Brave in Ribbons

"Then up rose Mrs Cratchit, Cratchit's wife, dressed out
but poorly in a twice-turned gown, but brave in ribbons,
which are cheap and make a goodly show for sixpence; and
she laid the cloth, assisted by Belinda Cratchit, second of
her daughters, also brave in ribbons … .”
Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol


This is my favorite Dickens quote. I’ve always wanted to write about it because, to my knowledge, it has been inexplicably overlooked. Yet the very first time I read it, it struck me deeply. In its simplicity and seemingly throwaway description of a hardworking and stoic woman waiting cheerfully for her beleaguered husband to come home so they can begin their meager, heartfelt Christmas celebration, volumes are said about the resilience of women in general.

A twice-turned gown – meaning it the skirt, sleeves, and neckline have been rehemmed more than once to hide fraying and wear – is a testament to Mrs. Cratchit’s pride, and sense of pride in herself, that she is not defeated by the poverty and appalling working conditions that typified not only her husband Bob Cratchit's at the hands of Ebenezer Scrooge, but the conditions of workers and families in newly industrialized England itself. And, further, she adorns the gown with ribbons – cheap and pretty – that undoubtedly lifted her spirits for the celebration of the holiday that she was determined to make memorable for her family. She was indeed brave. And brave in ribbons.

I love Mrs. Cratchit. She is a minor character in A Christmas Carol, yet she epitomizes the best in women – the strength, the ability to take care of as many as need caring for in whatever situation, the ability to take charge, and the depth of the commitment they are able to show loved ones. And to occasionally look pretty while doing it all. (Which, let’s face it, makes everyone feel better.)

The year is ending. She has endured the trials and tribulations of yet another one. She is ready to celebrate. And the nicest part for me is that she has clearly even passed this on to her daughter, Belinda, “ … also brave in ribbons.”

Whatever we have been through in 2009, it’s nearly at an end. We’re still here. We’ve survived it in some fashion or other, at least for now. We tended to those we care about, and maybe even made someone happy, whether we knew it or not. We can fly our flags – our pretty ribbons of endurance. At least we should. I urge you all to just say “I did it”! It might not have been much in your eyes or the eyes of others, but I’ll bet it really was. And then put on the clothes that make you feel special, however old and worn or new and sparkly they might be.

You are brave. Now be brave in ribbons. And tell your daughters.

Patti

Photo: Hermione Baddeley, A Christmas Carol, 1951.

Class Reunion

I am one of the few people I know who has never attended a high school class reunion. I can say with confidence that I probably never will. So many of us experienced such conflicting feelings of pleasure and despair in our high school years that it’s hard to believe that one would want to bring back those memories and feelings.

But years – or decades – later, would they really come back, or would seeing the people that you spent four of the most intense years of your life with only bring perspective? After all, they have become different people just like I have, with whole lives of accomplishment and growth so far beyond those seminal years. And yet we all still cling to them as one of the most defining times of our lives. Or maybe we don’t cling to them. Maybe they cling to us.

Many people had the idyllic teen years of cheerleading, homecoming, sports, dances … others experienced the fringes of arts and sciences, with no interest in sports and the social scene. All of us felt a little Catcher in the Rye at times, no doubt. All of us have grown up, had jobs, achieved some aspirations, failed at others, maintained relationships, traveled, built up new priorities, left old ones behind … as different as we were then we are all even more different now. And in that, have more in common than we ever did.

I gotta say – I’ve held up ok for my age. But I have a fantasy in my head that I still look a certain way and a certain age. If I saw old classmates of my same age face-to-face with clear evidence of how much time had passed, I would know how old I really am. Not that I don’t know, chronologically. I mean, it would drive home like a stake through my heart how much time had passed where I had not accomplished all I had dreamed of doing while staring out the window in freshman geometry. I don’t think I want that reminder.

