Although muggy, Sunday was an outdoor day, so when I considered going Downtown for an afternoon photo shoot indoors, I balked slightly. Besides, what should I wear? LaVerne had said, "Something that shows your spirit," but I didn't feel very spirited.
I considered calling and begging off, but the good voice inside said, "You said you'd do it, so you have to go." It berated me for my dishonorable attitude and for the lack of spirit that caused me to stand before my closet talking to my clothes: "OK, which one of you says 'me' best?" None of them answered.
I didn't want to wear anything, it was so hot. But I had promised I would be there, and besides, how could I pass on something La-Verne Baker had cooked up?
If it was a LaVerne thing, it was going to be fun, probably fantastic. I slipped into a miniskirt and funky vest and grabbed a long-sleeved silk thing that doesn't say "me" but accents my eyes and headed to the Liberty Avenue loft of the Begler Group.
LaVerne became a fast friend five years ago when I interviewed her for a story. She was on billboards playing a drum to promote the Race for the Cure. At the time, she was directing an outreach program to urge African-American women to get mammograms. SisterReach was a joint venture of the American Cancer Society and Race for the Cure. She has orchestrated salons, symposia, fashion shows and calendars of cancer survivors. She has created a tremendous network of sisterhood to promote health and happiness.
Recently, she became the host of a Thursday radio show on WEDO-810 AM. Called the "Well Woman Radio Retreat," it airs from 4 to 5 p.m.
Sunday's photo shoot was a retreat of sorts, with "Aunt Cheryl the Caterer," singer-songwriter Trudy Holler on piano and about 40 women playing dress-up in a spectacular urban loft with a city view. The photos by Lisa Payne will promote activities of LaVerne's Well Woman Media, which will surely expand beyond a radio show. LaVerne is one of those people who gathers others as she moves -- "Here, c'mon, you're good at this, be with us," and, "You, come over here, you should know my friends." During our interview in 1996, she told me, "There's no limit to the connections you can make."
As women showed up in Sunday hats, cotton tunics, saris and bicycle gear, the atmosphere became more and more festive.
I had been sitting quietly, totally inside my head, thinking Sunday would be over before we all could be photographed in different outfits. Suddenly, I switched that button off.
The room was swarming with women laughing, taking pictures, trying on clothes, eating, being made up. I had never seen so many marvelous-looking women together in one room before. Mothers, grandmothers, humorous, wise, whimsical women, one with a tattoo, one in a wheelchair, one in a sari, wow, such a cluster of colorful women, a palette of brown to copper to gold to beige. Diversity, exactly. Yet under La-Verne's umbrella, we could let go and simply play.
Upstairs, she encouraged me to put on an Indian outfit in her wardrobe. I found a cotton batik ensemble. Tying the pants string at the waist, arranging the scarf over the tunic, I was transformed. The makeup artist told me my outfit called for a warm lip color.
I began to feel warm -- warm in these clothes, warm of inner color, warm of spirit. I loved this outfit. It was talking to me. I felt a sense of release among these women playing girl, as when we were kids playing pretend on languid afternoons.
Someday, we may join forces. If we see each other on the street, we can point and wink, smile to confirm sisterhood and some future probability of action.
No matter what makes us different, women are a universal "we." We know our nuances and all the nuances we receive. We know what the looks we throw each other mean and what they don't, every one of them. We all have in our vastly different experiences the core being, the knowing, of girls.
As LaVerne thanked everyone for being there, she said, "It's so great that everyone is here. No one said no."
I thanked my inner voice. I felt like a well woman. In fact, I felt a bout of unfettered exuberance coming on.
And it was time to be photographed.
Diana Nelson Jones' e-mail is djones@post-gazette.com.
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