2012 Update, and An Apology of Sorts

Hi kittens.

I'm sure by now you've figured out that I am not very consistent with my blogging, and hopefully that's okay with you. But if you follow me on Twitter or Facebook, both of which are intrinsically linked, then you may also have noticed something else that might not be quite so okay: the lack of attention being paid to apotheKerri beauty. There's a fairly simple explanation for that.

I believe the technical term for it would be a nervous breakdown.

It was coming, has been for quite some time truth be told, but the sudden death of my mother in November kind of hurried the whole process along. I tried to appear as normal as possible for the sake of my son, my partner, my job while on the inside I was slowly deteriorating. Pretending everything is business as usual when inside I really just want to curl up in bed with the covers over my head and never leave is hard work. Soon enough, the cracks started to show, despite the large amount of medication I was taking. Getting caught crying or throwing up in the washroom at home was becoming more and more frequent, likely because I was doing it daily. At least I had sense enough to seek help early on, in the form of my doctor and the social worker at the health clinic I'm registered with, who in the end recommended a leave of absence to deal with my demons. Better that than be let go from my job altogether, something which I'm fairly certain could have happened had I not taken this route. Fortunately, I work for a pretty decent organization, one who could plainly see that I was struggling and agreed that a leave would be best for everyone.

At first, I was relieved at the prospect. I would be able to get back on track emotionally and mentally, maybe even have some time to work on and grow my beauty business - something I had neither the time nor mental energy to do what with the work and the pretending. I started making all these plans of what I would do with this chunk of time I would have after Christmas. It helped me to avoid thinking about the holiday my mother had enjoyed so much, spending so much time preparing for it by baking and decorating the house until her deteriorating health made that almost impossible. But even to the end, although perhaps not able to decorate as fully as she once had, Mom would always still bake up a storm. She baked for an army the same day she had that massive stroke that ultimately took her from us.

And then, all of a sudden, Christmas was upon me.

I didn't want to go to my parent's house for Christmas. It was the last thing I wanted to do just as I was starting to feel better, seeing as it would be the first time since my mother's death. But I knew that it was the right thing to do, for the sake of my father if nothing else, so up we went. And when we got there, everything was fine. The kid opened some more presents, we had dinner as a family then watched a movie. It all felt just as it should for a Christmas Day. Except for the gaping hole where my mother should have been. I think that's what I found most troubling: that on that of all days, I was certain that I'd be able to feel her there. And no, that's not the meds talking. I don't mean it in a Sixth Sense sort of way, but I was expecting some sense of her to be there with the family. But I felt nothing. And It upset me. I think it still does, because I really haven't been the same since. Any feeling of the hope I'd had before, all the plans I'd had to use the time productively for my business, was gone. Once again, I found myself struggling to get out of bed and throwing up had again become a regular occurrence. I was right back to where I was before the holidays. With one major exception: I baked.

It started before my mother's death as something I would do now and then, mostly for its shock value - I'm known among my friends for the firm belief that things like cooking and cleaning were 'mens work'. But after Mom passed away, the baking took on an entirely different tone. It was almost therapeutic in a way because it forced me to focus on nothing else but the ingredients; it also felt like a way for me to honour her memory. But after Christmas, baking began to be more of a compulsion. Let me give you an example.
In the past two weeks, I have made:

• red velvet cupcakes with sour cream icing
• red velvet cake, with the same icing
• white bread (twice)
• oatmeal bread
• fondant,  from scratch, which I used to make  

          - chocolate-dipped cherry cordials

          - dark chocolate violet creams

• chili-chocolate truffles
• red velvet cake pops with the leftover cake and icing
• rose creams (with that last remaining bit of fondant)
• lemon-white chocolate truffles topped with chopped pistachios
• oatmeal chocolate chip cookies
• whole wheat molasses raisin bread
• oatmeal-whole wheat raisin bread
• brandy bread and butter pudding, with the leftover oatmeal raisin bread 

As you can imagine, there is no shortage of sweets in my fridge. In fact, I'm kind of running out of places to put stuff. And there is some chocolate experimenting in there, which is something I've always longed to do but never thought I could do it. Turns out, despite how horrifically shaped some of the earlier attempts might be, I'm rather good at it. I began to even entertain the notion that I should stop pursuing this silly idea that I can break into the already-saturated cosmetics market before wasting any more of my precious time and money, and I should look into going back to school and do something with this newfound baking or chocolate talent I've discovered. I even sent my resume out to a local baker looking for help.

But then I realized: That's not who I am.

