Sui Generis

Have you ever spotted a rare butterfly?  Stumbled across a priceless gem?  Discovered a new species of orchid?  Well, here’s your chance to meet up with something unusual, exotic, and beautiful – my one-of-a-kind girlfriend, Joan.

Tall, slim, hazel-eyed, and chestnut-haired, stylishly put-together, she’s like no one I have ever known.  Think fashion plate with the organizational skills of General George Marshall and a heart of Bulgari gold.  She is a devoted mother, a loving and dutiful daughter and sister, a cherished wife, an inspired hostess, a formidable teller of truths, and a wildly generous friend.  She doesn’t suffer fools gladly, but if you pass muster, she’s a tireless champion.

And, as her husband Rickey can tell you, she’s real catnip to men.  An old school charmer with a great sense of humor- and a sexy laugh.

I had heard about her long before I had ever met her.  Her housekeeping and decorating skills were legendary around Chicago. She is what the French call “une femme d’interieur“- a woman who devotes artistic skill to creating a charming environment in which to live.

Her devotion to detail was the standard by which all our households were measured.  Her closets were spoken of in hushed tones, her ability to bring order into the most unruly drawer a lesson to us lesser souls.

I had heard about her stunning apartment, storied flowers, and sumptuous decor over and over again.  And when I was finally invited to her home for a mutual friend’s birthday luncheon, I was curious to see if it- and she- lived up to all the hype.

I was not disappointed.

It was gorgeous and then some.  I swooned over her roses, lusted after her tablescapes, marveled at her pencil cache by the telephones.  (They were all perfectly sharpened to the same length.)  Her bed was bedecked in glorious, sumptuous finery elegant enough for Kate Middleton to wear to the Abbey.

And just when I thought I had seen it all, we were walked into hers son’s bedroom and I saw his collection of fishbowls.  My son had fishbowls too, but they didn’t look like these.  They sparkled like princess-cut diamonds.    Huh?  How did Joan do all this?

I went home and raved to my then-husband, no slouch in the critical eye-for-detail  department himself.   He was suitably impressed.  And when we both had occasion to revisit for a charity event that Joan was hostessing, he took it all in.

“Look,” he nudged me.  “Her door hinges are polished.”  He was  agog with admiration.  My ex had met his match and he bowed to her artistry.

As I got to know her, I soon realized that Joan was more than just a pretty face with a flair for making an elegant home.  She brings her gift for living wherever she goes.

Her good horse sense and generous nature always take center stage.   I leave every encounter with her filled to the brim with loving, pointed advice, and shopping bags overflowing with gourmet goodies, books, anything and everything her kind heart thinks I’m missing.

If I have one complaint, it’s that when we meet at mealtimes, she never eats.  She just daintily nibbles on nothing,  all the while urging me to have the to-die-for-appetizer, or the must- have dessert.

Food just doesn’t interest her-  although she’ll serve it in a style that would put the Duchess of Windsor to shame.  A slim, crystal flute of prosecco is right up her street.  In fact, Joan is rather like a glass of prosecco herself- sparkling, intoxicating, full of brio, and guaranteed to make any occasion a gala.

I raise a glass to her now.  Happy birthday, dearest Joan.  You organize our spirits and decorate our lives.