Hearing former classmates talk about their children would remind me that I had forgotten to have some of my own. I guess you can’t always get everything on your to-do list done. Some stuff just slips by the wayside. I wonder what other things would crop up that I would realize I’d forgotten to do.

A visit to the prison-like brick building actually surrounded by a moat (the city’s canal) would likely give me a case of delirium tremens. The smelly gym with the sadistic gym teachers and communal showers. The basketball court – the scene of innumerable hideous pep rallies . (This was pre-Title 9 and sports were almost exclusively “for boys only.” Pep rallies had the air of sending our knights or gladiators out to battle while we girls waved our lace hankies in farewell.) The choir room, the classrooms, the lockers. All the places where many a Greek tragedy or comedy (complete with the chorus) played itself out. All looking so much smaller and pathetically less significant. And yet still wielding so much power.

I am making it sound like I had marginalized myself during my high school years. I was actually in the thick of almost everything. Committees, plays, speech competitions, honor roll, choir, yearbook, powder-puff football, Girls’ State … . But it was almost like I was a separate person watching myself doing those things. Playing the game while my psyche stood by and observed . This was just something to get through, to survive, so I could get on to the next and more exciting thing. Preferably where no one knew me and I could start over completely fresh and invent myself anew without all the baggage of spending 12 years in one public school system where everyone knew everyone else and left no room for anyone to play a different role than the one already assigned . All in stone. For eternity.

If I go back, I am that person again. The one who wasn’t herself. The one who was too scared to be herself in case she wouldn’t fit in. Or … maybe I should just get over myself already!!!

DTBF!

Patti

Photo: Romy and Michele's High School Reunion, 1997

Sola

I just traveled by myself in Spain for a few days – Catalunya – on my way to a destination wedding of a good friend (see her DTBF story here). Not sure what I was thinking, but not having anyone else to go with, and never having been to Barcelona before, I just figured what the hey, spend four or five days exploring alone.

Seemed like a good idea at the time, and like less of a good idea as the trip got closer. I had been alone in Paris before, but that was years ago, and I wasn’t sure I still had the naïve confidence that you have in your 20s that all will be well.

My Spanish being far from flowing, and my Catalan even further from flowing (I’m happy to say I kind of grasp that lovely language a bit now, if only on signage) I got more and more worried as the trip grew closer that I was bound for disaster.

Hearing nothing but “Senorita, cuidado con su bolsa,” as soon as I landed, I was fairly convinced that, while headed to my perfect, Gaudi’-themed hotel just off the noisy, texture-y La Rambla, both my wallet and passport would be stolen immediately and I would spend the rest of the trip at the American Embassy. Paranoia set in. I’m a girl. I’m alone. I’m small. My purse is big and shiny. I’m an idiot.

After a nap and the realization that I had not spent all this money to nap in a hotel room (as attractive as that sounded), I headed out just before dark to explore. Oh, yes, and on the way, I asked the desk clerk for a better room with a better view (hey, the DTBF instinct was finally kicking in!).

It was getting dark and beginning to rain. And it was cold. And the holiday lights were blindingly beautiful. I walked and walked until exhausted and settled in for hot thick chocolate at Café Zurich on the Placa Catalunya – a place that hummed with life and excitement . Now, find a place for dinner – vegetarian paella (a total myth that it’s hard to be a vegetarian in Spain, as much as people would like you to believe that), salad, lovely wine, and lovelier coffee. I struck up a conversation with a British/Pakistani couple at the next table who had just gotten married and were on their wedding trip. Suddenly I was glad I was alone. I could talk to anyone. Go anywhere, not wait for someone else’s preferences.

Now for more walking. It was getting late by U.S. standards, but Spanish time actually suits my own body clock much better. Still cold, still some rain. Big discovery. On practically every corner in Barcelona is an Irish pub. Gotta love the Irish for spreading the joy! It was comforting to sit at a warm, cozy bar watching soccer/football and talking to the Dublin ex-pat bartender who was generous with the vodka. I envied her for following her impulse to uproot herself from one beautiful city to live and work in another beautiful city for awhile in another country. Would I be able to do that?

