As we approach the final night of Passover and Easter Sunday, my mind turns to the overcoming of tyrants and plagues, the wandering towards freedom, and the miracle of resurrection – in other words, the past year. This year’s little Atlanta backyard Seder with fully and partly vaccinated attendees was a vast improvement over last year’s Zoom view of Bubbe’s elbow filling the middle square as I poured myself a fifth glass of wine. Dayenu.
You might imagine
I’m feeling a tiny bit sunny! Los Angeles infection rates have come down, more vaccine is on the way, hints of the beautiful Georgia spring are starting to emerge.
The past three weeks, for the first time in a year, I’ve been attending large in-door gatherings of hundreds of people. Super-spreader events, you ask, darkly?
Well, sort of — spouse and self have been volunteering one day a week at Atlanta vaccination centers, super-spreading
Running a successful business is a trait that runs counter to the Goldstein Family tradition. In fact, growing up, my relatives gleefully one-upped each other with stories about failed ideas, missed opportunities, and cursed concoctions that poked a finger into the eye of the rheumy cliche of “Jews are good with money.” Well, we showed them!
My favorite was my grandfather’s attempt at the haberdashery trade. With a loan from his boss, Mr. Dutch Schultz
I began writing this the day before the election, assuming I would need to revise and then possibly revise again. Now, as I write, it’s two days after the election. Vote counting continues in several states, including Georgia. The tally appears to be running against the incumbent, who, as promised, will not accept the results. Instead he is spreading conspiracy theories, filing frivolous legal challenges, dividing the nation, and doubling down on his deployment of schoolboy rhetorical tricks. What is left to say about the lowness of his character? I have a craving for decency. The radio, tuned to NPR because I’m a blue-state liberal, drones from the bedroom as I listen to my podcasts, scroll and refresh my Twitter feed, and swing wildly from anxiety and dread to mania and fury to (now and then) hope. I try to turn my focus away from our trembling democracy and on to the work of buying, selling, and marketing fine brassieres, sexy garters, elegant harnesses, and fancy stockings.
My husband and partner, Aaron, went back to LA last month to put some finishing touches on the Burbank store, take care of our random cat assortment and, quite unreasonably, get some time away from me to paint in his studio. I’ve been living in Atlanta, unplanned, for almost a year now and am surrounded by the legacy of the Civil Rights Movement, not just the murals, churches, and street names, but the actual men and women who lived through that vital struggle and now are passing on–notably the great John Lewis, Congressional Representative of Georgia’s 5th district (my district now!–both house and store) for 33 years. The facts of his life can only inspire awe. Already a seasoned activist and Baptist Minister, at the age of 21 he became one of the original 13 Freedom Riders. Two years later he became chairman of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee, and in that capacity was one of the organizers of the 1963 March on Washington, where he was the last to speak, save Martin Luther King. In 1965 he and Hosea Williams led the first of three Selma to Montgomery marches across the Edmund Pettus Bridge. On the far side of the bridge, Lewis’ skull was fractured by Alabama State Troopers in the incident which became known as Bloody Sunday.
It’s worth remembering that the Selma to Montgomery Marches were demonstrations for the right to vote, and ultimately led to the passage of the Voting Rights Act, which protected Americans from Vote Suppression until it was compromised by the Supreme Court’s Shelby County v. Holder decision in 2013. In the last few years of his life, Lewis was still working tirelessly to get the Voting Rights Advancement Act enacted into law as a way to guarantee every American’s right to vote. He died this past July 17. We were fortunate to be with a group of friends and alongside hundreds of mourners lining the streets of Montgomery, Alabama as his hearse passed by on its final tour of the stations of his life.
“Ours is not the struggle of one day, one week, or one year. Ours is not the struggle of one judicial appointment or presidential term. Ours is the struggle of a lifetime, or maybe even many lifetimes, and each one of us in every generation must do our part.”
― John Lewis on movement building in Across That Bridge: A Vision for Change and the Future of America
I assume many of you know that this CEO did not go to Business School, but instead went to Drama School. Two years at Circle in the Square in New York, then another year at Webber Douglas Academy in London, where little or no time was spent on analyzing Profit and Loss Statements, distinguishing between gross profit margin and operating profit margin or assessing market penetration. Instead my days and nights were filled with analysis of Shakespeare’s meter, voice and dialect
It’s weird to think that just a month ago, Sasha and I were slinging sports bras with Anita at the LA Marathon Expo downtown. Life at that point was pretty normal. Sure, we had taken up singing “Good as Hell” while dutifully washing our hands throughout the day, but we also rode the Metro from East Hollywood to the convention center, did dozens of fittings in a pop-up dressing room, and even stopped to split a bottle of wine at the local haunt on our way home. Early March feels like ages
Westside Ring-Mistress Sasha keeps the train on track in her vintage Vera Wang striped sweater. A souvenir of her first job at Nu Look consignment shop in Minneapolis, it’s a shout of happiness over a well-constructed scarlet dress from Banana Republic. Her beat-up Fluvogs are the newest items in the ensemble.
Miss Michelle is hard at work in some sort of French Farm Girl ensemble, all locally sourced in Pasadena. Denim culotte-jumper from Jasleen’s, Hansel from Basel socks from Elisa B, and shoes from Camille’s. Shockingly, her bra is NOT one we carry: its Zephyra from La Perla. Construction not as good as Empreinte or PrimaDonna, but sometimes beauty trumps all!
Our inimitable Miss Jessica is casually intriguing in a little black dress. Bold buckles, square frames, cropped hair softened with Mom’s favorite turquoise earrings. Comfy shoes by Simple support the surprise star of the outfit: ankle-warmers crafted from repurposed fabrics by Jessica herself, back in her time working in the chilly Forever 21 display warehouse.
