Mag's rag's to Boot

Welcome . . .

To the Megan Whitlock pants' expo. These pictures are of the pants I made before I left for Italy. Gaia & I had a little bit of fun taking pictures so there may or may not be more to come of other clothes later.

Notice the detail. If we ever have the chance to be in the same room again when I wear these I will let you feel the texture.

One of the reasons for this design was to explore alternative means of closure. Ergo: no zipper.
These pants are . . . well take a look.






The finale is actually not my own work. But there is a story there. About 1 year ago I had a mad desire for brown, non-slouch, tight-fitting, knee-high boots. I searched for hours on the internet. I found the perfect pair on Zappos.com and ordered them for $80. They even inspired a shirt design. (below) I even have a facebook quote about them- "Can the perfect boot really bring about a surge of creativity that cannot be suppressed and causes me to design shamelessly at 3:00 in the morning?" Dove Davich had a "like" on this status. (It was also the night I designed my dress that was the basis for the first mags-rags blog post).

When they came in the mail my horror and shock was beyond belief. Anna can attest to my confusion and anger when I found out I had ordered thigh-high, non-fitted boots that looked like expensive galoshes. The circumference was 17 inches!! Not the 9 that my calves needed. That is what happens when shoe companies do not show pictures of boots with legs in them!

So there I was, bootless. I had given painstaking hours to the search and my heart couldn't do it again. My hopes had flown to the moon and were then sucked into a black hole in a matter of 3-5 business days. Of course there were other boots. I could not justify giving my feet a $300 look when I was entering my last semester of college. It was one of the most depressing fashion disappointments of my entire life.

Because the topic of black holes was introduced, we can time travel and come to the present day. Walking the streets of Via Roma it is impossible not to notice the 15 shoe stores, the long bits of leather, the gleaming toes calling my name. One day I saw them. The right height. The right price. The right size. The right look. The right toe, the right color, the right back, and the right fit. It was like an allegory of Bhudda's eight-fold path to reach Nirvana of shoe shopping.

I walked past them several times. A week later I tried them on. I was unsure. There were so many shoes. Maybe there could be a better one. I window searched. I spent a day at H&M. I returned. I tried them on again. Refusing to take them off, I walked up to the counter. These were the ones. Thwarted yet again, I stood with an aching realization that I was 10 euro short. The faces of the ladies fell. "Me despiace." I am sorry. "Anche Io." I replied, I am also sorry. They helped me take them off (we all know boots are a little difficult) and offered to find another pair for less. "No. NO." With resolution I said, "Un altro giorno." Another day.

The time that passed between Saturday and Tuesday was filled with anxiety. What if the price jumped? What if they ran out of my size? What if the shop magically disappeared or went out of business? What if . . .?

No. The day could not have gone smoother. I happened to be wearing my new, funny euro pants that I am sure Dove will not like (similar of Jodhpurs). When combined with the boots, I look like I should hop on a horse with one of those great equestrian hats to search for a fox. But there are so many ways to wear these boots. And I have the perfect dark skinny jeans to pair them with (right now drying on the line). I invite you to look and glory with me as I come to the end of a year long search. Ladies, with all of the things you buy and love: Wear them well.





Love always,

Designs by Jean Lock
Designer Megan Whitlock
M.J. Whitlock
Mags
MJW
m. jean

but always I write with LOVE,

megan jean

One Month Later

Yes, today I have been in Europe for one month. I know I just posted, but I felt it was important to mark this day with a post (even if it is a boring one, I don't have time for heart & soul right now)

I feel like I have to apologize to everyone. I got a lot of worried calls/comments/emails after the last post. I have to say that I have FELT everyone's prayers on my behalf. I know it was your prayers that have set me in my new attitude. Nothing has changed, but everything has changed. I made no effort to change my attitude, but it is changed. I feel a fresh and new start coming on and I can honestly say that I know it was your prayers that made it possible. I have always been a little too vocal with my complaints (and I will probably think twice before blogging about them again to save you all a little worry). Thank you for having me in your thoughts, all of you are in mine.

So one month later I have rededicated myself to the cause. Starting today, learning Italian is my number two goal. The number one goal is to follow my mother's wall quote: "Put God first & all other things will fall into their proper place or drop out of your life." My scripture study has been a great comfort to me for my entire life. I want to memorize the articles of faith in Italian.

