''Looks like there's sand blasting up ahead, roll up the (car) windows, will ya?'
Today I'm pondering the use of the verb 'roll' in regard to car windows. Isn't it fast becoming outdated? Most cars now have power-windows which go up or down by way of a .... what would you call it .... lever? button? switch?
The automatic control is certainly not a handle, and the action required to raise or lower the window is no longer a 'rolling'. Was it ever, though? Rolling a window up or down requires that one take hold of a handle, crank it it in one direction or the opposite direction - with a rotating action. That's what it always meant to 'roll the window' up or down. Though I now wonder if that action really qualifies as a 'roll'.
Hmmmmmmmm. This could boggle the mind - if there weren't already so many other things in life that serve to boggle, which all of us could/should be more concerned with than this .... but since we're already on the subject....
Now that the majority of vehicles have electrically powered windows, has the mechanism remained the same? It appears that is so, and the only difference is whether the operation of raising and lowering the car window is done manually or via electricity ('push of the button'). If the mysterious inner workings of raising or lowering the panel of tempered glass hasn't changed, would it still be accurate (if it ever really was) to stay with 'roll the window'? If not, what should we be saying instead?
When I was a kid in the 1950's - 60's, my Mom used to call our refrigerator - the 'icebox'. Indeed - in her youth (Mom was born in 1918), cold storage space in the kitchen was, very simply, a box that contained food, kept cold by ice. This was before electrically run refrigerators became widely available to the masses. Keeping foods cold in an icebox required that from time to time, a huge block of ice be placed into it to keep things cold. When the ice gradually melted away, it was replaced by another big block of ice. Hence, the ice-man would cometh.
Even after she'd been enjoying electrically run refrigerators for a number of years, Mom continued to call the kitchen cold storage unit aka our fridge - the 'icebox'. Though decades have passed, my memory remains vivid and clear of Mom instructing my brothers and me to 'Put the leftovers in the icebox'.
'Roll down / roll up' ----- food for thought on a cold n' rainy December morn.
While our thinking caps are choogling along on the topic of rolling up/down - it's time for me to head to the kitchen to forage for lunch fixins' - in the icebox...
where it stops - is down around my feet - and in a relatively short time from start to finish.
Last weekend, I bought myself a Hula Hoop.
Thought it might motivate me to move/exercise a wee bit. At the very least, 'something to do whilst watching TV'. Yeah, right.
It's not a for real brand name Wham-O Hula Hoop, but a wannabe.
The color is hot pink. It makes a whirring (aka wannabe 'shoop shoop') sound when it goes 'round. The sticky can't get it off too easily price label makes claim that the hoop is supposed to smell like bubble gum, but I don't smell nuthin'. Perhaps this hoop was too long for the warehouse.
Anyways - the bright pink plastic hoop thingy cost me only a little more than $3.
$3. Less than a cuppa $tarbuck$ fancydancysuperduperventimochachiccachicca coffee.
A bit more long lasting too. And a heck of a lot more fun. Granted, I don't hula-hoop (forgive my combining the two words and using it as a verb) any more the way I did as a kid, when I could shimmy both clock-wise and counter-clockwise, and for a record breaking (in my mind) number of revolutions. With no pain.
These days, at the ripe old age of .... well never mind the number ... just know that it's been quite a few decades and then some, since those kid days ... I can still manage quite a few clock-wise rotations, but it is not without stress and strain on my feet, knees and torso to do so. It didn't happen 'before', but now, hula-hooping gets me out of breath.
After the purchase of said hoop, as HubbyDear and I drove home with it in the back seat of the car - I asked him - 'Who invented the Hula Hoop, anyway?'.
The 2009 movie is certainly sweet, and the re-make has its good points. First of all, it looks yummy: with pleasant photography, lighting and even a novel 'dog's POV'. It features a cast of talented actors in what seemed to be supporting roles to a beautiful Akita dog (who performed his role well by always being on his marker and jumping up on 'his people' at the appropriate moments). However, the connection between dog and humans seemed, at best - contrived. It just wasn't convincing. That, or the heart of the film was inadvertently edited out.
It was only by a stretch of MY imagination that brought the desired emotional tear jerker response to this man-loves-dog-loves-man story. It was what I struggled to see in Hachiko's sad doggy eyes as he watched for his Never Ever to Return Again Master to come through those station doors...
Even so, one shouldn't have to work so hard for the sentimental magic that should have been crashing forth in waves of emotion from the movie itself. Blame it on the direction? Editing? Acting?
The movie is only an hour and a half long, but oh - what a long hour and a half to slog through whilst awaiting 'the bond' to take hold and deliver.
Another example: The original Japanese 'Shall We Dance' (1996) ~ a charming film. Then it got Hollywood-ized (coincidentally ??? - starring Richard Gere) and the Hollywood high-gloss polish slicked over some very subtle and beautiful points offered by the Japanese film.
Once again, something very clear and dear to the original feel of the story was lost in the re-making of it for the western audience.
As evidenced by the plethora of opinions found on the internet, the subject of pantyhose is not a new topic. The most popular pondering on the topic of full lower body hosiery seems to be whether or not women wearing pantyhose (of the 'nylon' variety) aka tights - is still considered stylish. Also - if donning pantyhose is as practiced as once was. To go bare-legged is one fashion statement. To wear hose is another. The former is most often considered chic/young/free. The latter has been deemed one of two extremes: SexySleek (depending on the type of hose) or Old-Lady (more in keeping with what's in my closet).
I've yet to address the subject of pantyhose on b's blog. It is fashion after all, and we occasionally speak of wearables here, and so it goes. Those who are not interested may click away. Now. Here's a little not-about-pantyhose vid to send you on your merry way.
Here then, is my missive on the might and right of the humble pantyhose. On a personal note, this may not be a question of 'to wear or not to wear'. Rather, this may be a thinly disguised conversation with self about my ongoing quandary of 'keep'' or 'do away with?' superfluous stuff. With little doubt, it's a re-organizational query. No matter. Onward.
This morning, as I was putting some freshly laundered, air-dried and neatly folded socks (hand-knitted, BTW) away in my sock storage area, I had to - once again - shift a virtual mountain of pantyhose over to make room.
Having to shove a 2' high pile of folded pantyhose over to make room for precious hand-knitted socks has become a source of irritation to me. This may seem trite, and it is - but everyone knows how the little things add up to become major irritations, grouchiness, bitchiness and et cetera.