Chatted with an Englishman on vacation from his job in Japan who was just coming from his sister’s wedding. (Hmmm… is December the month of weddings in Europe? This December certainly seemed to be.) It was odd and interesting to talk to someone from the U.K. while sitting in a bar in Spain, hearing his opinions on the economic situation in the U.S. from the framework of his job in Japan. Will I ever be able to have a world view with such multiple perspectives? I really hope so.

The days progressed as I slogged my exhausted but dazzled way through the city, enraptured by the rich architecture of Gaudi’ and Gehry, and then it was on to a midweek trip up to the mystical and magical monastery of Monserrat (okay, all that alliteration was completely unintentional). A bus tour was necessary to do this excursion, as the monastery is so high up in the mountains (god, the view!) with narrow switchback roads. Three of us traveling solo, along with the half-dozen couples, inevitably clumped together by time we reached the mountain top – an Australian music teacher, a Canadian taking a long break after selling his business, and me from the U.S.

We heard the boys choir sing, marveled at the amazing basilica, touched the Black Madonna and made our three wishes to her, admired the view and the multitude of monastery cats, lit candles to the virgin, took in the monks’ unbelievable art and artifact collection (ancient Torahs, Egyptian artifacts, Russian icons, and actual Caravaggio, plus Dali, Picasso, Miro’, Cocteau, Chagall – unbelievable), and drank rich and yummy coffee while overlooking the misty valley. And then, sadly, it was time to head down the mountain and back to secular civilization.

My usual, cautious, guarded, self-protective attitude was undergoing a change. I was becoming mas abierto to my fellow humans and travelers. Something that would likely not have occurred if I had been travelling with a friend. Here, I had no choice. I had to trust – I had to … just enjoy.

Realizing we all were staying in and around Las Ramblas, my two Montserrat friends and I reconnected that evening for a classical guitar concert by a Segovia Award-winning artist at a beautiful church in the Gothic quarter that one of them had heard about. And, of course, more hot chocolate after. The next morning, I joined the music teacher for a tour of the Liceu, Barcelona’s stunning opera house, adorned with the beautiful golden dragons that are the symbol of the city. It was such a great experience to have encountered someone just at random who would enjoy touring an opera house as much as I did. I don’t think any of my friends would have been as up for that as we were. So another bonus for traveling alone and letting myself be open.

Off to Els Quatre Gats, the famous café where Picasso, Dali, Utrillo, Casas, Albeniz, Granados, and other famous Catalan and Spanish artists and musicians sat for hours talking about setting the world right. I love that it is named The Four Cats. Just sitting alone, drinking it in, hoping some of that artist magic would rub off on me, I accidentally ordered something that had once been alive and came with its head still attached. Slightly freaked, but not wanting to make a fuss, I pushed the plate away and drank my water. The aristocratic and elegant maitre d’, whom I first thought had the arrogant manner of gatekeeper to Barcelona’s artists, noticed and asked me if all was well, and why was I not eating? I apologized and said I was sure it was not the chef, it was me -- I was vegetariana. He told me not to worry and a few moments later brought back a plate which he set before me, saying “No carne, no pescado” smiled and departed. I was touched by his kindness and quick grasp of my situation in such a busy restaurant at such a busy time of day.

Other encounters, other gifts from the universe continued to come my way as I remained open and curious about every stranger around me, setting aside my usual business-like and focused travel agenda. Fabulousness was happening as I gave it space to happen, all the while being cuidado con mi bolsa, of course!
By the time I had trekked by bus and taxi further up the magnificent Costa Brava to LlaFranc, I was definitely in the mood for a party and for meeting all the wonderful people from all over Spain and England that came together to celebrate our good friends’ wedding. The happiest of times filled with the happiest of people in a beautiful place. (Another story for another time.)

