HEARTS OF OAK
So, for a while I was too happy to write an update, and for a while I was too sad, and then it was my birthday and I was overwhelmed by the impulse to take stock of my life (both decades) so far. As I'm writing in a public forum, I've decided to do this for you, my 80 or so readers. So, chronologically speaking, from the front to the back:
Today I'm dressed in classic (if tweaked) '60s style for two meetings and a flight to Washington, DC. This means grey pencil skirt, black V-neck, pink cardigan with silver dome buttons, black stockings, and ridiculous orange bakelite pearls. And liquid eyeliner (which is, these days, a given). I had the most fun ever walking to the bus stop this morning in all of this get up, carrying my olive green suitcase and wearing big sunglasses. I think I reminded the old women of the way things were at one point, maybe the way they dressed for taking the train. I think it's absolutely important to dress when flying. This, I hope, is not some holdover from the annals of big society, the same that dictate that we can't wear white shoes and black stockings, mix pink and red, or stand when an elder enters a room, but I think it probably is anyway. Still, though, I have the very definite sense that I'm doing this for my own sense of theatricality and frivolity rather than anything else. Besides, I like the ring of "Ms. Smith goes to Washington," and I read every Nancy Drew book in third grade, and I need only the slightest push toward dressing up in order for it to come true. More on this when I return.
Monday was my birthday, and I have to admit that I have some of the most wonderful friends ever. Even though I had a terrible weekend (complete with being absolutely broke for a day, harrassed by a supposedly famous novelist, seeing the new and awful Woody Allen movie, plauged by hangovers and spectre of being a year older), my friends pulled me through. This was made considerably easier by my parents and godmother, who in all likelihood did all of the most difficult pep-talking first. Call me a materialist, but a cashmir sweater does wonders for the mood.
Thank you, everybody. You're so kind.
So, for a while I was too happy to write an update, and for a while I was too sad, and then it was my birthday and I was overwhelmed by the impulse to take stock of my life (both decades) so far. As I'm writing in a public forum, I've decided to do this for you, my 80 or so readers. So, chronologically speaking, from the front to the back:
Today I'm dressed in classic (if tweaked) '60s style for two meetings and a flight to Washington, DC. This means grey pencil skirt, black V-neck, pink cardigan with silver dome buttons, black stockings, and ridiculous orange bakelite pearls. And liquid eyeliner (which is, these days, a given). I had the most fun ever walking to the bus stop this morning in all of this get up, carrying my olive green suitcase and wearing big sunglasses. I think I reminded the old women of the way things were at one point, maybe the way they dressed for taking the train. I think it's absolutely important to dress when flying. This, I hope, is not some holdover from the annals of big society, the same that dictate that we can't wear white shoes and black stockings, mix pink and red, or stand when an elder enters a room, but I think it probably is anyway. Still, though, I have the very definite sense that I'm doing this for my own sense of theatricality and frivolity rather than anything else. Besides, I like the ring of "Ms. Smith goes to Washington," and I read every Nancy Drew book in third grade, and I need only the slightest push toward dressing up in order for it to come true. More on this when I return.
Monday was my birthday, and I have to admit that I have some of the most wonderful friends ever. Even though I had a terrible weekend (complete with being absolutely broke for a day, harrassed by a supposedly famous novelist, seeing the new and awful Woody Allen movie, plauged by hangovers and spectre of being a year older), my friends pulled me through. This was made considerably easier by my parents and godmother, who in all likelihood did all of the most difficult pep-talking first. Call me a materialist, but a cashmir sweater does wonders for the mood.
Thank you, everybody. You're so kind.
