It was one of those days. Worked hard, worked fast, and burnt out by 5:30. So as a treat, I walked my pretty little self to Henri Bendels. My Mecca, for all I am concerned. As I browsed the second floor of beautiful handbags and glistening necklaces, I met a friendly, bright lady named Debbie Liu.
She just happens to be an amazing up-and-coming jewelry designer whose featured in Bendels trunk show. The brand is called Harlequin & Lionhead. What caught my eye was the intricate detailing of her rings, they resemble little roses carefully modeled with precision.
Her collection featured necklaces in the same nature. As well as adjustable rings that left a small opening on top. I tried on the adjustable ring (photo above) and the flowers looked like they were simply resting on my finger. What’s also wonderful is that the jewelry is made with sterling silver, 24 k gold plating, and rose gold (which is to die for). Each piece is modern in design but very elegant and feminine, a complexity that brings out the beauty in most women.
Debbie and her collection will be at Bendel’s until Saturday. You can also check out her website to see more photos of the Harlequin & Lionhead line, as well find any future upcoming events in your area. Enjoy!
I Must Be Missing Something
I turned to see my Alex crying a silent, non-breathing cry with his mouth in his hands. Eyes tortured. Body contorted. Activity all around him, two adults looked on, in his direction, less than 10 feet from him.
I hurried to him, asking “What’s wrong…What happened?” Nothing, he was still amidst his silent, hysterical cry. I turned to the adults, “What happened?!?!” One did the passive, unconcerned shrug of the shoulders, head tilt to the side, frown of “beats me.” Very. Unconcerned.
I asked again, to the other adult, who obviously heard me the first time I asked, not to mention seeing me rush to Alex’s side. Again, less than 10 feet from Alex, less than 5 feet from the 1st adult. He looked on cleaning his glasses, then said in an equally unconcerned, sappy voice, “He’s asking for a helicopter. We don’t have one. I looked.” Never looked up from the glass cleaning, no eye contact, no inflection, no concern.
Yes, these two were neighbors. Not the good neighbors. Ones that we don’t know very well at all, but whom we didn’t necessarily think bad of. Now, I don’t know.
In hindsight, I saw “Glasses” move Alex’s hands away from him. Alex can be touchy, so I understand. The look on his face though was of uncomfortable, non-understanding contempt. Annoyance, though I knew he was a chocoholic.
With the “Other”, I recalled a conversation where she told me that in her profession, she didn’t like working with the elderly. They call her for “stupid” things, like asking her to pull up their socks. I recalled thinking, “Well, they need your help. They can’t reach down and physically do it themselves or they would. Why wouldn’t you want to help? Wouldn’t you want the help if you were elderly?!?” Then just as quickly, I thought, “I guess ‘the elderly’ isn’t for everyone…I don’t do her job, so I can’t understand.”
I didn’t say either.
Only, in hindsight, it does say that there’s a lack of understanding for those who are incapable of helping themselves. A lack of compassion. A lack of general humanity for those in the later stages of their lives, those who are not of able body, of able mind.
I had to pick Alex up, carry him into the house and take some time to calm him down. The only thing I could get from him…that someone was mean to him.
So I’m mad. Pissed actually. So incredibly pissed and I don’t know if it’s right.
I don’t know if I should expect that someone would react the way I would, the way most would if they were standing less than 10 feet from another human being that was in such pains that they were sobbing in front of all.
I don’t know if I should expect that someone would attempt to comfort a child, call the attention of a parent, offer a kind word, a reassuring gesture.
I don’t know if I should expect that educated adults, parents of one, expecting another, should have any concern for a child who can not speak for himself, a child they’re very aware of, as is everyone in our cul-de-sac; should they have any twinge of a thought to reach out to a silently sobbing, tortured young boy.
I don’t know. I must be missing something!