It reminded me that daring to be fabulous requires being more open than is always comfortable. A bit more trusting in the universe and in others. We shut down so gradually to protect ourselves in our daily lives – or at least I do – that we don’t even realize it’s happening. I know I didn’t realize it had happened to me.

I fully intend to hold onto that curious openness I regained travelling by myself to a place where everyone was a stranger and a potential friend. If I can do it there, I can do it at home. There are always adventures to be had, no matter where you are. In fact, I just accepted an invitation to waltz at the French Embassy tomorrow night. The adventure continues … .

Patti

Dancing on the Rooftop

Image: "Dauphine," by Teresa Moore.

I danced on my roof tonight. Yes , I actually did.
I live in a nine-story building. A lovely generous person plants that roof each summer with a beautiful potted garden – it’s a place I always think when I am there, “why don’t I come up here more often?”
This afternoon it rained hard – thunder and lightening, diminishing to a soft sprinkle that left the evening air cool and fresh, and perfect for reading on the rooftop. My book, The Artist’s Way, by Julia Cameron, was striking cords in my psyche left and right. The view – a gorgeous panorama of all of Washington, D.C., its trees and monuments and houses and churches. The air was clean and fresh. I was sore but relaxed from an earlier intensive dance workout.
Then it hit me. The urge. To dance. On the rooftop.
“No, I can’t, someone might see.”
“It’s dusk. And no one is looking all the way up here.”
“Someone looking out the window in the next building might see.”
“Then they’ll be entertained. For free.”
“No, I can’t. I should read.”
“OK, go ahead then. Read.”
I kept reading. But my legs and body protested and yearned to move in that cool, fresh air, over that wide expanse of open, rain-puddled space, among the pots hibiscus and lantana, way up high over the city, over George Bush and Dick Cheney, and high gas prices cellulite and everything else.
I danced. Flamenco, modern, jazz. It didn’t last long, but I did it. I’d get all poetic and tell you how fabulous it felt – wind in hair, open arms, blah, blah, blah – but we both know that would be crap. Well, it was kind of fabulous, actually, but also silly and a little embarrassing. And fun. And it really did feel good. If I had been five years old I wouldn’t have given it a second thought. So why would I now? Exactly. We should just dance if we freaking feel like it. Damn it.
I’m going to do it again. I’ll let you know how it goes.

DTBF!
Patti

Again, Gloria Steinem Says it All

DTBF contributor Anne Singer alerted us to this outstanding New York Times op-ed that Johanna and I felt was too important to not reprint here. Gloria Steinem, besides being my personal hero since the '70s, has graciously given DTBF permission to reprint an essay from one of her many books, which we plan to do soon. In the meantime, please read her wonderful words here and remember that we still have a long, long way to go. We can't be complacent. We are women, and if we want to lead - we have to Dare!
~ Patti

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/01/08/opinion/08steinem.html?ref=opinion

January 8, 2008
Op-Ed Contributor
Women Are Never Front-Runners
By GLORIA STEINEM
Correction appended.

The woman in question became a lawyer after some years as a community organizer, married a corporate lawyer and is the mother of two little girls, ages 9 and 6. Herself the daughter of a white American mother and a black African father — in this race-conscious country, she is considered black — she served as a state legislator for eight years, and became an inspirational voice for national unity.

Be honest: Do you think this is the biography of someone who could be elected to the United States Senate? After less than one term there, do you believe she could be a viable candidate to head the most powerful nation on earth?

If you answered no to either question, you’re not alone. Gender is probably the most restricting force in American life, whether the question is who must be in the kitchen or who could be in the White House. This country is way down the list of countries electing women and, according to one study, it polarizes gender roles more than the average democracy.

That’s why the Iowa primary was following our historical pattern of making change. Black men were given the vote a half-century before women of any race were allowed to mark a ballot, and generally have ascended to positions of power, from the military to the boardroom, before any women (with the possible exception of obedient family members in the latter).