If you're still with me thus far, desperate for me to shut up and make my point already, here it is: I lost my way a little bit, and myself in the process. Somewhere between the throes of unresolved grief and depression and the comfort I found in baking, I convinced myself that I should just abandon my dreams now before I get too invested in it. The old mantra of 'you won't win, so why bother trying?' reared its ugly and oh-so-familiar head, repeating itself in mine over and over again. But I can't let it do that this time. I can't let it win. Makeup is a large part of who I am, and while I am flirting with the baking, that is ultimately the world in which I belong. And so, this is me trying to get back on track.

So to my supporters, I'm truly sorry that I got lost there for awhile. I hope that you'll be able to forgive me, even after this rather long-winded post that may or may not contain way more information than you needed. But I needed to write it, if the tears running down my face are any indication, just as much as you deserve to know where things stand. Speaking of which, where do they stand?

Well, first off, I've not forgotten about the results of Holiday Collective questionnaire or the special offer that applies to those who filled it out. I hope to have pictures and a snappy title for the collection that came out of it before the weekend's done.

I also hope to have a new website, www.akbeauty.ca, which will have an online shopping feature.

The new Winter schedule is up for the BlushPretty makeup workshops which will hopefully book up quick so that I can have the pleasure of teaching again. There's also been rumours of a possible Valentine's Day-related collaboration with some other BlushPretty peeps...more info on that when I have it.

And finally, I'm proud to say that not only have I been able to keep up with my Glamanomics posts for She's So Savvy, I was also invited to do my first guest post for Style Empire that came out earlier this week and featured my favourite subject: Red Lipstick. You can read it here in case you missed it. I have also been contacted by an outside vendor, and as a result Glamanomics will be hosting its first-ever giveaway.
So stay tuned for details - there's apparently a lot coming your way. If you're still with me, that is. If so, then thank you for sticking around and believing in me, even though I didn't have it in me to believe in myself.

As for the baking and candy-making? I think I'll keep doing it as long as it helps relax me. And really, I see no better combination on Heaven or Earth than beauty and sweets, so maybe there's a merging of the two in the future. For now, I will leave you with this image: a montage of the three aprons I got for Christmas, each one adorable in its own right and perhaps a contributing factor in my Bake-a-palooza.

Yours most sincerely, and thank you again.
Kerri

On with The Show, As They Say...

I apologize for being so remiss with my blog posts of late, but given the subject of my last post as well as my weekly Glamanomics contribution over at She's So Savvy and all the plans in the works for the future of apotheKerri beauty, I do hope that you'll forgive me. Will it help if I tell you that one of my resolutions for 2012 is to be a more attentive blogger? 

When I say there are plans, it's not a convenient excuse. And while it's not something I can openly talk about just yet, but once I am able to you will be the first to know. But there is one thing that I can talk about...

If you live in the TO and are looking for something to do on a Friday night, why not come out and join us? There will be a prize draw, as well as food to eat and makeup to play with - first you have to fill out this questionnaire which will be entered to be drawn at random. The winner will receive a selection of the items that they've chosen. What could be simpler than that? And as if that's not enough to entice you, here's a sample of one of the limited edition gift sets available for purchase exclusively that evening.

You can RSVP on our Facebook page.

As for the other developments, as they also say - good things come to those who wait.

Beauty Icon Wednesday: For My Mother

Name: Eleada Anne (Britton) Thomson, born October 7th 1931

passed suddenly November 5th, 2011

Known for: being a consummate teacher, mother to everyone, and in possession the biggest heart of anyone this world has ever known.

Girls have always seemed to have an interesting relationship with their mothers. When you're just a little girl, your mother is the one person you can always count on. She's always there for you, the main female role model you have. Later on, in those awkward teen-aged years, you start to think of her as annoying, embarassing, old-fashioned, 'uncool'. And you spend as much time trying to distance yourself from her as you had previously done emulating her.

It's not until you get much older, usually after you've had kids of your own, that you start to appreciate your mother again, to respect her for everything she's done in making you who and what you are. You become friends again, even closer than before. What's sad about this is all the time that was wasted while you were busy convincing yourself that she was the enemy determined to ruin your social life and cool factor between the ages fourteen to twenty. Because despite what you may have believed when you were four, your mother is not an invincible superhero who will live forever...anymore than she was your arch nemesis.

I lost my mother this weekend. She had just turned eighty last month, and the only thing she wanted for her birthday was for the whole family to be together. Between my sister and her partner, and my brother's son, all of us are spread over hundreds of kilometers, but we picked a spot somewhere in the middle. And took some family pictures, since the last time we had been together like that was for my parent's fiftieth wedding anniversary. Eight years ago. Yeah...who stays married for 58 years anymore?!