I am going to try to eat out somewhere in this next month (this has been hard to do because my lunch & dinner time is spent with the family). I want to do some more shopping to prepare for the cold that is coming. And I will continue my once-a-week gelato regime. I think in November I will be able to go to the Switzerland temple to do baptisms for the dead. Also, this Sunday is the ground breaking for the Rome Temple! I will once again be on the same continent as President Monson. In my mind, I meet him in Rome and he tells me something cool about my life and gives me a special assignment to work on while I am here. But I will be watching via satellite like everyone else. Sono contenta.

Like I said, this was an extremely boring post and I write it apologetically. But if you really want to share something with me today look up one of my favorite songs on you tube called "The Man That Got Away" by Judy Garland from the movie A Star Is Born (sad show). It is magical. The passion. The voice. The song I would sing next if I were on Glee.

Here are some pics of stuff:

This is a Gothic church in Chieri, the town that is my lover.
This is a castle on the Po. You walk around a park one day and happen upon a castle. It could almost be a book like The Magic Attic Club.
I just think this one is so weird. In case you are wondering, yes, the priest IS holding the leg of the horse. I wonder what he is saying: "Hey, you dropped this. That is ten hail Mary's and forty push ups."

This is another castle on the Po & this one is a University. I am not going to lie, I wish I went to school in a castle. I just know that my Hogwarts letter got delayed . . .
I just like these bridges.


I love you.

Megan J.

Lost In Translation

You know you are in a foreign country when . . .

1. You mistake a missed call as being from your Italian friend so you call her back. When she sends you emails, messages, facebook responses explaining that she is busy in class so she can't call you. No matter how many different ways you try to explain that it was a mistake, she can't understand why you called just to chat when you know how busy she is at University. (Don't underestimate this friend though, she is the sweetest thing and kept asking if I was ok, even if she couldn't talk to me.)

2. When the mother of the family that you work for expects you to know that cooking pasta, picking veggies from the garden & cooking them, and preparing meat is not considered cooking in Italy. Unless you are cooking the entire meal, you should be able to provide all of these things without being asked. Likewise, why can't you buy bread and automatically know the magic hour that the bread store is open along with which specific bread we all want? After all, "You have to work for us. We are paying you." A simple "to-do" list would, you are certain, clear up the confusion, even if you did not come here to fail at making dinner for five.

3. When you ruin your favorite cookies that you have had mastered ever since that one semester when you cooked them once a week in 113. Even though you always say, "these cookies never turn out right" and slam the pan on the stove, this time it really is true. And now there is a picture to show it.



And you can't even hide it by burying it in a dumpster because everything, down to the tissue that you wipe your nose with, has a specific garbage can and the compost can just happens to be unjustly empty.

4. When, as supported by the above evidence, you realize you have lost all skill. You don't recognize ingredients. Every sewing machine is ancient. You can't cook rice. You don't know if sweetened condensed milk exists. You can't find a supermarket because what you imagine as a supermarket (a large store with an actual parking lot) is actually a tiny box of a shop on an obscure corner. You don't know where to find baking powder. No one knows what oatmeal is. Things that shouldn't break just snap in your hands.




If something tastes slightly off, the Italian children give it back and head for the entire box of cereal. You feel like a failure and constantly ask yourself "What am I doing here?" only to answer yourself with, "If I wasn't here I would be wiping an old lady's bottom." And then again you say "What was I doing before that and when was the last time my life had direction?"

5. When all you want to do is hear your sister's, grandmother's, father's, or the one and only sacred mother's voice you remember that even though it is noon here it is 4 a.m. in the States. By the time they are even awake, you have to sit without wireless as the kids use the one ethernet cord after school.

You know the world is an ok place and that home is not so far away when . . .

1. You have a French mother's shoulder to cry on, even if only hypothetically, and she wants you to make a custom Jumper for her. Then her son's girlfriend says "You can make me a dress & I will pay you."

2. You join a volleyball team and know that when the other players say "GRANDE" after you slam a ball to the floor you are being accepted and complimented.

3. You find an international book shop and buy a book you've never heard of (The Year of Magical Thinking) when you hope for something beautiful and are not disappointed, a classic (Jane Eyre), and request "The Taming of the Shrew" so you can read constructions of words and relish in the written eloquence of authors dead and alive.

4. You eat chocolate after trying to cry without being able to when you feel like. . . a word I don't use . . . and it works even better on this continent because the bite-sized therapy was invented in this city.