If the lawyer described above had been just as charismatic but named, say, Achola Obama instead of Barack Obama, her goose would have been cooked long ago. Indeed, neither she nor Hillary Clinton could have used Mr. Obama’s public style — or Bill Clinton’s either — without being considered too emotional by Washington pundits.

So why is the sex barrier not taken as seriously as the racial one? The reasons are as pervasive as the air we breathe: because sexism is still confused with nature as racism once was; because anything that affects males is seen as more serious than anything that affects “only” the female half of the human race; because children are still raised mostly by women (to put it mildly) so men especially tend to feel they are regressing to childhood when dealing with a powerful woman; because racism stereotyped black men as more “masculine” for so long that some white men find their presence to be masculinity-affirming (as long as there aren’t too many of them); and because there is still no “right” way to be a woman in public power without being considered a you-know-what.

I’m not advocating a competition for who has it toughest. The caste systems of sex and race are interdependent and can only be uprooted together. That’s why Senators Clinton and Obama have to be careful not to let a healthy debate turn into the kind of hostility that the news media love. Both will need a coalition of outsiders to win a general election. The abolition and suffrage movements progressed when united and were damaged by division; we should remember that.

I’m supporting Senator Clinton because like Senator Obama she has community organizing experience, but she also has more years in the Senate, an unprecedented eight years of on-the-job training in the White House, no masculinity to prove, the potential to tap a huge reservoir of this country’s talent by her example, and now even the courage to break the no-tears rule. I’m not opposing Mr. Obama; if he’s the nominee, I’ll volunteer. Indeed, if you look at votes during their two-year overlap in the Senate, they were the same more than 90 percent of the time. Besides, to clean up the mess left by President Bush, we may need two terms of President Clinton and two of President Obama.

But what worries me is that he is seen as unifying by his race while she is seen as divisive by her sex.

What worries me is that she is accused of “playing the gender card” when citing the old boys’ club, while he is seen as unifying by citing civil rights confrontations.

What worries me is that male Iowa voters were seen as gender-free when supporting their own, while female voters were seen as biased if they did and disloyal if they didn’t.

What worries me is that reporters ignore Mr. Obama’s dependence on the old — for instance, the frequent campaign comparisons to John F. Kennedy — while not challenging the slander that her progressive policies are part of the Washington status quo.

What worries me is that some women, perhaps especially younger ones, hope to deny or escape the sexual caste system; thus Iowa women over 50 and 60, who disproportionately supported Senator Clinton, proved once again that women are the one group that grows more radical with age.

This country can no longer afford to choose our leaders from a talent pool limited by sex, race, money, powerful fathers and paper degrees. It’s time to take equal pride in breaking all the barriers. We have to be able to say: “I’m supporting her because she’ll be a great president and because she’s a woman.”

Correction: An earlier version of this Op-Ed stated that Senator Edward Kennedy had endorsed Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton. He has not made an endorsement in the 2008 presidential race.

Gloria Steinem is a co-founder of the Women’s Media Center.

It's the Holidays Already! (How did that happen?)

I am always ambushed by December. It seems so far away, then there it is -- right on top of you, another year almost over. That might actually mean something if I didn’t believe like Einstein that time is not actually linear. OK. I really do believe that, but the fact is that my human brain can really only comprehend time if I follow the linear convention and count weeks, months, and years to mark my progress.

So as 2007 draws to a close, we are excited to look back over the DTBF year. We have been lucky enough to have had the most wonderful contributors during the year – Annie in Washington, DC, Molly in Mexico and Chicago, Katie in Napa, California, Corrie in North Carolina, Diana in New York City, Karen in New Zealand, Renel in San Francisco, Kelly in Santa Clara, and Ginny in Sonoma. We also had a lovely reprint from Doris “Granny D” Haddock. And we had a wonderful contribution from the incredible Gretchen Wyler, published just two months before we lost her to cancer. What an amazing sisterhood of women are represented in the Dare To Be Fabulous guest column. If you haven’t yet read some of their stories, we would encourage you to do so, as well as catch up with past years’ columns. (You can find them archived on the Guest Column page.) Johanna and I are so proud of all of these fabulous women, and so honored they have shared their stories with us.

