But, obviously, I am not, because here I go. If you've been hanging out at The Voodoo Cafe for any length of time, you won't be at all surprised, not even a tiny bit, when I tell you that after that last trip to Deja Vu in San Angelo, the one where I bought a dozen garments to alter, I couldn't WAIT to go back. So we did. This past weekend. Meaning: a week later. And did I find more stuff? Duh.
I don't list the prices I pay for things because that's just between Lana and me. I bring things home and dye them for her, something I wouldn't even think of doing for anyone else. You know how it is with two very different people, one with one particular aesthetic and the other with something totally different, but there's this place where they meet and overlap? We've got that--there's a spot in there where we've got this style overlap we both understand, and it works. I had great fun last week tie-dyeing a heavy linen Heart's Desire jumper for her. It had been a pale, insipid pink that made us both sad, and when it was finished, it had a brand-new life. "Pastel" no longer applies.
OK, so here's what I came home with this time. And, yeah, I know: I have all the garments I'll ever need in life, ever, and should really quit shopping for more. But how can I resist? The drive to San Angelo is perfect--about two hours each way. I stitch the entire time, and it gives us a chance to listen to Dave Robicheaux on Audible (we love Will Patton reading James Lee Burke; I've read the whole series but of course don't remember them. Heck, I don't remember them from one chapter to the next; I just love the way Patton does characters' voices and Burke's loving description of southern Louisiana. I haven't even tried any of his other series; I don't know that I'd like them at all).
OK. This first one I have on approval because I couldn't decide if it's worth the trouble. It's Flax, a heavy linen knit, I think--or a very loose weave. I should know this, I know--I could go in there and look more closely at it (I'm pretty sure it's a loose but heavy woven, but it's that kind of fabric where you can't really tell). It's the reddish orange I've come to love lately--with warp (so it IS woven; duh) in one shade and weft in another, and I think it will be a great summer dress. The issues: it has only one pocket, which is just dumb to me, and it's a dowdy length. There's an area in there between the knee and the ankle that just makes everyone look dowdy. I like my own dresses to hit right below my knees, right at the top of my calves. It's a flattering length for most people, and it doesn't hinder walking the way a longer dress will. If it's a billowy, light dress, though, then ankle-length is good--you don't have to worry about it blowing up in the wind. But in between? That length chops off your legs, doesn't serve any purpose, coverage-wise, and is just, well, dowdy on almost everyone. So my thinking here is that I could cut off the bottom to hit that sweet spot, giving me some fabric I could use to add more pockets--so I'd leave the one that's there and add another on that side and one on the other side--asymmetrical but still giving me two I could put my hands in. I like to put my hands in pockets. Then I could bind the hem with my favorite current obsession, the Alabama Chanin Cretan Stitch Binding, which I adore--I think my anal-retentive brain totally gets caught up in the evenness of that Cretan Stitch, which I could now do in my sleep. Anyway, so an orange-r jersey for that binding, which I'd also do on the neck and armholes--the latter are a little large, which is OK because I bought all those colored bra covers--bandeau tops--last year just for that reason. But, as you can see, it would be a lot of work for something I wouldn't further embellish--it's not destined to be SoulWear so much as functional summer clothing. So I'm still thinking about it. It laundered up nicely, though, and I love the color.
Anyway, it's got a nice drape. It's good for summer, it looks great on, and I could do all kinds of cool SoulWear stuff to it.
one for sale on ebay here.
Then there's this two-piece set, Cynthia Ashby again. There's more red in it than this; this is too blue. So it's a really vibrant orchid, maybe? But this color is close enough for you to get the idea. It's fine as it is; I don't have to dye it.