5. You go to church thinking you can teach a thing or two to these late-life converts, only to come back knowing your pompous thoughts were sweetly humbled. And you stand right there and thank God for everything in your life. Then you listen to Pres. Monson's talk and do it again.

6. When you realize little things like how beautiful your sisters were on their wedding day, how much you and your mother look alike, how lucky you are to have cousins (one expecting twins which gives you an immense feeling of how precious and special families are) and to have lived close to them , how amazing it is that your brother-in-law found the gospel and actively lives it. You realize that you have lived with the greatest friends in the world, that they are rooting for you, that people read your blog, that you EVEN MISS YOUR LITTLE BROTHER. You realize that you still get to watch Glee and Bones! Your best friend helps you out with secret online technicalities. And you get to sing all day because you are home alone.

And then after writing this entire post, you happen to catch your dad at home when he was taking a sick day.

Life can be pretty bitter-sweet, like an 85% dark Lindt chocolate bar. But the most advanced chocolate eaters can tell you that the darker it is the better.

love always,

megan jean

La Chat grande, magnifico, FAT

Holy fat cat. It was the fattest cat she had ever seen. Her eyes had never held their stare so long, so fierce, and with such purpose. She had never cocked her head that way before as she tried to determine if this was real life. He was breathing, moving—well as good as an obese cat could move—therefore, existing. She placed her hands around its neck, and then around her own. How could such a small animal have the same size neck as she

She was overcome with an intense and exhilarating desire to wrap a tape measure around his stomach. Her eyes opened wider as she fantasized about the number of inches it would turn out to be (or centimeters).

She even chuckled out loud as she kept her eyes on the beast. Marie Claude (pronounced Mah-rdy Claw-owd—“I am very French”) was draped over the side of the couch, as there was no room next to the good-year-blimp-cat, stroking him gently and talking about his age. “’E refuses to die. ‘E eez 22 years old. I think it eez too much work for him.”

This woman was the second most fascinating being to Megan, after the cat. She was raised in France, spent time living in England, and married an Italian. She loves Easy Cheese, which tells you right there that she is not your typical European. She loves D.I. and talks about the three second hand skirts she got in “you-ssa”, which is how she pronounces U.S.A. On the phone she had said, “No, I didn’t invite you over because I am nice. The truth eez I live wiz only men. I have no daughters.” For one year, she will have a daughter.

Their day together started at 2:00 p.m. Instead of going to conference they ate potatoes. “I love zem. I am from a part of France where we eat zem all zee time. I could live with only potatoes. Ze are zee only thing I can cook. I am not a good cook because I am not Italian.” (Duh! Because the French have never been known for their cooking . ? . ? .)

It was generally acknowledged by all three sons, husband, and wife, that she was no chef. Every time Megan politely commented on the taste of the food and how nice it was to be a guest, everyone shook their heads as Marie Claude said, “You are sweet. I knew you would be sweet. But theez eez not necessary”

After lunch, they spent time walking around beautiful Chieri. Megan was already in love with this town. She had been before by herself, and once with a friend. Chieri was where she had her first taste of Cioccolata calda.

As thick as pudding and as warm as, this is more than a drink. It is an elixir. First, you sip and close your eyes. You let it dissipate throughout your mouth and down your throat. Unabashedly, you smile and almost giggle even though the dark brown earth colored substance is all over your teeth. The barman looks at you with curiosity when you take a photo. You alone know what your family will appreciate when no one else would really understand—even if you spoke Italian.

This is what occupied Megan’s mind as they walked along the hilly, damp streets. The air was thick and wet, adding to the mulchy smell of the 17^th century church that they had stopped to see. From the courtyard, the entire city could be viewed. Megan talked to everyone with ease and comfort. She offered her little knowledge of the area and brought up the topic of truffles and mushroom hunting. Back at the house, she made a friend of the second son’s girlfriend—who looks just like her old Italian roommate Laura DiGiordano. She had all of them laughing and the mood stayed light. Again, she was sweet.

It was that same sweetness that would cause Megan to end up with a piece of art from one of the sons and a snow globe of the Eiffel Tower. With that she was also given Nicole Ricci perfume (wonderful) and some Clinique.

“I am thinking zat when I go to Paris in March, you should come wiz me to see my Father.” Of course, Megan was thrilled. But honestly, after all that excitement and with her arms full of gifts and a promised trip to Paris, she could not get her mind off of that fat cat.