We are continually encouraged and inspired by the intelligence, courage, imagination, humor, and sheer fabulousness of the women we have come in contact with through DTBF. We have noticed a trend in the use of the word “fabulous” – a trend that equates fabulous with physical beauty and diva-like behavior (not that that isn’t fun! ) but our definition of “fabulous” is in the stories submitted by our readers. Be yourself. Be kind. Be brave. Be generous. Be funny. Be imaginative. Be real. Be fabulous. And don’t let anyone stop you!

Tell your friends about us – submit stories and add your comments to the columns. We look forward to what 2008 will bring, and you are all part of that! Happy holidays to all of you!

Peace and DTBF!
Patti


Image: "Persephone" by Teresa Moore (Teresamoore.com)
Because I think pomegranates are just so Christmasy!

Gretchen Wyler Defined Fabulous

"Animals should have the right to run if they have legs, swim if they have fins and fly if they have wings."

These eloquent words were spoken by Gretchen Wyler, who passed away in Los Angeles on May 19, from complications related to the breast cancer that we all only last year believed she had beaten. Unfortunately, it returned, this time in her bones. A cruel irony for one who was such a brilliant and exuberant dancer. Johanna and I, as with the many people who knew and loved her, could not be more grief-stricken – the world needed Gretchen for much longer than she was allowed to be here.

Gretchen was generous enough to share her story with us in the March Guest Column of DTBF. Knowing her remaining days might be few, she freely gave some of her precious time to us and to our readers. We will not only be forever grateful to her for that, but also for her encouragement early on and her belief in and support of DareTo Be Fabulous. Support and encouragement was what Gretchen was all about. All who spoke of her never failed to mention how she encouraged them in whatever they tried to do, always a big sister, a champion, a mentor. Gretchen never hoarded the limelight – she wanted all to share in it, all to succeed. Especially when it came to helping animals. Or becoming your best self.

After two decades at the helm of The Ark Trust’s annual Genesis Awards, this last March she sat in the audience, close to the stage, as James Cromwell took over the formidable task of following in her footsteps as master of ceremonies. When the time came for her to present a special award in her name, she made her entrance from backstage with the help of a few handsome gentlemen in a way that made one think of a Broadway star and her chorus boys, an analogy that might have amused her. Fragile and pale, she hit her mark like only a consummate stage professional can, and her exuberant, velvety voice resonated throughout the ballroom of the Beverly Hilton Hotel. The stage belonged to Gretchen. Afterward, as exhausted and pained as she must have been, she took the time to visit with all of her friends and admirers – ever gracious, ever generous.

Both Johanna and I consider it the deepest of privileges to have had Gretchen Wyler in our lives. Gretchen singled out Johanna in 2002 with recognition at the Genesis Awards for her work in vegetarian outreach to Major League ballparks and the founding of Soy Happy. Her supportive phone calls to me in my own recovery from cancer are memories I will always treasure. For the last year, I have saved a voice message from Gretchen on my cell phone – a comfort to know that I can just punch in a number at any time and still hear that fabulous voice ringing forth cheerfully with “Hello, Patti, darling!” For those few seconds I can pretend she is still here – just a phone call away in California.

Gretchen Wyler defined Fabulous. We deeply, deeply miss her.

Here is a link to the Los Angeles Times obituary.

DTBF!
Patti

Fabulous But Not Yet First-Class?

On a recent trip, I flew from Washington, D.C. to Los Angeles, from Los Angeles to Dallas, and from Dallas back to Washington, D.C. Each time as I made my way through the first-class cabin on my way to my coveted aisle seat in coach, I noticed that first class was cpmpletely full. By the third leg of my trip, I made yet another observation. I had passed through a full first-class cabin three times and had seen only three women seated there the entire trip. Men, it seems, are able to travel in comfort and style in far greater numbers than women. And it’s 2007.

