The Love and Care of Clothes

I love clothes, but I confess I'm not always great at taking care of them. We live in a culture that emphasises acquiring things, but not necessarily treating them well. Often, when I get home I change into something more comfortable and whatever outfit I was wearing goes in a heap on my bedroom bureau. It's not a habit I'm particularly proud of, and perhaps contributes to my daily struggles in putting together an outfit that doesn't make me look like a bag lady.

I'm not overly fond of ironing, so I try to avoid buying anything that requires it. But I also can't stand synthetic fibers, so the option of buying viscose, rayon and lycra garments is something I wrinkle my nose at too. The drawback is that much of my fall/winter wardrobe seems to exist for the sole purpose of feeding fragile little moths throughout the winter.

But I continue to buy woolen things, and they get dirty and wrinkled (mostly wrinkled) when they're not being eaten up. So they go to the dry cleaners where they come home looking all fresh and new. At a cost. For the sake of taking better care of my clothes and saving a chunk of change, I'm considering buying a professional garment steamer.

Am I the only one with these problems?

A Personal Touch

I’ve decided to attempt to do all of my Christmas shopping on Etsy this year. The idea of supporting talented and creative individuals selling handmade and vintage goods lends a personal touch to the season. The problem I run into is the ‘one for you, and one for me’ issue (as my stylish friend Courtney puts it). My husband says that my gifting habits tend towards the aspirational, but when you’re smitten with something, don’t you want to give it to someone you adore?

This sweater wrap would keep your dearest friends pretty and warm on cold winter mornings.

I like the way these Rosaline Czech glass earrings glimmer in the sun. And seriously; eight dollars?

This mother of pearl inlay bowl would look stunning in any home.

And for the shutterbug in your life, how about a classic Polaroid land camera? (hint, hint)

The romantic gal in your life needs one of these. Truly, she does.

My Other Life

You know when you have those brief fantasies that you're living this completely different life, doing something entirely different in a place far away? It's not one of those, "My life is miserable and I wish it was different" fantasies. It's just a fanciful play with what might have been. For me, it's living on the West Bank in Paris in an apartment painted varying shades of blue. I ride my red bike to work every day to a jazz radio station. This song is one of those fantasies, which is a celebration of the imagination.

Faces

I've been pouring all of my productivity into my day job these days, and I'm actually quite lucky with the project I've been working on. Me and my partner have been taking pictures of every. single. employee. This is no small task, since it involves actual thousands of people. But what has fascinated me about it is how, when people submit themselves for a brief head shot, you get so much information from their faces; what they're wearing, whether they smile, if they look straight into the camera. It's a fleeting moment, but I've noticed how varied and beautiful the human race is. As many of these people are relative strangers, you begin to wonder how well they slept last night, if they listen to jazz, classical, or indie music, whether they have some serious chocolate addiction. It's endlessly fascinating. I can't share them with you, of course, because they are not my pictures. But I recommend you take pictures of strangers and learn something for yourself.

Putting the Garden to Bed

Getting the back yard ready for winter is a bittersweet moment for me. I like it looking neat and tidy, but I have difficulty letting go of a whole, wonderful season.

When the cold winds come in, it's sort of like driving through Kansas. When you can only see flat plains for miles and miles, you can't imagine there existing mountains or cityscapes anywhere in the world. It's the same with the approach of Winter. Covered in layers, as you rake the red, gold and burgundy leaves, if you stop for a moment and close your eyes, you'll recall the feel of the sun on your face and bare arms. And it's glorious. I think I can even hear the voices and laughter of friends.

A Few Days in Chicago

I was in Chicago on business the past few days and thought I'd share just a few things I spotted. Enjoy!

Don't you just love the hand-shaped candle holder at Jonathan Adler?

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Polaroid is Back!

I've been scanning the thrift shops lately in hopes of finding a Polaroid camera. You may know that they've been in and out of business, and I've hoped to scoop up all the Polaroid film I could get my hands on before they're gone for good. You may have noticed in Blogland that Polaroid has a fierce and devoted following. The effects achieved with their instant film is magical; the colors are saturated and the absence of perfect focus gives the picture a dreamy quality.

But today, Polaroid announced that they are here to stay - for the time being at least.
*Thank you Sharon for the news!

Wilma at the Chef-O-Nette

Next week, I’m going to get my teeth cleaned. I go to the same office where my husband has been getting his teeth cleaned since he was three. Once in a while, if I’m lucky, my dentist has brought in his black lab for the day and I get a big hello from him.

When my husband was little, after getting his teeth cleaned, his mother would take him to a place on the corner called Chef-O-Nette. Built in the 1950’s, it has always been standard diner fare, but one didn’t go there for extraordinary cuisine. You wanted to have Wilma as your waitress. If you were little, Wilma would come to your table with a handful of crayons. She would flip your paper place mat over and slap the crayons down, asking you to draw a picture for her. When you were done, she would look it over, nod, and take it behind the counter to tape it up on the wall.

Wilma had her hair done just as it was in the 1940’s, when she was young. She lost her son in the Vietnam War, and she lost her husband to cancer. But you never heard about any of these things. She just brought hot coffee and asked children to draw for her.

After my appointment next week, I think I’ll stop in at Chef-O-Nette and have a cup of coffee. And maybe ask the waitress if anyone remembers Wilma.

Happy Weekend, Friends!

This weekend is brought to you by the shades of Autumn.








And a little ballad from Ingrid Michaelson.