--is that it's too big for me, but it's a small, and I think it looks great. Other women think I should wear form-fitting clothes to "show off my figure," but I want to be comfortable and am not into the Sexy Old Lady look, which kind of makes my teeth hurt. OK, here's the deal: women of any age can look fabulously sexy, but it's about comfort in their own skins, an attitude of self-confidence and the knowledge of themselves as warm, vibrant women. When they have that, you can see it a mile away. I have seen some fabulously sexy older women--they just exude a wisdom about life and love and, yes, of themselves as inherently sensual beings, that makes the space around them glow. It doesn't matter what their age or size, they just glow. When, on the other hand, women turn to what the culture deems "sexy" and try to adopt those looks, things can get ugly. When I see women my age in short skirts and high heels and skin-tight clothes, even women who are in fabulous shape, I don't think, "Wow, she really pulls that off well." I think, "That's so sad. Why is she so unhappy with herself?" I know a woman who's almost 70, in fabulous shape, who wears skirts above the knee, form-fitting clothes, and 4-inch heels. Her hair and make-up are flawless, and I think she's probably had work done. She looks great, but she doesn't look comfortable. She looks stiff, as if she's afraid to move. And if you're almost 70 and are wearing heels that high, who wouldn't be? It's one thing to trip and fall off your shoes when you're 25; it's another thing entirely after menopause.
So, sure, I have t-shirts and jeans and leggings that fit me, that are form-fitting, but I don't have any reason to wear only that stuff all the time, as if I have to show the world what? That's I haven't gotten fat? What does the world care? So, yeah, on the one hand, I can understand the kind advice I get from women in shops, but on the other, no. Society doesn't get to dictate how our clothes fit us and what looks good on us. Only we can decide that. I don't care if I'm an "autumn" or a "spring" or whatever; I care about what I think about the clothes I wear. I posted on Facebook the other day: I don't spend all day looking at myself in the mirror, so I have no idea how certain colors make me look. What I do is look down at myself when I'm sitting here and see the color itself, and what matters is how it makes me feel, not how it makes me *look.* My mother wouldn't wear purple, for instance. I think because we're a sort of yellowish, sallow people. I don't really remember what she said. I think I wasn't supposed to wear purple, either. If I remember, I'm supposed to wear gold, burnt orange, olive, brown. But I don't put on brown clothes and stand in front of the mirror and go, "Wow. That really perks up my eyes!" I put on brown clothes and look down at my lap and arms and go, "Bleah."
And then, having said all that, I show you more of the brown tunic I love!
In the meantime, I'm so far behind where I wanted to be. I have a bunch of deadlines, and I hope to be able to take off next week to get all the other stuff done while The EGE's here to help. But I missed most of yesterday--what I thought was a flare-up of my lifelong (all my adult life) TMJ just kept getting worse, so I went to the dentist, who took x-rays and did a bunch of poking and putting ice-cold stuff on my teeth, and he's not sure what's going on, so he's sending me to an endodontist in Lubbock on Thursday. Because Midland is so very, very crazy, it's almost impossible to get an appt. here to see anyone--people wait months to see a specialist. So Thursday I have to take off and go to Lubbock and if it's as we suspect, I'll then have an immediate appointment for a root canal, my only option because the tooth we're looking at is the anchor for a bridge that replaces a baby tooth I had pulled in my 40s. Is that screwed up or what? My mouth is a mess--I got baby teeth with no replacements from my mother and horrid tooth-cracking bruxism from my dad. He and I had the same dentist--my father had to have his crowns replaced regularly because he cracked them in his sleep. I never, ever go to bed without my mouthpiece; the last time I did, I broke off (and swallowed) half a tooth. So I missed a big chunk of yesterday and will miss all of Thursday (two-hour drive there and back, plus whatever time the appt. takes, not to mention the inevitable waiting), but it has to be done: I haven't taken OTC pain relievers of any sort in years--I can't even remember the last time. But I'm taking them now, let me tell you. When it starts hurting, it hurts so much I can't think. It's like a fog descends over me, and all I can do is put damp hot compresses against my jaw and wait it out. So, yeah, I'm whinging over here.
All that, and here I've spent a couple hours photographing and blogging all these clothes. It was fun, but now I've got to go get busy--yiiiiiiiii~~
Thanks for coming by--I look forward to hearing ideas, suggestions, cautions, inspiration, anything you think of!
17 hours ago