In speaking of pantyhose, do understand that I'm not addressing fun, pretty leg coverings to wear when one feels like being a hottie. Not going down the lacy garter belt, seamed and patterned super sheer hosiery route. We're talking about practical, regulation nylon pantyhose with cotton crotch and full spandex panty-like top. Full length lower body stretchy clingy hosiery. Thin to thickish knit elastic - at the same time - delicate to the point of easy breakage...
To keep or not to keep? To wear or not to wear?
Here are my facts:
(1) the substantial stack of still-new-in-the-packages (truth be known, these were probably purchased over a decade ago!) as well as slightly worn (then laundered) pantyhose (the last time worn might have been 5 or more years ago) in my possession has been kept clean/stacked beside my ever growing sock (did I already make mention that they are hand-knitted?) collection.
(2) I possess pantyhose in 'nude and suntan' tones, as well as in colors (gray-purple, black, navy, brown and I even have a muted green) are still being stored away with my accessories wardrobe for the sheer (obvious, but acceptable pun?) reason that I may someday wear them again.
To be sure ...
(3) I hate wearing pantyhose. Always have. Always will. The elasticized or snug fit waistband works itself into the creases of my muffin top belly. The intersection where the legs are attached to the 'panty part' pinches. Pantyhose will, and this is inevitable - get snagged on things - causing runs and holes - which ruin a pair of hose immediately. Especially when wearing brand new pantyhose, the wearer must be very wary to keep safe distance from jumping dogs, kitties (even for a cute stretch, they extend their claws), the edges of old wood coffee tables, woven baskets and other rough edged or pointed objects. Suffice it to say that it would be unwise to sit on a rustic wooden bench if you have a new pair of pantyhose on, with exposed legs peeping out from under skirt or dress. Even crossing one's legs may mean the pantyhose fabric grazing against one's own shoes - which can easily cause a snag. Snags = the bane of existence for the wearer of pantyhose. Sometimes I'll punch a hole in a brand new pair with thumb or forefinger - in the simple act of pulling pantyhose on. Arrrggh.
Points 1, 2 and 3 thus stated --- pantyhose, or better yet - the thicker weave of knit leg coverings that Americans differentiate from pantyhose by calling 'tights' - can actually be excellent leg coverings when worn for cooler weather, when bare legs need a bit of warmth under skirts. Legs are protected from cold fall and winter drafts. Keeps ya cozy. Yet, for me - there's still the problem of that strangulating elastic waist band digging into my mid-section.
I feel everything on my clothing. Tags, folds, loose nylon threads, fibers with any itchiness.
I also don't like dressing in layers. Pantyhose add one more layer to the dressing mix.
Wearing it can feel like a sausage casing for some of us who are sensitive to every shift of fabric as it tries to bind itself onto another fabric.
Yes, though relatively thick-skinned and indelicate (I really relate to my Southern Chinese Cantonese Farmer ancestry) -- I do have a little Princess & the Pea thing going here.
Given a choice, I'd live on a tropical island.
Wear a wonderfully loose fitting muu-muu type shift every day. The fewer layers the better.
Go bare-legged.
Well.
I guess that more or less settles the questions of both to wear or not to wear as well as to keep or get rid of.
Goodbye to the many practical, nude to deep brown to black colored nylon pantyhose in my sock storage area.
I don't need you no more.
Been there. Done that. Wore it. Sooooo over it.
(Ssshhhhhhhh - still keeping a couple pair of the warmer tights....) (Just in case)
Introducing a new label (not that I keep up so well with categorizing past posts that it justifies adding another label...). I'm calling this one Photo-Play.
At times I find myself high and dry and at quite a loss to create a brand new chatty blog post. When this happens, I'll typically post a music or movie vid, courtesy of youtube, Hulu or the like. Otherwise, I am silent. Consequently, days and weeks go by without a post. Bloggers with big gaps between posts start to lose touch with their blogs. Loyal readership wanes. Few bloggers, including myself, don't want either to happen.
Although blog concepts may be few and far between on occasion, there's still likely inspiration (of the visual variety) to be found in my ever increasing stockpile of new/old photographs. These pictures are all over the place. Most prints are stored in boxes on the closet shelf. The digital ones are scattered about, hopelessly unorganized, in my computer. Even so, it's still possible to pull together a couple/few images that qualify as 'playful' (or poignant) and share them here. My goal with photo-playing is to create a wee vignette of two or more pix that has meaning to me. If it prompts a smile from you, or idea jumping-off-point for you, so much the better.
Aside from this lengthy intro, for future Photo-Play posts, pix will appear sans explanation.
This first Photo-Play essay is titled 'Kids in Kar Seats'.
This is the short list of street and playground games I used to play as an elementary school kid, growing up in the North Beach/ Chinatown/Nob Hill district of San Francisco. The backyard of our rented flat was small, yet sufficient in size for roller skating in an oval configuration, or to stage mini versions of Big League Baseball games. Urban playgrounds were few, far between and small in size as well. But life was simple and we didn't require much to have fun. We just went out - and played. Every day.
Times have changed, but have the games?
How do children play on the playgrounds/streets of SF today?
Are they still exercising both small and large motor skills with the simplest of props/toys? Practicing solo, as well as interacting with their buddies?
Or -
are kids, even when in the company of their peers, 'clicked' into a self-imposed solitary confinement via their iPhones or mp3 players?
[ image of jacks and ball is from http://www.zazzle.com/tokyo_jacks_pop_art_poster-228906404180477513 ]
Bonus pic/caption:
Oh, how I miss my roller skates (circa 1950's), which were metal clamp-on style Union brand, with leather straps padded with plaid-design foam strips and ball-bearing wheels (a fascinating study in and of themselves when they fell apart, with ball bearings spilled everywhere). They came with a skate key to tighten the nuts. I wore the key on a string 'round my neck.
OK, this may not be the most appetizing of blog topics.
Odd pic too, isn't it? But there's a good reason for me to choose it. Read on.
Allow me to proceed with a mini missive on the subject of snot. Please. It may serve to enlighten you, as it did me.
It is especially timely to write of snot because it appears in such generous quantities at this time of year.
Explanation: Here in the Northern Hemisphere, we are experiencing our summer morphing into fall, which typically brings with it the onset of the cold and flu season. Bugs out of the woodwork, as it were. Because of the many environmental factors contributing to how germs grow and thrive, quite a number of you out there will succumb, like I recently have - to one or another of the many viral meanies out there.
Lest I change my mind about this questionable blog topic, let's proceed with haste...
I should preface any further discussion of snot by stating that I've been suffering from a terrible head cold for almost a week. DollinkGranddaughterLB very generously passed on some pre-school germies to me when I babysat her a week ago. I would talk more now about how brilliant/beautiful this little one is, but that is another post for another day...
So, let's get back to the subject at hand - or - rather - nose.