Despite the three and a half hour driving distance, we were able to compromise by meeting in the middle and so I've seen my mother and father more in the past couple of years than I had previously. This was out of necessity, since they had both taken turns scaring the hell out of their three children with a variety of heart attacks, strokes, and other various ailments. As much as she enjoyed spending time with me, her youngest daughter, I realize that I was just as much a vessel for her to see her grandson. One of her biggest regrets was that she wasn't able to spend as much time with him as her first grandson who'd been born about twenty years ago, when she was much less frail and lived far closer than the massive field just south of Owen Sound they had since retired to. Believe me, it's been one of mine too.

I got the call late last Friday night that she had been rushed to hospital, and that it 'didn't look good'. In the morning, my sister called to say that her condition had worsened and she had been air-lifted to another hospital, and that she was flying into Pearson so we could meet and drive down together. Although worried as we drove the two and a half hours to the hospital, my sister and I had been done this road before. And my mother had pulled through. But that was a few years ago, and she was much stronger then. The past few months we'd seen her get smaller and smaller. And as soon as we walked into the ICU and saw her lying slumped on the bed hooked up to a ventilator, we knew that this time was different. The doctors told us that she had zero brain activity due to a massive stroke she'd had the night before, and that a surgical attempt would be futile as so much damage had been done to the brain tissue. The only thing keeping her alive was that machine she was hooked up to, and as a family we had a difficult decision to make. Except that what the doctors didn't know was that it wasn't really up to us, that the decision had already been made long ago, by my mother herself. She had always been adamant that she was not to be kept alive by a machine because, according to her, that wasn't living. And so, it was done.

My mother breathed on her own for almost two hours. Then, at around 9:20pm on Saturday, she took her last breath while I held one hand and my father the other. And she was gone.

Next came the whirlwind of preparations - making phone calls, cancelling appointments, coordinating funeral homes in two different counties, planning a funeral service that would be worthy of such a wonderful woman who had been loved by so many. It was almost enough that you were too busy to cry. But cry I did. I still do.

We buried her today, in the cemetery of the church she'd gone to for a good portion of her life. The reverend there said it best when he commented that it was almost like she was coming home. The church was packed, standing room only. And surprisingly, after already spent two days of visitations in a 'Pam-induced haze, I made it through the service pharmaceutical-free and with far fewer tears. Until the casket was closed, and she was being lowered into the ground. That's where I admit I'm still struggling.

I expect I'll be struggling for quite some time.

Goodbye, Mommy. As much as I will miss you, at least I know that you aren't in any pain anymore. With any luck, as your grandson says, you're up there with Johnny Cash and Elvis Presley.

Beauty Icon Wednesday: Are you a Ginger or a Mary Ann?

Names: Mary Ann Summers (above, left) and Ginger Grant (right, obviously)

Known for: All-American girl-next-door and sultry sex kitten starlet, respectively. Both known for not having much like when it comes to three hour boat cruises 

And the love affair with the Sixties continues with one of the decades most iconic television series, Gilligan's Island. Most of my after-school memories are made up from reruns of this, Happy Days, and Scooby Doo cartoons. The other two programs I will get to in due time, because Pinky Tuscadero and Daphne Blake are each deserving of an Icon Wednesday post of their own, but that's neither here nor there. 

Today's is dedicated to that age-old debate: Ginger or Mary Ann? 

I think if you're a regular reader of this blog, you would know my answer to this question. It's modern day equivalent would be Team Aniston or Team Jolie - I think it's fairly clear whose side I'm on in that particular debate. I've never been fond of the saccharin-sweet, wholesome as Mom's apple pie demeanor that 

Mary Ann embodied, even at a young age. I have always preferred the ice queen, man-eater types; they often had the best clothes. And Ginger, swanning around the island in her fur stoles, sequined gowns and kitten heels with her elaborately coiffed hair and flawless makeup, was my hero. Well, it was a more of a cross between her and Miss Piggy...but then again, that is another post entirely. 

What about you? 

Which one would you be, if you had to make the choice?

Change... It's in the air, and I'm not just talking about weather!

I'm not known for being particularly fond of change in my everyday life. I like what I like, most of all the comfort of the familiar. When my routine is disrupted, I'm not happy about it. That's probably why I'm just as prone as anyone else to becoming stuck in a rut. 

Late last year, after a bit of a health scare, I decided that 2011 would be my year for change. Change on my own terms, finally, change that was long overdue. Since then, I think I've made considerable steps toward achieving that. But, as with most things, it hasn't been easy. And it's nowhere near close to being where I would like it to be. There have been times when I've been tempted to just throw in the towel, that I was just kidding myself if I thought I could pull this off, that I should crawl back to the comfortable and familiar - if somewhat soul-crushing in nature - before it's too late. And then I remember that I'm not patient by nature, that I tend to want what I want when I want it, and from there manage to talk myself back from the ledge.