I reflected back to many other flights I had taken and my overall impression was that men have always been in the majority when it comes to flying first-class. In an unofficial survey of my women friends who travel, their recollections matched up with my own. We all puzzled that one – why are women so far outnumbered by men in that pampered, expensive environment? Think back on your own flights, whether many or few. What ratio do you recall seeing?

We didn’t have a definitive answer, but a few good ideas emerged, given that most first-class travel is professional business-related:

• Men largely still control the money.
• High-performing men are still more highly valued by their employers than their female counterparts, so their well-being is taken more seriously.
• Women are undervalued and expected to sacrifice monetarily for the “greater good” of their workplaces.
• Women are too shy/intimidated to ask for these extra perks.
• Women are used to “doing without” for the good of the whole.
• Women often acquiesce rather than rock the boat and demand what others are getting.

Any, some, or all of the above are possibilities, and probably there are other reasons as well. But what is certain is that, as much as women have gained professionally since the beginning of the women’s movement almost 40 years ago, we are still not getting the “cash and prizes” that men are getting for the same level of contribution to business and society.

It’s certainly not that women don’t care whether they are traveling first class or not – and you can take this metaphorically and include the entire flight we call life – we like our comforts just as much as men do. We have even been unfairly accused of “needing” them more than men (even though we often do better than men under rugged and trying circumstances). Is our professional value and well-being not being taken as seriously as men’s?

In a letter to the editor in the April 8, 2007, Washington Post, Sen. Edward Kennedy (D-Mass.) and Sen. Carolyn Maloney (D-N.Y.) state that women earn only 77 cents for each dollar men earn, and that the gap is even greater for black and Hispanic women. While it may be argued (not very successfully) that women are not doing the same jobs as men, we can look at, for example, veterinary medicine as an example of a profession once populated by men only. While it was never as high-earning as other medical professions, the salaries now even appear to be going down, as the veterinary profession becomes more dominated by women – some estimate that 70% of the veterinary students in the U.S. are now female. What are being blamed are women’s supposedly inferior salary-negotiating skills. Apparently, the 77/100 earning ratio is just the tip of the iceberg.

OK – I don’t think I will be able to demand (or even politely request) first-class travel accommodations from my current employer. I don’t think many of us can, realistically speaking. But we can see that the bar has been set high, and we haven’t even begun to approach it. As a whole, we should be seeing women being as valued and well-cared for in their professions as men are. And we should start by caring for ourselves whenever possible, by requesting, when appropriate, what we do deserve, when we deserve it. At the very least, fair and equal perks and benefits.

But will this be helpful? We can’t be sure until we start doing it. There is always the risk that whoever holds the purse strings will counter that your contribution has not been as deserving. And as often as not, that won’t be true. But, regardless, they have to start hearing from us.

This is not really about whether we travel first-class or coach on an airplane. As I said earlier, this is a metaphor to be compared and contrasted to the whole and bigger picture. Are we going to travel first class through life, or fly coach? If we don’t want to – fine and good. But if we do want to, something’s gotta change. And as with everything else, it has to start with ourselves. It has to start with valuing our own efforts, contributions, and successes as much as we value those of men. As we begin to have a clearer picture in our minds of our value to the social and economic fabric of civilization, and not sweep our contributions under the rug as “all in a day’s work,” our efforts may still go unrecognized and unrewarded.

DTBF!
Patti

A Tribute to Governor Ann Richards

Whether Republican, Democratic, or Independent, no one would argue the sheer fabulousness of former Texas governor Ann Richards, whom we sadly lost to cancer on September 13 at the age of 73. When we first conceived of Dare To Be Fabulous, the incomparable Ann Richards was at the top of both Johanna’s and my lists of women we felt truly defined the concept.