Ahem.
I suppose this would be a good time to sub in the word 'mucus' for the more street-worthy, and therefore decidedly more offensive term - 'snot'.
Next, a brief description of my mucus activity of last week, quickly followed by a link. Yes, I'm trying to keep this post relatively short. Stay with me now.
For 6 days and nights now, I've been blowing my poor drippy nose into facial tissues. Used up a box of (real deal) Kleenex, then another. Switched to using a roll of ultra soft toilet paper. I've been getting the 'mega rolls', so there's a lot in each one. It seemed the more economical thing to do. Until I quickly used up two rolls. blowing the endless mucus. On my third roll at present.
Staying home from any of my normal activities, I had not much else to do these last days but nap, read a bit, play on the computer (roll of TP, and a trash can nearby), watch a lot of television and - of course - more blowing of the nose. So much blowing that dee awea awound by noze started to get weally wed.
I wondered when I'd be feeling better. Upon awakening each morn, I'd find more mucus awaiting in my sinuses, draining to my nose - and eventually moving down to my chest (bad news for a newly diagnosed asthmatic).
I got to wondering...
Where oh where does the endless supply of mucus come from? When, if ever - is the over- production of mucus ever going to cease? I'm so sick of being sick. When oh when will I actually feel normal better again?
Another thought came to mind: I'm overdue to write a blog post. Can't keep my fans waiting and wondering what the 'ell happened to me and where the 'ell I've been. But what topic should I post about? I sat here at the keyboard, toilet paper in hand, a hot cuppa herbal infusion laced with lemon and honey on the computer table, contemplating snot mucus. Could not keep my fingers from typing into the blog title space: snot.
So there you have it.
Without further ado, right below is that link I promised, too many words later (OK, I lied again about being brief).
and a couple of other trivial things to ponder today.
Dust on and around computers and televisions.
... I only ever use an LCD monitor cleaner + a microfiber cloth to apply the cleaner with.
But am willing to try a dryer sheet around the base of the computer. Maybe.
Entertaining. Smart. Inspiring.
Super cooooooooooooooool.
What's not to love?
I have far too many favourite Ted talks to list here, but here is one to whet your appetite to seek out more to devour:
Don't be fooled.
This really isn't meant to be an Old MacDonald singalong. (Though the follow-the-bouncing cow is a cute touch, don't you think?)
This post is actually about Old Macintosh computers.
More specifically - MY old Mac computers.
Here's the thing,
I generally use a computer for MANY YEARS before replacing it with a new one.
Typical life span of a computer in my home is ---- 6 years - sometimes longer. By the time I upgrade myself to a new machine, several generations of Macs have already come - and gone. How smart is Apple to keep those freshly re-designed machines a-comin'?!? Apple counts on the fact that rabid fans of Mac look to keep a-buyin whatever the next best thing that appears on the Mac horizon. $$$
Unlike generations of human families, which cycle 'round every 20 years or so, a generation in the world of Mac is relatively short. Within 6 months of buying a new computer, that machine is already considered yesterday's model. By the time another 6 months go by, the one you 'just got' is just about obsolete - replaced by the latest greatest newest reincarnation.
The newer computers strive to be bigger but slimmer/ or smaller and therefore more portable, but still incredibly efficient. Each gen is speedier than its predecessor. Smoother and sleeker is part n' parcel of the latest packaging. Every new version of the Mac machine is more bee-yoo-tee-full than the last. Sure, some terrific bells and whistles go missing, but you can count on them being replaced with even more amazingly heart-stopping, breath stealing features.
OMG.
I can't keep up - and don't try - and make it a point never to step foot into an Apple Store for a peek at the latest offerings. Those places are techno magnets of the most heavenly variety. Liken a visit to one as 'just going to LOOK at the irresistible newborn puppies'.
Replacing technics every year or two is far too costly a hobby for my pocketbook, and anyway -
that is not my concern today - and certainly not the reason for this blog post.
Though it may seem so.
My bigger problem has to do with what happens after the acquisition of a new machine. Following the anxiety ridden decision-making and figuring how best to finance the new 'puter - I am left with what to do with the 'other one' - aka Old Mac.
Put simply, I do not know how to dispose of the previous model of Mac that I've just been using. Or the one before that.
At this writing, there are currently three, no - four - Macs coexisting on or about The Homestead. The newest machine, a desktop, occupies the place of honor on my desk. The previous one has been passed along to HD (HubbyDear) for his periodic perusal of the internet. Because he's on the computer infrequently (preferring to park himself in front of another monitor - the TV screen), HD doesn't need the speedier machine. Or so I have determined. There's a very old Mac (hint: it's lime green, and so is its matching printer) in the garage that I'm trying to get rid of. along with any and all peripherals - besides the matching printer, there is a flat bed scanner, as well as downloaded and purchased manuals and how-to-use books. The fourth is an old laptop Mac, passed along to me via the DollinkDaughters. I do believe it's well over 6 years old - but darn it - the thing still works, albeit a bit slow to pick up my router's signal/ load pages/ respond to my many demands.
Three Old Macs.
I can't get rid of them.
Just thinking of doing so makes me feel traitorous.
I refuse to do the casual heartless throw away, can't bring myself to take them to the dump for landfill, or even to tech recycle. Tossing away an Old Mac. It just seems so wrong.
I have often wondered if anyone else felt this way about their Old Macs.
But it seems there are.
Fairly recently, I saw a documentary about Macintosh computers and the crazy wonderful smart eclectic creative and fun people who buy and use them. Part of the film was devoted to those who keep personal Mac Museums, which seems like an intriguing enough hobby to indulge in. However, most of these museums consist of little more than a dusty collection of Old Mac stuff, belonging to these 'collectors' as well as to other people. Some of the old computers still work. Most are broken, unusable pieces. All are - outdated. The museums are housed in spare bedrooms, storerooms, garages.
So it's true. Many an Old Mac does not simply die and get added to the top of a recycle tech pile. They just get moved to a shelf in the garage. To collect dust. And stay the happy memories.
Fact: Mac users do LOVE their Macs. It's a bit of a sickness, rooted in an appreciation of aesthetics and invention. I relate to this warped affection for the marvelous tech tools made by Apple, because I too fall under the spell and become enamored of every aspect of a new Mac. The look of it, the ease of running it. Though for me - being so low tech, all of computering is a challenge. Yet...Mac is so damn user friendly. Plus, calling for help under the warranty puts you in touch with tech help who are so darn friendly/cute.
My love for Mac has already proven possessive to the point where it is near impossible to let go the old relationship when time comes for a new one to begin. How can I possibly completely give up all connection to my Old Mac when the New Mac comes along?