I realize that I'm rambling - I would hope that you'd be used to it by now and just find it 'charming'. 

In March, I found what I was hoping would be the perfect solution. Relatively risk free, I would be able to open my dream retail space and have the luxury of not having to quit my day job to run it. Sounds like a dream come true, am I right? Well unfortunately, as with most of those situations, it didn't turn out all that dreamy. The shop itself was gorgeous, but the area it was in was just not quite right for my particular product at this time. Perhaps in the future that will change, and I hope that it does - that way, I can turn what felt at the time like a failure into a second-time-around success. But for now, I did the only thing that made any economical sense and pulled out of my dream. I closed my beloved shoppette. 

I took it a little harder than I thought I would. For the first part of the week, I felt lost and really uncertain as to what my next move was going to be. I was worried sick - almost literally - about my first Beauty Summit that was held Tuesday with a group of women that, really, I knew nothing about and probably couldn't have had less in common with. I was convinced that it was going to be a complete flop. 

I've never been so happy to admit I was wrong.

My first Beauty Summit was the opposite of a flop. And although I didn't have a whole lot in common with my hostess and the group she'd gathered, that did not prevent us from chatting and laughing and learning a lot from each other. And I think in the end, I may have come away with more than they did. Because it was precisely that evening that all of my ideas for apotheKerri beauty began to come together in a way that I could finally process and understand. 

Now I'm not going to say much more than that, for fear of jinxing myself, but I will leave you with this: there's going to be a lot going on behind the scenes at apotheKerri beauty over the next couple of weeks. So keep an eye on Twitter, Facebook, or wherever you get your aK beauty fix and I will let you know how it goes. 

Beauty Icon Wednesday: The World's First Supermodel

Name: Jean Rosemary Shrimpton, born November 7th, 1942

Known for: being 'The Face of The Sixties', helping launch the mini-skirt, and for bringing Audrey Hepburn's gamine legacy to the Swinging London scene.


There are times, and I'm sure a few of you would be inclined to agree with me, that it feels as though I were born in the wrong era. I don't worship at the altar of the Kardashians or Jersey Shore. I prefer the more refined, almost classic beauties of days gone past. Some may look at this and think it's too dated or old-fashioned but for me, this is what timeless beauty looks like. And when it comes to iconic faces, this is definitely one that tops the list.

But I won't type a novel - so unlike me, I know. I'd rather leave it to these pictures, and more specifically this face, to say everything that needs saying.

Monday Moments in Makeup History - The 1960's

This post is inspired mostly by the new series, Pan Am, which celebrates the glamorous Golden Age of air travel. Bouffant hair-dos, Mack the Knife, adorable little hats...really, what's not to love here?? Forget the poor rating on IMDB and reserve judgment for yourself - to me, it was kind of like a Mad Men but for chicks. Anyways, enough of my prattling; on with the show!

The Sixties were a tumultuous period in history - the Civil Rights movement, the Vietnam War, the Stonewall riots, the first man to walk on the moon...the list could, quite literally, go on and on. It seems only natural, given all that was going on throughout the world, that the makeup and fashion would change and vary so radically throughout the decade as well.

It started out beautifully enough, with the adulation of that famous First Lady, Jacqueline Kennedy - all pill box hats, cropped jackets with matching knee-length skirt, capri trousers or 'clamdiggers'. The makeup and hair was just as elegant, with beehive or chignon hairstyles atop dramatically done-up eyes and nude or pale, frosted lips. Ladies wore gloves, and crossed their legs delicately at the ankle.


Then came Mary Quant with her mini skirt, which just happened to coincide with the onset of the Sexual Revolution. Hemlines and hair lengths shortened, much as they had done in the 20's, whilst the conservative prohibitive views about sex were loosened almost to the point of being non-existent.

By the end of the decade, all hell had broken loose - both fashionably and (some would say) morally speaking. Both women and men wore their hair long, with elaborately patterned tunics over bell-bottomed jeans and sandals, not to mention a whole lot of patchouli. They practiced 'free love' as well as experimented with conscience-altering drugs as part of their protest against the rigid Puritanical roots that had so long formed the basis of American culture. But that's enough out of me and my half-degree in Sociology... let's just say that, glamorously speaking, it was a dark, dark time.


I could probably write an entire dissertation on the effect that the Sixties has had on almost every decade that has come after it, such was its impact on every level of society on a global scale, but neither of us have the energy for that. But if you are interested in learning more about the looks that had become popular - and frequently come back round into fashion again and again - click here for some great information and resources. And with that, I will leave you with what is probably the most recognizable face from the Sixties.

The Original Waif herself - Twiggy.