Along with her laser-precise, sometimes outrageous, yet warm and self-deprecating humor, Ann Richards was known for her innovation in government, her compassion, and her trailblazing. During her tenure as governor, she appointed more women and minorities to important positions than all three of her successors put together. She never stopped being a champion for the success and advancement of women. Most important in my view, is her founding of the Ann Richards School for Young Women Leaders, scheduled to open next year in Austin. An incredible legacy and an incredible gift to young women and to society. And my question is: Why had no one thought to do that earlier? It took Ann Richards.

Many articles will no doubt be published in the coming days in tribute to this legendary woman, but here we will link the AP story by Kelly Shannon that appeared today: http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20060914/ap_on_re_us/obit_richards . It ends with a quote responding to a question about what she might have done differently had she known she would only be a one-term governor. "Oh," she said, "I would probably have raised more hell."

Today, in honor of the great Ann Richards, instead of encouraging you to “Dare To Be Fabulous,” we’d just like to say, “Dare To Raise Hell!”

Patti

Pumping Iron at 86

When we think of all the times we have felt too tired to work out, we can now reflect on this gorgeous woman. Check out her amazing story at the link below, as reported in the Philadelphia City Paper. Dare to be fabulous, strong, and healthy at any age. And thanks to Lisa for calling this to our attention!

http://www.citypaper.net/articles/2006-08-03/naked.shtml

DTBF at the White House!

From DTBF subscriber, Bonnie. DTBF at the White House!!! Isn’t this great?

Hey, if any of you have DTBF photos that you would like to share with our site visitors and subscribers, send them along for our consideration. Maybe we’ll start a photo page!

Dare To Be Fabulous concept

Here Johanna and I are daring all of you to be fabulous, and I gotta tell you, sometimes it just takes all the energy we have just to maintain "average," let alone "fabulous"! I think we are all just trying to keep up with our daily lives, making sure nothing falls through the cracks and that everything that needs to get done gets done. That sure doesn't leave time for those fabulous moments, or adventures, or life-changing decisions, does it?

When Johanna and I first conceived of the Dare To Be Fabulous concept, we realized that it was an idea that energized us and sparked our imaginations. We truly believe DTBF has that effect on many women, and the wonderful essays we have received for the book attest to that. On the other hand, I joked with Johanna at one point that some days I felt like there was no way I could live up to the idea of Daring To Be Fabulous - I would just be lucky if I could Try Not To Be Pathetic! Good friend and fabulous woman that she is, Johanna understood, but did not encourage me in that mindset!

The point is that each day we are in a different place in our lives, in our energy levels, in our inspiration, in our health. Some days, daring to be fabulous is jumping into a fountain and frolicking like you were in your very own Fellini movie. Some days it's signing up for that trip down the Amazon you always wanted to take, or starting your novel. But many days, daring to be fabulous is just being able to get through the day doing the best you can. While we should always dream big and set the bar high, the essence of daring to be fabulous is in those little moments where we feel like we are too tired or overwhelmed to go on and yet go on anyway. And fabulousness can even be allowing yourself that much-needed and well-deserved cry.

While life can sometimes (or often) seem to be getting the best of us, daring to be fabulous is remembering that you just are fabulous and that you deserve to take care of yourself too the way you take care of your loved ones or your home or your job. Work hard, but take a moment for yourself. Making it a goal to exercise these little muscles of fabulousness will pave the way for the bigger moments of fabulousness to come.

While I can't say I've ever frolicked in a fountain like a '60s Italian movie star, I do remember splashing in a puddle on a hot day, one that all the other "grown-ups" were trying to avoid. I followed an irresistible split-second urge to jump in hard with both feet, making the biggest splash possible - two or three times! - my shoes and legs were all wet and muddy, but I felt cooled by the water, refreshed and happy like a little kid with no responsibilities! I remember nothing else at all about that day. Just that tiny silly moment over 20 years ago. I'm glad I followed that little impulse and I look at it now as totally DTBF.

Dare To Be Fabulous can be just letting it all go for a moment, on a day that might otherwise be ordinary, or stressful, or too structured. Just bust out of that structure for one second. Come on ... I dare ya!

Patti