Oooooh - I just felt a twinge. An ache. That which I recognize as the pain of a Mac enthusiast who is not able to 'let go'.
I don't believe PC people have this - uh - er - issue. I've never heard a PC owner bemoan having to move the old PC on to make way for a new PC.
I should think they merely toss their old PCs into the trash. I picture them happily flinging the darn thing right onto the top of the heap.
So - bottom line of my dilemma is that I've got 4 Macs in what should essentially be a one and a half two Mac house.
What to do what to do.
Perhaps I'll sing a few bars of Old MacDonald (with the bouncing cow) as I wait on an epiphany...
a Jean-Claude Van Damme movie in its entirety.
Until today.
Oh, maybe I've seen a few minutes of one.
Once.
A long time ago.
In JCVD, Jean-Claude Van Damme serves as executive producer. And get this - he's in the starring role, and plays none other than ---- Jean-Claude Van Damme.
The film is a huge departure (as advertised) from standard 1980's Van-Damme fare. The 90 minutes was easy to watch, save for one of the supporting bad guy roles - whose rather unattractive character I found to be rather a boring stereotype. (SPOILER ALERT!! Boy, was I glad when that pisspot was killed off)
The featured monologue by JCVD (which is what first brought my attention to the film) alone is worth the price of admission renting the movie.
In my humble, 'Older Van Damme' is certainly worth a damn.
Don't buy this one by Farberware, or any other Farberware basting spoon that looks like it.
Why not this one? It is poorly designed. The weight of the comfy, cushy attractive handle throws the tool off-balance. When this spoon is used to stir something in a shallow cooking pan, then set to the side of that pan (with or without food in the spoon part) - the tool flips right out of the pan, due to the weight of the handle. Food everywhere and the basting spoon ends up on the floor.
No good.
When you go to choose a nylon basting spoon for your cooking needs, check the weight of the tool by balancing the center of it on your palm, as if it were a seesaw.
I got rid of this bothersome spoon and bought one for $1.44 at Target.
Good.
I was 16 years old when I 'met her', by way of the 1967 Swedish movie of the same name; the title character played by Pia Degermark. Directed by Bo Widerberg.
When the film 'Elvira Madigan' played at my neighborhood theater, I went to see the evening showing several times that week: after school/dinner/ homework.
I recall sitting through it several times on a Saturday. Back then, one could pay the price of admission and just - well, never leave the theater all day. That weekend, I was in Elvira Madigan Heaven.
The movie also introduced me to Mozart's Piano Concerto #21 in C (K467).
The andante movement is played as the movie's theme - quite frequently - throughout the entire film. In truth, it really was repeated ad nauseam, but that mattered not to me, who found the music to be magical and mesmerizing. I wasted no time before running out to buy the Deutsche Grammophon phonograph recording by Geza Anda. That way, I could listen to it ad nauseam whenever the 'Elvira' spirit moved me.
That week in 1967, when 'Elvira Madigan' played at the Palace Movie Theater in San Francisco, I became completely and hopelessly smitten
with Elvira Madigan aka Hedvig...
with Sixten Sparre ...
... with dizzying romance ...
... and tragedy.
... I fell in love with the lilting andante of Piano Concerto No. 21, and wanted more more more Mozart ...
'Elvira Madigan' was also the film that revved up my interest in slow-moving, richly aesthetic, beautifully directed, undubbed foreign films ... (with English subtitles).
I love this stuff. Eat it up for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Though I now include foreign films of many genres. Other than slow-moving and aesthetic.
Yet how very delicious was that first exposure to 'art house foreign film' - simply the best introduction.
Ahhhhhh.
Sweet, impressionable 16.
Believe it - once upon a time - that be me.
Last year, we set Mom-in-Law up with a Sunnygram account. She has been receiving weekly, via snail mail - for real, hard-copy (yes, printed on paper!) newsletters. Each newsletter is filled with news and photos of - Mom-in-Law's family.
How to?
Those who are on her 'Sunnygram contact list' submit e-mails in her name to the Sunnygram company. Each week's submissions are then compiled by the Sunnygram service into a hard copy newsletter, which is then snail-mailed to M-I-L that same week. Newsletters are printed on heavy duty 8 1/2" x 11" paper, and have been anywhere from a page to five or more pages in length. Whether the newsletter is bulked up or skimpy fewer in pages depends entirely on how many e-mail submissions come in for the week. It also depends on the length of each one and how many photos are attached. Each newsletter entry is composed directly from the text and photos of the e-mails.
M-I-L doesn't have or use a computer. Nor does she wish to. Her preferred modes of communication with family have always been via in-person visits, phone calls or cards and letters sent through the postal service.
The reality is that before Sunnygram newsletters, Mom-In-Law wasn't always bombarded with regular communication from her brood, and would sometimes bemoan that fact. Sadly, she felt out of touch. Now, with weekly newsletter updates, M-I-L is more or less 'caught up' with family news/trivia. This makes for a very happy camper. No doubt she'd still love to get those visits, calls and cards --- but the newsletters serve as a nice bridge 'in between'.
The woman fairly raves about her newsletters. She eagerly awaits her weekly Sunnygram. If ever another positive testimonial was needed by the company...
For those of us on her Sunnygram 'senders list', it takes but a few seconds or minutes to create an e-mail note, with or without photos attached. Mom-in-Law appreciates long letters but one liners thrill her as well. She wants, very simply - to hear word. Thus, it behooves us senders to commit to a moment set aside each week to send a note. It really is as simple as sending a 'Twitter tweet' or a 'FB share'. Even the briefest word from those of us whose lives and schedules are so busy (much busier than M-I-L's is anymore) is important. It really does serve to brighten her days.
I bought a sturdy box, covered in a rich blue fabric, that, coincidentally, picks up the accent color of M-I-L's living and dining rooms (whooooohoooooo!). Gave it to her for Sunnygram storage. M-I-L's got those newsletters numbered and filed away in chronological order. Easily accessible. To read and re-read. Which she does.
When I go for a visit, I go through and read her Sunnygrams, so I too can find out what's up with the rest of the fam!
b's blog posts serve as reminders to myself of the minutiae which criss-crosses my addled brain at any given moment. Essentially, I write a blog post for ME.
At the same time, by publishing such nonsensical trivia to this site, the missives become my gift to blog readers who happen along now and again. Whether your visits are by accident (clicking on a Google'd link) and only a few seconds in length, with no possibility of return; or if you are a regular visitor, purposely stopping in to linger for a quick read of aforementioned snippets.
