday Musings.
I know some of you missed Monday Musings last week, and I appreciate that more than you know.
I sat down at this keyboard three different times, and every time I started, I couldn’t get past the first paragraph.
I never intended for this blog to become a diary of my personal life. I prefer to stay practical. But after years of sharing this space with you, the line between my closet and my reality has blurred in ways I didn’t plan. Last weekend was a rough one, and I couldn’t find words that weren’t too raw to share.
Last Saturday, my husband and I had dinner with a group of friends we’ve been gathering with for over forty years. We’ve shared everything together…the births of our children, their weddings, the deaths of our parents, and over the last decade, the loss of our own members to lung cancer. We’ve shared vacations, the kind of laughter that leaves you breathless, and the kind of tears that only true friends are allowed to see.
Last summer, we lost Bonnie, one of my personal heroes. After her stage 4 lung cancer diagnosis, she didn’t turn inward. She and her husband established a foundation in 2006 to help other lung cancer patients and fund research. That was just who she was. She was fighting her own battle and still looking out for everyone else. My husband had early-stage lung cancer, caught only because Bonnie had pushed all of us to get scanned.
She called me Punkin. I later found out she called others that, too, and somehow it didn’t matter. It still felt endearing. She was also the person who could walk down any sidewalk, glance down, and find a twenty-dollar bill. That kind of luck felt like it was built into her.
This was our first dinner party together since Bonnie died, and her husband hosted us at their home. When I walked into the kitchen and saw the care he’d taken, the appetizers arranged just so, and the table beautifully set, I almost said, “Bonnie would be proud of you.” I stopped myself because I wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to say. I still don’t know if it was. But I thought it.
Then we sat down, and there was Bonnie’s place at the table, set as it always had been. It’s hard to explain what that does to a room.
We spent the evening doing what we’ve always done, talking, remembering, joking, and laughing in the way only old friends can. Bonnie had been such a big part of that laughter, which made her absence feel even more painful. When we said our goodbyes, we all hugged a little tighter and held on a little longer than usual.
It reminded me that while I spend my days helping you find the right blazer or the perfect neutral, clothes are really just the costumes for the lives we live with the people who matter most.
Bonnie’s empty chair was hard to look at. But I’m deeply grateful for the forty years of memories that still fill it.
This post is so meaningful and relatable at my stage of life. Thank you for so eloquently expressing what so many of us are living at this stage of our lives- the need to stay relevant, to cherish our friendships, and to carry on with life as best we can.
Thanks for sharing. That’s so beautiful. 💕
This is so poignant and a valuable lesson to embrace our present!
This certainly brought a tear to my eye. What a beautiful post remembering your good friend. As I was reading, I was placing a good friend of mine into the role that Bonnie was to you. She passed from Parkinson’s disease a few years ago. It’s still hard to think about her not being with us any longer. Thank you for sharing this with all of us who follow you.
I am so sorry for the loss of your dear friend. How good to be remembered this way by someone she loved.
What lovely post. Last year I lost 2 of my closest friends and my sister. This made me cry just reading beautiful tribute to your friend!
Love and Happiness
I’m so sorry about the loss of your friend. Hopefully having such good memories will bring you comfort.
So sorry for your loss
Bonnie sounded like a wonderful person
What a beautiful story of friendship.
I love that you share life with us!
I think it makes your Emails more meaningful to all your readers-
Take care
I cannot thank you enough for today’s blog. I love your blogs and look forward to them every day. But today was the more beautiful of all, a tribute to Bonnie. After my husband died I could not set the table without a place for him. The first holiday after his death was his favorite, Thanksgiving. Not only did I set his place but I filled the plate with his favorite foods. We toasted to his life and that full plate of food. RIP good man, 2007.
Poignant post and a timely reminder of the things which really matter. My condolences and thank you, Jennifer.
Well said…I could feel your loss just reading it. May her memories be with you always.
That was truly a beautiful eulogy. I hope sharing helped you, as it has this reader. I recently lost a close friend, and reading this reminded me of the dinner parties we shared; full of love, laughter, and tears. It was wonderful that her spouse was able to honor her this way.
I follow your blog regularly, but rarely comment. This felt like the right time. Love your intentional style and vision. Keep up the great work!
Such a lovely tribute to your friend and the inner being that makes us what we are. It only shines brighter with the colorful outer shell.
What a lovely and endearing way to remember such a loved friend. From the words and story you shared of your friendship, to the meal that brought you all back together. As painful as it was to see her empty chair, it sounded like it was something each and everyone of you really needed. You are very lucky to have friendships such as these. Thank you for sharing.
Hugs Jennifer. Thank you for sharing the woman behind the clothes and into your heart. I’m 81 and in those twilight years now. I’m now the oldest in my family. It is a very large one with my four sons and my husband’s three. We have 17 grandchildren and 14 great grandchildren. They are spread all over the country. Texting seems to be the mode of communication today. It is so important to connect with family and friends even if only by text. Thank you for your precious reminder of what is really important in life. It is the woman and man behind the clothes.
Please accept my condolences on the loss of your dear friend
Beautifully written-thank you for sharing! Bonnie’s hubby sounds fabulous. Life does go on, but it’s SO important to remember and honor those special people who touch our lives.
Simply beautiful. Thank you for opening your heart to us. You are truly a lovely woman.
Dear Jennifer, I have been following your fine blog for years, always filled with excellent advice on make up, looking at our shared issues (fine hair, thinning hair, bone and foot problems). I love your assistance; one of the best looks for me comes from you – column dressing for a more polished look on my short, broad shouldered frame. And you are touching my empathetic heart today. I know loss and how difficult the journey to keep it in perspective. God bless us all.