January 9: A Boy Named Simon

The majority of my childhood was spent in Northwest Iowa in a small town called Pomeroy. When I say small, I mean K-12 was in a single building. There were 23 in my class. There were no stoplights. No restaurants. No minorities. It was white bread America. In the very best and most wholesome sense of the term. I didn’t even realize you could remove the key from the ignition of a car until my teens. Or that homes could be locked. Or that everyone didn’t start driving around 11 on country roads. Honestly.

In my youth, Pomeroy felt small and stunted. I had a pedantic desire to be worldly in ways that a town like Pomeroy could never support in my vision of self-evolution. I have always been enchanted with elegance and culture. I often intertwined those concepts without any true measure, meaning that people with accents were often deemed smarter, better, more exotic than their American counterparts simply because they were from “other”.

Erudite. Cultivated. Well-read. Music to my ears. Words to make my heart soar. Yes, please. Oh, I aspired…

However, all of this self-evolution comes in stride with the pace of the evolver. To present day Andrea, refinement has taken on an entirely different outward presentation. I wear dresses and heals because they make me happy. I don’t worry about if my clothes are in style. They are my style. I have a home that is an outward representation of the inner me. It’s filled with art, whimsy and warmth. I can effortlessly craft a meal that will make you weak in the knees, which may involve high art menus or German peasant food (scalloped potatoes and ham is Aria’s favorite and so it’s often on the table). I can carry on an engaged conversation with anyone and never feel intimidated. I can book travel to anywhere with comfort and thrive anywhere I go, but prefer my home. I know enough about wine to order it well off the menu, but am not so snobbish that if I don’t know what pairs nicely with my meal, I won’t ask. I either like art or I don’t. I don’t worry about who made it. I walked out of Rent at intermission (didn’t enjoy it) but have seen Wicked three times and would go tomorrow given the opportunity. I’m incredibly comfortable in my shoes. But to get to today, I had to go through much chrysalis, if you will. I transformed a lot. I am rather certain I will continue to do so. There is so much more to learn.

Culture and elegance to Andrea in her pre-teen and teen years looked much different. It showed up in a pristine white dropped waist dress with a beret and white gloves for Easter. Sometimes it meant colored rubber bands on my braces. Watching Top Gun again and again on VHS (oh the volleyball scene…sigh).  I read and re-read poetry and various literature to become fluent in some of the greats and expand my vocabulary.  I spent hours fiddling with the radio on my record player to catch music greats such as The Cars, Prince, Pet Shop Boys, Janet Jackson and these gents, my very favorite band during those tender formative years: Duran Duran.

Which leads to today’s song, and also a confession on one of my largest fashion faux pas made. For about a year around 8^th grade, I had this little pin that I wore every day. It was just a head shot of Simon le Bon. {If you were sleeping under a rock in the 80s or perhaps just had less time on your hands, Simon is Duran Duran’s lead singer.} In my pursuit of culture and elegance, I had decided this Brit lead singer was to be mine. Clearly we were meant to be. I mean, I had a white beret and everything. I was a catch, baby. If only he’d tour in Northwest Iowa, we would have met. I could have given him some jelly beans from my Jelly Belly machine and we could have spun some vinyl. It would have been rad.

I learned of his marriage to a Victoria’s Secret supermodel through Teen Beat magazine. I threw out the pin in a flurry of tears. And I began attending teen dances in Pocahantas. But those are different tales with different songs.

Tonight, I give you Duran Duran - The Reflex.

PS - I’ve gotten over Simon. Nearly. Don't judge.