Perhaps the mental meanderings of 'b' helps to pass a few entertaining minutes online. You stop in and there might be something of worth. Like a laugh. Or a bit of music. A memorable image. Movie or book reviews to excite. Craft ideas to inspire. A discussion of food to activate the salivary glands. A curmudgeonly bone to pick.
At best, a pondering.
All well and good.
For anyone who is a 'regular', please know that if the interim between my postings seems lengthy, it is not due to disinterest of, neglect of, or a indication of complete abstinence from blogging. It is that I am contemplating subject matter for the next post. Gearing up for the next composition. Sleeping on it. Awaiting the muse.
Blog post writing is all too often easier said than done.
Blogging takes a considerable amount of time. It uses a great deal of mental energy (which I seem to have less and less of nowadays). Writing a blog post also requires a tremendous amount of editing (though these posts may not reflect that effort).
Bottom line, in order to produce a post I might consider worthy enough to publish, I work hard at it. Yes, even in this 'anything goes' format.
'Just so ya knows', it took over 45 minutes just to write this.
Later, gators.
People to see, things to do, cookies to eat.
xo
What's not to love about The Small Dinner Party?Especially when it is a little (don't panic now - just a tad) - formal in presentation.
The Small Dinner Party should not be an uptight affair. Never overdone. What it could/should be is just a bit more stylish than a crowd of people eating out of serving dishes, using paper plates/cups, plastic cutlery. Nothing at all wrong with that, mind you. It's still a party with good times to be had. It just ain't The Small Dinner Party.
For The Small Dinner Party, you bring out the good dishes, whether they be stoneware or china, lacquerware, glass or mix and match. Use drinking vessels that are a pleasure to hold. REAL cutlery. Serve indescribably tasty food. Refreshing drinks. It's taking the time to set up an honest meal and inviting a handful of good folk over to share it. A winning combination of all these factors can turn staging a dinner into a creative, memorable, delicious event.
The thoughtfully prepared dining experience can be every bit as enjoyable as sitting alone and eating KFC with your hands, straight out of the 'bucket'. More thrills than wiping the residual fried chicken grease from your mouth with those skimpy paper napkins. To be sure, The Small Dinner Party can be oodles more satisfying. I repeat: oodles.
Let's plan The Small Dinner Party, then.
Ingredients for The Small Dinner Party
Guests, 4 to 8 in number - it would be nice to dress up a bit for the occasion (as in no shoes, no shirt, no service!).
Everyone seated together at a dining table (eating while standing is for crowded art gallery openings or sporty tail gate parking lot parties).
The dining table is set with coordinated dishware (not necessarily matching or too terribly formal). It's a pleasure to spend time at a table decked out in color, sheen and texture.
Mood lighting (As I get older, I really appreciate being bathed in soft lighting).
Tasty fare, any style, so long as it is prepared with the freshest ingredients and 'plated' (in lovely/smart-looking/novel serving dishes) to tempt the senses even before the first mouthful of food reaches the palate.
Mood music (be it your fave rock tunes, jazzy jazz, classically classical or what have you), played not-too-loudly in the background - is optional.
At The Small Dinner Party, being mindful of a classy, fun or even a themed presentation is an important part of the overall enjoyment.
Other Small Dinner Party Must-Haves: Stimulating conversation,
on a variety of topics (effortlessly and seamlessly incorporated into conversation throughout the evening), to enliven the group repartee.
Every guest feeling comfortable with participating in quick n' lively banter of ideas/anecdotes (those who 'monologue ad nauseum' are cordially NOT invited).
Active Listening (apart from appreciating the tastiness of the meal,
active listening is the responsibility of every guest at The Small Dinner Party). DO invite friends who are capable of balanced exchanges in conversation; who have at one time or other demonstrated the unique skill of integrating others into easy chitchat. The Ho-Hum Braggadocio, who speaks almost exclusively of him/her self, need not apply for invitation to The Small Dinner Party. He/she can stay home - alone - with that bucket of KFC.
Insight (conversing with others, there are always numerous opportunities to learn and discover).
Lots of good-natured laughter (for a good chuckle heals the heart and soul).
YES PLEASE and HUZZAH!
for
The Small Dinner Party.
There are lots of ways to approach the knitting of socks.
One approach is not to do it at all.
But that's not for me.
I love knitting socks. Once upon a time, I never thought I'd make such a statement, as sock
knitting is labor intensive.
Yet I find that it suits me.
I started with tiny knitting needles made of bamboo - 4 (sometimes 5) little sticks with points at both ends.
Skinny yarn.
A basic sock pattern.
I tend to stay with ribbed leg and instep designs. They fit nicely and knit up without too much bulk - or frustration. Socks that are entirely made up of stockinette stitch have a tendency to get stretchy and baggy. I like snuggy socks.
There are numerous ways to knit socks, and I intend to explore more of them from this point onward. I've completed almost 15 pair of hand-knit socks in the last few years, so it's time to branch out a bit. That doesn't necessarily mean that I will be adopting another approach more pleasing than the one I currently use, which is the 'classic approach' (see below). Just that the variations are out there and one may as well give 'em a try.
Matter of fact, I've already got the first sock of a little pair going on two circular needles for DollinkGranddaughterLB.
I really enjoy the traditional old-fashioned/style/way, of using little porcupine aka toothpick sticks and thinnish fiber. The needle weight feels right in my hands, yarn dances onto each needle with a subtle smoothness and the gentle click click click is soothing to my soul. It's quite satisfying to watch a sock 'grow', row by row, from those teensy needles.
I knit and I knit and when I'm done, I have a pair of pretty new socks.
And I do get done.
And I do wear those socks.
This is probably my second or third blog post devoted to hand-knit socks. Since learning to knit in my early 20's, I've knit many other garments and accessories over the ensuing decades (egads, but I'm old), but return again and again to sock knitting for Pure Knit Satisfaction.
Go figure.
A knit-wit sock knitting tip: I prefer a wool and nylon blend for hand-knit socks. Washable is nice, though I tend to hand-wash and line-dry my sock creations. Just because. All the new wools are non-itchy -- that is, the offending fibers that makes for itchy wool is not present in the yarn. Wool socks are soft and comfortable. Some sock yarn twists and/or splits when being knit on. It matters not whether the yarn is expensive or inexpensive. Much depends on a combination of factors: the knitter's hold on the needles, the needles themselves and the yarn. I've had pricey sock split and twist on me, and have knitted with cheaper sock yarn sans any break, split or twist incidents at all.
Pictured above is a recent sock completed; with the other awaiting a cast onto those little needles. The yarn is a beautiful wool/nylon blend. A pricier sock yarn than what I usually use ($17.50 to knit a pair of socks). The color was right, so I bought it. Otherwise, I tend to use sock yarns that cost considerably less.
