Mixed Feelings

I was sorting out the summer wardrobe which resides in a chest on my large landing. Reminiscing, as I do, over happy events where I inhabited these clothes.

And then the moment of horror and joy, when I realize that none of it fits me. I've been a long proponent of only having in my life - in racks and closets and drawers - only the clothes and underwear that fit me. Everything else, no matter the price or style or memory, gets tossed. I do not want to evaluate myself by a size number or a perceived dietetic or physicality failure. And my size has fluctuated wildly over the years.

Even my designer outfit, which I wore to my Seanchaí debut is now kaput, a good friend remarked: my gawd when did you start wearing a tent? I hadn't noticed, being swept up, as I was, by my patron's generosity. So yes, two of us could have resided quite happily in the yurt of my top. See above. Yes, a picture of the debut as promised with, through the kindness and skill of my friend Ramana, my anonymity preserved.

So today, as I was sorting through these linens and cottons and silks (Oh joy, summer is sorta here in Newfoundland) only a few of the items fitted. One I had trouble releasing, a favourite linen beige pants, which I upheld with a belt but when I looked in the mirror a drindl skirt effect was evident. Pleats and bunches surrounded my waist, lapping over the belt, drooping in folds, like a toddler's wet nappy, across my smallish arse. Toss.

I packed a huge bag up for charity, glad that someone could now avail of these somewhat lovely clothes. These cottony bits and pieces that no longer belong in my life.

I am simplifying and minimizing.

For after all, how much clothes do I really need?

Family Heirloom

With some families it's wedding dresses.

With others it's some lovely old china. Or silver teapots. Or oil paintings.

With us?

I'll give you the story.

Yorkville. 1970 or thereabouts. Before it went all trendy and millionaire-rowish on us.

I have a brand new pair of hipster white jeans and need to find the perfect accessory.

And in those days in Yorkville amongst the headshops and coffee shops and bars were little leather shops which sold jesus-sandals and weedbags and other handmade bits and bobs.

And there I found it. Not realizing that I was buying a legacy that would be passed down for centuries.

My white jeans and subsequent blue jeans wore out but the accessory lived on. I passed it on to my husband, who wore it for years. In turn, he passed it to our daughters and ditto. It makes the ever-ready battery look lifeless.

And Grandgirl is here for a month. And guess what she's wearing?

This precious heirloom. Looking as fresh and as new as ever.

And here it is:

The Family Belt.

It should be good for another six generations.

Priceless.

Murphy's Laws

"The more you want to hide and be on your way, the more people will insist on grabbing you by the arm and engaging you in a long discourse."

I have this appalling habit on this righteous planet. I love nightwear as daywear. There, I said it. Particularly my pyjamas which come in many colours and combinations. If I were the owner of this world I would make jammies mandatory wear. For everything. I envy the young of today who have taken this rule to heart and venture just about everywhere in their jammies and often with a teddy bear in tow too. My kind of people.

I have this long designer coat given to me by my generous benefactor. It is a lovely coat. Elegant. Deep turquoise, gold buttons. You know where I'm going with this, right?

I've discovered if I can jam my jammies (lol) into my boots, throw on the coat, glove and hat myself to keep out the chill and hide the bird's nest of hair, I can make you lot believe I am conforming to Senior Wear Canada.

So thus disguised I go to the local store today. And meet half the neighbourhood who are in the shop. This is the bigger shop on the peninsula, about 7km from my house and it has vegetables and fruit and meats and fish. I had to peel off the Aran hat to show the pattern to two interested knitters, and one of my card buddies had to tell me about the time he worked in Toronto and loved it, then an injured fellow from one village over gave me an update on the physiotherapy on his arm, taking far too long, and the shop owner himself was upset that I hadn't been around in a while even though I assured him I had, but it was his wife and daughter who were running the show at the shop while he had a day off and yes, they showed me their 250 pictures from their Irish trip. Mistake. He asked me what were my favourites and did I think he'd enjoy it if he tagged along next time? What should he see?

Meanwhile, I keep a tight grip on Da Coat which is covering a brilliant emerald green and orange jammie set. I have enough comments on my bright pink Uggs without causing the complete collapse of what passes for Outport Society with a surprise display of my unmentionables.

My Clobber*

* "clobber" is a word we use in Ireland for clothing. As in: "I'm wearing my best clobber to the wedding."

Irene had a great post about her personal style today which got me to thinking of mine.

And I do have one, and have had one for a long, long time. I had a few sidetracking experimentations over the years but always came back to what works best for me.

Long hair.

Long skirts, though I was a great one for the minis in my time.

Long cotton/linen/cashmere sweaters.

Long colourful scarves.

Leggings.

Long colourful coats.

Hoodies.

Bright T-shirts.

Jeans.

Men’s cotton shirts.

Interesting cardigans in wild colours.

Long black stockings.

Black patents shoes

Uggs

Birkenstocks.

A yellow slicker for the rain
with
Bright yellow rain pants

No nail polish, ever.
No fur, ever.
No leather, ever.

I have a passion for purses, knapsacks, rucksacks, bags and all kinds of “sacs du jour” as the family have it. I’ve never found the perfect one but have come close on occasion. My current bright red one which I’ve had for nearly a year: a personal record, holds the current book, the digital camera, my knitting, my journal, my palm pilot, my cell phone, several pairs of glasses, my very large wallet, pens, lip gloss, nail clippers, chewing gum.

I’d like to find a teensy tiny laptop for it, to interface with my large one and which would bring itself to life in a wifi area. No: a Blackberry or I-phone is too small. I’m not I-Podded yet but expect to be, maybe interfacing with the teeny tiny laptop.

What’s your clobber?