clothing, like part of your skin

I don't remember where I saw or heard it recently, someone wrote nostalgically about how clothes used to be worn like part of your skin: worn in.

In junior and senior high school in the late '60s and early '70s, I sewed many of my own clothes. Then stores like TJMaxx and Marshall's appeared - maybe that was when sweat shops proliferated - and many of us Susie homemakers stopped sewing. Why bother sewing to save money, when you're probably not going to spend less than those bargains? I kept sewing dresses and doll clothes for Lesley, because I enjoyed it. Along with bargain clothes stores came fuller closets and disposable clothes. It didn't seem to matter so much if you bought something, wore it one season, and gave it to Goodwill.

Things had really changed from earlier in the century. When we lived in a big 1920s Arts & Crafts house before moving to the farm, you could see from the tiny bedroom closets how few garments people had when the house was built. They didn't even have rods for hangers. There were just hooks around the three short closet walls. Maybe for two or three dresses? Or two pairs of pants and a couple of shirts? If you had one good outfit, for Sundays, weddings and funerals, that had to stay pretty nice. If you had one or two everyday outfits, those got worn and transformed into a second skin. It isn't easy to find a bargain and the quality of garment that feels good next to your skin, even before it's worn in. I can sometimes find them at thrift or consignment stores. Sometimes I shop new for something well made and designed if I know I'll wear it a while and it's a staple, like good black pants for work. And then I look for sales. But wanting to be less of a consumer I'm just not shopping for new clothes much, trying to recycle from those second hand stores, and I've slimmed my closet way down, though I sure couldn't fit all my clothes on a few hooks. Also, I am wearing clothes longer and allowing them to get a little softer and fuzzier than I used to. I guess that resembles my first skin too, ha.

my sister Nancy picked up this little vintage linen top for a few dollars at an antique store

Apparently resale stores are surging because of the economic downturn (good for those who want to sell their own and for those who want to spend less on clothes), so last week NPR reported on Encore Resale where you can find a "bargain" for $2000 instead of $3500 (for example), where they sell "Chanel, Hermés, Prada, Gucci, Armani, Calvin Klein, Donna Karan, Ralph Lauren, Oscar de La Renta and Judith Leiber as well as many other coveted labels"? I loved hearing one woman say she's not shopping there because she has to save money, but because, well you never know what might happen. I wonder how many people who listened to that report could relate to it.

Lesley, who lives in NYC, told me about Bag, Borrow or Steal, where you can "borrow" - i.e., rent - a designer handbag (and watches, sunglasses, and jewelry too). Are you kidding me? The bargain here is that instead of laying down $1,695 for this leather Prada Cervo Antik Tote, you can "borrow" it for a mere $77/week or $225/month! Now that's some premier, supple skin. Is there another planet people are living on, and no one told me? -

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I'm joining Anet, posting an image of ornaments now till Christmas. Lesley crafted these four 5 1/2" felt doves with vintage buttons. I hung them on Peter's painting "Gurtie" from high school (in the manner of Peter Max).

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Click on image below to see the details.

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angels

Today we opened Christmas boxes and put up the tree. Out of the tubs came my mother, embodied in several angels she had given me, some for the tree and this one, above, my favorite piece of Christmas. She's a holy wood nymph with a candle holder, carved from wood. Mom is all around me today, maybe it is her spirit I celebrate this year.

Lucky me, after my parents passed away, I of all the eight kids somehow managed to get the large Christmas Songs and Carols book we grew up with. (Shhh.) It was published in 1955, the year before I was born, and was illustrated by Rafaello Busoni (1900-1962). See below, more angels in his illustration for an Old French carol arranged by Franz Liszt "L'Enfant Jésus s'endort" ("While Baby Jesus Sleeps"). As a child and until I was an adult with my own children on my lap, I sat at my mother's piano while she played carols from this book. We sang together, and I turned the pages. Turning the pages now evokes every bit of love-music on that bench. See how my dad repaired the broken binding with duct tape. Oh, did my father love duct tape.

Maybe Lesley will play this at her piano in our house in a few weeks, while I turn the pages, and we sing. I play a little, but she plays beautifully.

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thanks go round and round

Thanksgiving Day morning Aunt Ruth needed apples peeled and sliced for pie. So Uncle Don brought out the handy dandy apple-corer-peeler thingy that he just bought and was dying to use.

Chadd and his sister Kaeley watched and helped. Chadd, who is a student of science had to figure out how the corer mechanism worked. Just exactly which blade did what, and how?

Piles of apple peels for the chickens.

Each apple produced one smooth spiral of peel and one smooth spiral of apple flesh, which was then sliced in half in one knife stroke for the pie.

We'll do it again next year.

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open air

Almost every day I read a few lines of Rumi. His words inspire me to be the authority of my own life. Remember when you wrote in school "I think" and your teacher told you to remove that phrase and just say what you think? I tried writing this poem that way, and in the manner of Rumi. I don't mean to compare myself to him, he's incomparable. But I'm happy to be a copyist of what inspires me, like painting students who copy masterpieces in the Louvre. Amazing! I'm not comparing myself to them either.


Open Air


Go outside at night
somewhere with trees.
See how the branches open to the moon.

There is love that is not hot.
Even on the coldest nights
its arms are open.

It is the warmth inside
that keeps you alive.
The sun in your blood as in a leaf
and in the branch
after the leaf turns red
and falls.