If you knit, and haven't yet tackled sock-knitting, why not give it a go? There's no big secret to it, save for 'follow the directions'. If that holds no interest, find someone (other than me) who is willing to knit a pair for you. At the very least, someone who will let you try a pair on, so you can feel the difference - and wish - that you too - had a pair of hand-knitted socks.
Earlier this week, I donated to Goodwill - 9 of the 11 Alexandra Stoddard books I own. Alexandra Stoddard is a designer and an inspirational life coach. She's written books - lots of them.
I purchased quite a few during the 1980's and have read all of them.
Voraciously.
Cover to cover.
Now I'm moving the books on, so that someone else might enjoy and learn from them.
Passing on the volumes was easier said than done, for Stoddard was, at one time - my improve-your-life / make your-home-a-private-haven-as-well-as-welcoming-to-others guru / mentor/ inspirational maven.
I've incorporated a great deal of her philosophy on life/living as my own. Recently came across the books again on the shelves of my home library and leafed through them. Flashback - to happy memories of the period in my life when, from these books, came guidance for a life lived with grace and style. Suffice it to say that I got my money's worth with the books. Adopted, adapted, trying to stay with the program. Now it's time to pass the books along.
May I share with you some Stoddard wisdom as I interpret it...
To take pleasure in the rituals that make up one's daily routine. Those recurring acts we perform that define a rhythm to our everyday. A cup of tea, served in a lovely china cup and saucer (or coffee poured into a favourite mug). Fluffing the bed pillows. Taking the dog for a walk. Feeding the cat. Opening the mailbox and finding the gift of a card or letter sent to you by a friend. Preparing breakfast. Sitting down to eat it. Opening the blinds to consider the day's weather. A hot shower. Listening to your favourite music whilst commuting to work. Shopping. Walking. Planning. Running errands. Sitting down. Taking your shoes off at the end of a long day.
Chopping vegetables with a sharp knife. Folding clean laundry. Taking the time to relive and enjoy a memory. Hugging. Laughing so hard that you cry. Doing the newspaper crossword puzzle. Taking a photograph. Making connections.
Stuff like that. And more.
Learning to treasure the little things that render a moment significant. Savoring the sensation of a taste, a texture, a sound.
To celebrate the joy of color - be it brilliant or subtle.
How to be true to oneself. To be radiant, yet modest.
To understand that silence can be golden. And classy.
Alexandra Stoddard emphasizes the importance of creating a home. A place that, more than anything - reflects the personality of its inhabitants. As a designer, she encourages development of the ability to take note of line, color and composition - at the same time, injecting personal meaning into one's home decor. No cookie cutter environment (copied from the pages of Architectural Digest) is as welcoming as a setting that is hand-picked and hand-made. The appeal of mismatch, whether made by conscious effort or accidental. No living, bedroom or dining room 'suits' for students of Stoddard. There really is an undeniable cozy factor that an eclectic decor can evoke, serving to cuddle one's own well-being. Eclectic can also convey a warm 'welcome' to guests.
Besides the art of personalizing one's life and environment, another thread runs throughout her many books - that communication is primary to living a good life with others.
I am reminded again and again of how important words (whether written or spoken) are as the tools to build, maintain and repair relationships. Just as active listening is key to keeping the portal of a friendship open, constant, accessible.
From the time when I began a study of her writings, I came to understand what it means to develop, maintain and grow a friendship. Also - how to be true to oneself by allowing some relationships to run a natural course, diminishing intensity on their own - gracefully. Not to fight the reality that some friendships are destined to fade. Not to be unafraid to put a deliberate end to interactions that prove toxic. To not waste time with poisoning our own greater life purpose with corrosive influences.
Stoddard, as a sensitive, caring individual, intimates how essential it is be a friend who pays attention.
To me, successful communication is a balanced exchange of ideas, thoughts and feelings.
These, and other lessons are now incorporated into my everyday, and I still strive towards goals set by Alexandra Stoddard's writings. With the passing of more than two decades, the books I own are decidedly oh-so-dated in style - yet the core lessons remain.
So the time has come to clear those titles from the home library. To make room for more books with more lessons. Without a doubt, there will be confirmation of the same tenets.
A fond farewell, then - to my clutch of Stoddard books.
Save for two. This one and this one.
I let them go -
but not without a most appreciative - ' Thank you, Alexandra '
Once upon a time in a galaxy far far away, I loved Bosco.
Bosco is a chocolate flavored syrup most often added to milk to make: you guessed it: chocolate milk. Instantaneously. Like Nestle's Quik - only much much better. Bosco makes cold or hot milk palatable.
Bosco can also be drizzled (generously) over ice cream for a delectable chocolate sundae.
When I was a kid and gaga over Bosco, my fave way to enjoy it was to forego the glass of milk and pour it straight out of the bottle onto a teaspoon which went directly into my mouth. Oh yeah.
Bosco was a must-have staple in the kitchen of my childhood. Years after I grew up and left home, the syrup was still available on grocery stores shelves. As an adult, I continued the indulgence.
Then, suddenly, one day - Bosco - was - gone. It just up and disappeared off the grocery store shelves. In time, I had to wonder whether it was still being manufactured. For years, I searched in vain for the thick-walled brown Bosco bottle, with a shape and girth something like a laboratory beaker on steroids. That which contained the tasty chocolate syrup within. There were other chocolate flavorings in abundance, both powdered and syrup - but not a bottle of Bosco to be had anywhere.
Time passed, and I continued to hunt for Bosco.
Then the internet became a search tool, and things started to look more promising in unraveling the mystery of the disappearance of Bosco. The internet really IS the super highway, where one can zip along and see new and old things, come across fresh (and even spent) ideas and innovations. The web is a wondrous place to spend hours upon hours, paying attention and learning. The internet can also reunite us with old friends (a special plug for Facebook), places in the past where we once trod - and - food products we once coveted.
But wait.
Years zip by.
Tastes change.
Palates become more, er, well - shall we say snobby - um, sophisticated.
Now that I am an aficionado of the very excellent cacao offerings of Sharffen Berger chocolate, will Bosco still offer that chocolate high of yesteryear?Or will what has always been the admittedly ersatz chocolate flavor of Bosco finally be fully detectable on my highly developed and discriminating taste buds? We adults like to think our maturation in all areas of life as an 'upgrade' from the more primitive leanings of our childhood. Yet in too many instances, our grown-up tastes/views are not always an improvement over the kid perspective....
Hmmmmm... food preferences....
