Some Thoughts on the Royals’ Underwear
When Princess Diana was alive, I read that the Royals threw away their underwear after one wearing. I was thinking of that this morning as I replaced the worn-out elastic in the waist of a skirt I bought in 1992. A skirt so old, the company that sold it, J. Crew, was sold off. Tossed off the stock exchange like yesterday’s panties. (It has returned now, online and in outlet malls.)
Are the Royals’ nether regions so yucky that dropping their underpants in a bin is the only thing to do? Maybe the Royals are too shy to present their streaky underthings to the Royal laundress. Or is it, as I suspect, simple excess? Could it be the whole underwear thing is at the root of the recently-departed Queen’s disdain for Diana, and her testiness at times with Kate and especially, Meghan? Something tells me the Queen was a game enough girl to make it through World War II with a stiff upper lip and her underwear on rotation. Princesses these days!
As I thread a piece of elastic through my old skirt’s waistband, I think about all the places this skirt – size Medium, 100% Rayon, made in Singapore, dry clean only – and I have been together. It is one of those classic pieces that still, to my eye, seems to be in style. Though you could argue that at 67, I ought to be wearing something longer and less swishy.
I bought it when I was the communications manager for Oregon’s Economic Development Department. It’s chief charm then was that it didn’t wrinkle, and I could throw it in a suitcase with a blazer and flats to wear to a museum dedication or the tour of a medium density fiber board plant or to a governor’s speech. I wore it with a gray cashmere twin set and brown boots to the police cadet academy graduation for my son. Banquet chairs, train seats, bar stools, bus benches. It’s been everywhere. Worth repairing. Rayon has the half-life of plutonium.
Now that my skirt’s waistband is no longer sagging like an old lawn chair, I can wear it out to dinner tonight. I’ll be pairing it with sandals and my husband’s favorite black blouse, which I bought at Ross’ Dress for Less eight years ago for $17. I think the Queen would have liked me.
Two passions: food, words. Some days, it’s a tug of war, some days, a peaceful coexistence.
Best day ever? Create it, cook it, eat it, write about it. I sold my restaurant, Nora’s Table, in 2015, and now I can be possessed by anything in the long day that I choose: writing 400 words, creating the next menu for the Chefs Collective at Ruby June Inn, teaching a cooking class at Jacob Williams Winery, or tromping through the fields with farmer Laurel Bouret.
A rainy afternoon with a foundational cookbook, such as Marlene Mater’s fabulous “Allepo Cookbook” or Michael Ruhlman and Brian Polcyn’s “Charcuterie” can feed my spirit and spark my creative power. So can reading Maggie Shipstead, Michael Chabon or Alison Kraus.
I live in Hood River, Oregon, with Stuart, also known as the Happy Meal Man. In other words, all I can desire. And then there’s Satchel, our six-year old Idaho Shag who is simply the world’s best dog. We run together, and sometimes, we even let Stu join us.
Our oldest daughter Annie and grandson Levi live in Eugene, Oregon. Annie is cooking in restaurants, like her Mom. Son Max and his wife Hannah and our granddaughter Shiloh are in Portland, where he is a school principal. It’s a good tribe, all the way around.