Close your eyes. Feel how like love
are the cool fingers of the wind
on your face.


- Ruth M.


Happy Thanksgiving Thursday.

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new winter header

Elements:

• background rosebud fabric from my quilting days
• rosehips from Nature, photographed in Beal Garden at the university where I work
• pen and ink girl (who looks like my mom) from World Book Encyclopedia which Grandma Olive illustrated in the 1920s
• photos of a barn and a road from our country drives

I had fun designing this on PhotoShop, finally learning new things, and I look forward to working on the next one for spring. The red and shadow frames, and many others, can be found at Picnik.

(I've added the previous header to this page as a footer.)

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8 random facts/habits

I was tagged by Vicki at Faint Heart Art to post eight random facts or habits about myself. Thanks for tagging me, this was fun to think about! It contains more memories than current habits.

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1. I'm 52, and I have never ridden a horse, which is probably a good thing, if you consider #2.

2. I was run over by a school bus when I was 4. It's not as bad as it sounds, but it's a bit shocking, right? My brother Bennett was driving it around the dirt lot by our church. He was learning to drive, so he practiced in the school bus our church used to pick kids up for Sunday School, and I was playing train conductor, jumping up and down off the steps. Nothing broke. But there were tread marks on my rump. (This is why we have rumps. Why is there no good word for "rump"? Buttocks. Butt. Arse. Back end. Backside. Behind. Bottom. Bum. Derriere. Seat. Hiney. A**. Rear. Fanny. Cheeks. Posterior. Gluteus maximus. Haunches. Hindquarters. I don't like any of 'em. Well, maybe arse is ok. Oh and my sister's word was "buckets.") Bennett and I always loved each other, but after that we were bonded for life, which ended for him in 1996 at age 47.

3. I dressed up as Martha Washington (George's wifee) for Halloween in 4th grade. My sister Nancy (10 years older than I - same sister as per "buckets" in #2) made the entire costume, including white wig with ribbons and black lace gloves, shawl and lace trimmed eye-mask. It was an extraordinary costume, so was I stunned when my teacher Mrs. Woodworth recognized and greeted me "Good morning, Ruthie"!

4. When I am afraid of flying I do a meditation that includes picturing the plane inside me, and I stop feeling afraid.

5. Around the same time as the bus incident in #2, I learned to read on my siblings' laps during daily evening devotions when everyone took turns reading the Bible.

6. When I was 12 Nancy cut my hair like Twiggy's. Wow, I just realized I had my own personal stylist in my sister.

7. When Don and I were first married, and I was a waitress, I waited on John Houseman in little Mt. Pleasant, Michigan, when he was on a book tour. I was the only waitress who knew who he was, which was what the manager guessed and seated him in my section. Was I shocked when I tonged ice cubes into his glass while recognizing that face I loved from the movie "The Paper Chase"! Of course the British actor asked for prime rib, which we had run out of. So I recommended filet mignon. "Fine," he said drolly. "Do you have any English mustuhd?" "But of course!" said I. Only we didn't, and someone had to run to the grocery store for Grey Poupon (there weren't any Rolls Royces around as in the TV ad). Mr. Houseman never smiled once. I would have been disappointed if he had, very disappointed.

8. I dream about babies, a lot.

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fire and ice

We've had snowfall already, a couple of inches on the ground.

I remember hearing a man who moved here from Arizona gripe, "Every time I say 'hi' to someone they say something about the weather!" and I realized I had never once thought it odd that here in Michigan our prime topic for small talk is meteorology. It just is. We talk about weather here because it's dramatic, unpredictable, annoying, inconvenient and for some of us, why we stay.

I love the four seasons in Michigan. We lived in Pasadena, California five years, which is where our kids were born. As lovely as palm trees and birds of paradise are, there was too much concrete for me. "L.A. is a great big freeway . . ."

Also, I missed the drama. You might rightly ask, No drama in L.A.? All those mudslides, earthquakes, Santana winds? And oh so horrific wildfires that devour millions of acres of brush, trees and houses. Yes, but I don't want that kind of drama.

I'd rather have the fiery reds and golds of autumn, the cold, snow and dormancy of winter, and the exhilerating birth of spring in the North. I've never quite understood why people complain about the cold weather here. Why do they stay, I wonder? Well, maybe they don't have much choice. It's a lot of work to relocate. And maybe they'd miss the drama too but won't admit it.

In spite of extra time and effort putting on boots, scarves, gloves, hats and coats (and all that multiplied by however many children you have), in spite of the sloshy yuck of puddles on the street, despite icy roads driving all the way in to the university, I adore winter in Michigan.

When a walk in the meadow is quiet from two feet of snow absorbing sound, muffling the scrunch of my bootfalls. When trees are bare of leaves, revealing black or blonde bones ending in fine fingers against a white sky. When snowflakes as big and downy as duck feathers float down in rapid succession. When the pond is frozen for sliding, spazzing, falling and laughing. When skating 'round and 'round an ice rink becomes meditation under city lights. When building a fort of snow-ice bricks makes my brothers and me feel like Eskimos before transforming into soldiers with snowball amunition. When blue moonlight reflects off snow-covered ground and a light in the window warms the house, calling me home to Don. When wind screams outside, blowing snow sideways, and I'm indoors lying on the couch with a poofy blanket, a book, and a fire in the woodstove, sleepiness weighting my eyes. This is winter at its most satisfying, and fire is a well contained and welcome mystery.

Two photos from this morning:

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