I've mentioned time and time again on this blog that in my childhood home, the family ate fresh, from scratch, home-cooked fare every day. Canned, frozen and pre-prepped packaged foods were bought on occasion and considered special treats. I once thought Kraft Mac n' Cheese was deliciouso. No longer. Swanson TV dinners and pot pies were often heated up for weekend lunches, or as an after school snack. To eat one today would find me recoiling at the grease, the high sodium content as well as taking note that any meat product contained therein would yield a suspiciously rubbery chew. The very idea of Chef Boy-R-Dee canned spaghetti grosses me out now. There was a time when I ate it every week. Older and wiser, it's clear to me now that Mrs. Paul's frozen fish sticks are an abomination.
The jury is still out on Bosco. Now that I can secure it, should I or should I not buy a bottle for my larder - at the very least, for old times' sake?
When I fully suspect that a spoonful of the heavy corn syrup brew, with the negligible taste of faux chocolate, might very well prompt - the gag reflex?
Do I still love Bosco?
Do I really want an answer to that question after all this time?
Eh.
For a listen to the Bosco commercial jingle, click here - then on the arrow by the Bosco bottle.
Schematic 18th century engraving of a cacao tree by Dominican priest Jean-Baptiste Labat
My first encounter with a painting by Gustave Caillebotte was decades ago, at an exhibit of French Impressionism in San Francisco. The entire show was amazing, but I was 'floored' (pun intended) by a large piece titled the 'Floor Scrapers' (there are at least two by this title, but it is this one that blew me away).
The painting isn't appealing in the fresh and colorful way of most impressionistic art, nor in any traditional sense of pictorial beauty. Rather, 'The Floor Scrapers' is rendered in monochromatic earth tones. The subject matter is not a landscape, floral or a still life of fruit. What is depicted is a small group of half-naked men busily scraping the old finish off a wood floor. Hardly romantic subject matter.
The imposing size of the painting (40" x 57 3/4") is in itself arresting. The view of their sinewy muscled bodies combined with the dim lighting of the room they are working in - requires one to pause and consider the unusual subject. Taking all that in with this one piece of art - 'got to me'. I was fortunate to see The Floor Scrapers several times again on subsequent visits to the Musee D'Orsay.
Other paintings by Caillebotte grab and hold my attention in the same way. I find it hard to tear myself away...
Gustave Caillebotte was not the most popular of artists to emerge from his era - he was largely overshadowed by the biggie names in French Impressionists: Monet, Manet, Degas, Renoir, Cassatt, etc. - whose work he was such a devotee/ supporter. Their influence is evident in his painting, yet Caillebotte's style stands apart.
What appeals to me in Caillebotte's work are the unusual angles, and the way he poses his subjects - many of who stand with their backs to the viewer. It took years for me to understand that I liken his perspective (in regards to capturing images for painting) - to my own approach to photographing people / places / things.
Once, on a solo trip to London - I (very unexpectedly) happened upon a rare find. The Royal Arts Academy was showing a small exhibit of justCaillebotte's work. Just Caillebotte? I had to attend - and spent a couple of happy hours there, lingering over each painting. One on one. Up close and personal.
For almost a decade, I traveled to the Art Institute of Chicago annually, often several times a year. As a self-professed Caillebotte-maniac, my trips to Chicago would always include a pilgrimage to the Art Institute - specifically to spend quality time with 'Paris Street, Rainy Day'.
For years, a Gustave Caillebotte monograph has been amongst my prize possessions. I treasure it.
Very recently, I found this website. The complete works!?!
Includes pieces I've not seen in a museum or books anywhere in the world.
Nice.
My love and fascination of 2-D art runs the gamut from traditional representational stuff to contemporary color blocks - and back again. For some time now, I go into throes of artful rapture at the sight of expressionistic sketchy minimalist brushstrokes. Views of art change, grow, slip back and forth and between so many movements.
Yet Gustave Caillebotte's solid images of Parisian urban life will always hold a sweet and tender place in my art appreciation heart.
Due to very special, positive vibrations in the universe, a couple Dollinks-O-Mine and I are on the same wavelength this week.
DollinkDaughterLLS blogged about IT on February 23rd.
DollinkFriendD sent me an e-mail about IT today.
What is IT?
IT, my friends, is -- Letter Writing.
Letter writing.
Where you take an actual pen to an actual piece of paper
to write greetings of hello and thoughts of the day and sharing newsy chitchat...
...with family.
...with friends.
Letters that you address to an individual, and mail off to that person's place of residence or post office box.
Not e-mails.
Not FB messages.
Not IM.
Not Twitters.
Remember back a bit - if you were so lucky - to when you would receive the occasional friendly and heartfelt letter. How finding one in your snail mailbox always seemed like such a gift. How your heart might get to racing in anticipation of its content. How delightful to hold a letter in your hands and read it - over and over again. The tactile experience of handling the paper. Pondering over the individuality of the handwriting. Perhaps even trying to visualize where your friend was when writing these words to YOU.
Pen-to-paper letter writing has become something of a Lost Art. Wow - that might be a bit of an understatement. Handwritten letters are fast becoming an outdated and antiquated form of communication. Face it, sending letters through the mail is downright slow. Who regularly hand writes letters anymore? Come to think of it, who gives stationery as a gift anymore? Ironic, isn't it - that both are less common acts than ever before and yet - to get a hand written letter is a 'simple something' that is still so prized.
Once upon a time, I wrote many a letter of the pen-to-paper variety.
I miss the act of writing and the ritual of prepping a letter to mail.
I miss the sense of accomplishment I feel when sending a letter.
Moreover, I miss receiving replies from those I exchange letters with.
Any heartfelt letter, more so, a hand written letter - is a gift of one's time. Precious commodity, time.
It must be said that I embrace the instantaneous communication of e-notes. I have professed to being the Queen of E-Mail. However, let it be known that I do miss the old-fashioned version of correspondence.
Just last weekend, I began a pen-to-paper letter (on lightweight 'overseas stationery', yet) to a friend in Japan. At one time, DollinkFriendItoSan and I exchanged written missives very regularly. Lengthy letters. That is, until we were both caught up with the electronic word as a speedier means. Somehow, though - between the two of us, the e-word has never been as satisfying a way to stay connected as snail mail letters. I suppose ItoSan and I are decidedly old school.
Last year, as he does every year, DollinkFriendItoSan sent a chatty hand-written note with his annual Christmas card. Typically, to reciprocate the holiday greeting, I write and mail to him a brief Happy New Year note. This year I decided to pen him a real LETTER, several pages in length, which will be (very ceremoniously) folded and sealed into an (airmail) envelope, affixed with the appropriate postage and sent out in a day or two.
Boyohboy, will DollinkFriendItoSan be surprised. And pleased.
Hope upon hope, he will write back to me.
Many many years ago, (has it really been over two decades?!?) I sent away (yes, by snail mail) to The International Paper Company for printed copies of Garrison Keillor's article - 'How to write a personal letter'. I still have those two copies, kept in plastic page protectors to keep from getting creased and /or bent. These I keep in my desk of writing implements: blank cards, stationery, special pens and - get this - sealing wax and wax seals! Every once in a great while, I take out the article and read it through to remind myself of the importance of the hand-written word in personal correspondence. Modern technology makes it possible to share my romanticized, sentimental view of hand-written letters with you on this blog. 'Google' makes it possible for me to link you to Garrison Keillor's article as well. Enjoy.
I'll be going with a friend later this week for a dim sum lunch - to celebrate the Lunar New Year 4708: Year of the Tiger. Both of us can hardly wait.
The proper approach to enjoying a meal of dim sum includes taking the time to pay attention to your fellow diner(s) by engaging in conversation.
No, not just the mmmmmmm and ahhhhhhhh whilst downing each tasty bite, but
participating in lively and leisurely chitchat.
A wee bit of witty repartee goes a long way to making the most of the special occasion of sharing a dim sum meal. DollinkFriendL and I will most certainly do just that.
My fam-of-origin referred to eating dim sum in a restaurant as 'yum cha'. The expression 'yum cha' means to 'drink tea'. Those two words alone evoke a meal taken in a deliberately slow manner. Sipping cup after cup (traditional Chinese tea cups are small) of tea while nibbling on bite-sized morsels of tasty fare is the right way to go about 'yum cha'. Pausing. Considering. Savoring.
I have fond memories of special times with just me and my Dad in the mid 1970's - when we'd frequently head into San Francisco Chinatown to a dim sum eatery for lunch. Our favorite places were the little hole-in-the-wall dim sum dives. Once settled at a table and ready to tuck into the first of many dim sum dishes, Dad would be sure to say 'Mon mon sik'. Translation: 'Eat slowly'.
His other meanings --- 'No rush. Take your time. Drink the tea. Relax. Talk a bit. Eat a bit.'
Dad and I would proceed to sit for a good long time, beckoning at the waitperson to bring over one or two dishes at a time of both savory and sweet tidbits. We poured tea for each other. Sipped slowly. Chatted. Laughed.
This was definitely quality Dad N' Daughter time.
Taking tea, partaking of dim sum and making sure there was plenty of convivial conversation to enrich the dining experience.
Decided at the onset that I was NOT getting into this cutesy yarn play.
I've got quite enough in the way of ongoing fiber projects on knit/crochet needles not to bother, thank you very much.
Then, at the eleventh hour of the last holiday season, I found myself in the deep end of the arigurumi pool - by taking on the crocheting of not one, not two, but THREE 'Crobots' from this book. Amigurumi are made in pieces, which are SEWN together with yarn. One of the Crobots I made had about 14 separate crochet pieces, which needed to be individually stuffed with polyfil before being sewn together. After assembly of the pieces, Crobots need to be embellished. Big time.
Sorry, no pix to post, as I was playing the 11th hour 59th minute game - by putting finishing touches (sewing tiny beads, sequins, washers, screws, and affixing bendable wires) on the Crobots whilst a passenger in a car speeding towards San Francisco to a Christmas Eve party - which is where I gifted the three DollinkCrobots (they really did turn out to be very cute) to my DollinkSistahK.
Rumour has it that DSK enjoys them - thoroughly.
I chalked the experience as a 'been there, crochet'd that' bit of temporary insanity on my part. I mean, little crochet'd robotic thingys.
Now, really.
It's 2010 - a brand new year and a purposeful return to other creative pursuits.
Cleansing breath....
When it comes to material things, I don't ask for much (well, not too much).
Lifestyle of choice for the time being is to live fairly simply.
That stated,
I do keep an ongoing list of practical or just-for-fun items that I would someday like to purchase/ acquire. Stuff like:
(1) a new vacuum cleaner - I would say that the old one we have 'sucks', but it does a rather poor job of that job. It's so rundown now that it is duct-taped together in parts, which is not altogether an attractive look, even for a vacuum cleaner.
(2) a modest sized flat screen hdtv TV set that will deliver a nice clear picture (to better view the nature documentaries that I favor watching. I also enjoy Disney Pixar, Jane Austen films and a few blockbuster action films on such screens).
(3) more books that I will ever live long enough to read through, because there are far too many wonderful titles available that deserve an attentive perusal - and life is, well - damned short.
HOWEVER.
Oh bother with 1, 2 or 3.
Let's talk clothing accessories.
My favourite clothing accessory at this writing is a lightweight 100% cashmere scarfy shawl thingy, which was gifted to me (because I'd requested it) several Christmases ago. It's from Nordstrom's, and is pretty much known within the Nordstrom shopper's circles as 'the Nordstrom's (tissue weight) cashmere wrap'.
At 20" wide x 80" long, this heavenly soft rectangle of cashmere fabric is such a versatile size.
It can be folded, pleated, twisted, knotted
and wrapped any number of times and every which way.
Is it a Scarf = yes.
Is it a Shawl = yes.
Is it an In a Pinch Blankie Cover = yes.
Is it a Belt - (if my waist doesn't expand any larger) - yes.
Is it a Pretend Tent or
Lead the Puppy Leash to use in play with DollinkGrandDaughterLBPS = yes.
I heart LOVE this scarf.
I own one in cherry red (as in the photo) which is the color I had originally had on my holiday gift wishlist.
I adore wearing my cherry red wrap. I feel so sexy sleek and snazzy happy with it on.
So much so, that it was unwise for me to walk into a Nordstrom's store last week.
A bigger mistake for me to investigate the display of these scarves that I knew could be found in the women's accessories department.
Household finances are very tight right now.
The car is in the shop ($$$), there is a new house furnace/AC unit to be purchased ($$$$), medical bills to be paid ($$$$$). Probably more spa repair, home repair, decor redux, etc. etc. etc.
So - standing there at the accessories display, admiring and lovingly touching the rainbow colors of wraps - I was 'good' and refrained from impulsively making the purchase of another right then and there. Good Grievin' Gravy, I already own one, am very thrilled with having it, and wear the great sheath with giddy pleasure these cold winter days. I should be, and am - quite content.
But. Then. A wave of shark feeding frenzy came over me like nobody's business, and...
I.
Still.
Want.
One.
Of.
Every.
Color.
Available.
In.
This.
Scarf/ Shawl/ Wrap.
