Closet Cache

Closet cleaning is not very different from that habit of NY antique hunters known as "dumpster diving." Yes, they scour dumpsters for discarded antiques of all kinds. When I decided to hunt for a collection of neckties (acquired for quilting purposes, of course) I found I had apparently had a previous fit of closet cleaning and given them away. Good idea -- I just didn't remember having done it and had suggested to someone I'd swap ties for other quilting goodies. Alas! Too late.

BUT I did unearth forgotten and partially forgotten quilts. The pictured one above I had utterly forgotten -- and it was stored so long crumpled that I can't easily straighten the top and am hoping time will help. It's a fairly puffy quilt so I don't want to get out the iron first off. It's nicely dramatic and I remember why I liked making it. It's more eye catching that the quilt below which has been hanging where this one now is.

This quilt has more sentimental value but is artistically a failure. It has three photo transferred scenes of me trekking in Mustang [a sub-kingdom in northwestern Nepal] one of the best trips I ever took. So I've enjoyed having it to glance at often, and I like the prayer flags on the top which "came" to me -- truly. One morning when I had just finished the quilt I went out of my building early and there they were on the sidewalk. Literally. It happened to be a time when the Dalai Lama was in NYC and I think someone lost them who was going to or had come from one of his teaching sessions. But I truly felt they were a gift. So, lots of sentimental value.

This quilt I had not forgotten but did not know where it was stored so I was happy it surfaced and it will probably go on the wall for some part of the winter. These are the eight auspicious signs in Tibetan Buddhism. They are replicas of paintings on a small shrine building on the roof of one of the sections of Sera Monastery near Lhasa. I photographed all eight. At home my artistic daughter, Rachel. painted them on the squares of fabric and then I made the quilt -- this one is entirely hand quilted.

The colors were so bright because when I saw them, in 1997, the Chinese had allowed some restoration of the mostly destroyed monasteries so those recently painted signs were a part of that loosening of the noose. I cannot think of Sera without thinking "beautiful" - Sera, I believe, means rose for there were once, I've read, many wild roses there. It was the most graciously situated and proportioned monastery I saw. Beautiful. So this quilt far more successful than the trek one makes me very happy.

I found also a quilt of photo transfers of doors and windows, mostly from Tibetan travels. I don't know why I used the ugly colors I did. I'm seriously thinking of taking it all apart, salvaging the photos and making an entirely new quilt ... not soon, however. There's too much in the works. Closet clearing, like dumpster driving, is full of surprises. And that's only one of three closets where the high shelve are stacked to the ceiling with boxes or blanket bags of quilts. Who knows what other surprises await another day of discovery?

Age Appropriate Dressing

Replying to Ellie's comment on a previous blog, she asked if dressing my age might be a mistake and make me start acting my age -- a very good question really, because we do put forward the version of ourselves we want others to see. The matter comes to mind quite often because I live in a very large apartment building and frequently see 3 or 4 "older" [than me] ladies who I beleive had professional careers. They dress like serious professionals in suits and nice dresses and shoes and stockings and are well groomed and wear makeup. Their styles haven't changed in quite a few years. I admire them for sticking to who they are -- I know too that a bit of it is a matter of not buying new clothes when they have quite good quality clothes from their past needs. But they are out of step, of course. Still why should they keep up with styles? Each time I see these ladies in the elevator or lobby or nearby streets I say to myself, are they stuck in the past or are they being true to themselves? I don't know the answer.

For my part I'm so addicted to certain thrift shops that my wardrobe changes pretty frequently although not with the hottest styles. But I have no need for the hottest style. I can live in pants and tops and jackets when layers are needed. I have only one pair of shoes with "heels". Long ago I defined for myself the style that feels comfortable, it's separates that can be mixed endlessly with scarves and my much loved collection of not very expensive but individual rings, bracelets, and necklaces acquired on travels. I'd call my choice of clothing probably Talbots with a dash of J. Jill and Chicos although mostly I don't shop in those stores. So when I write about "age appropriate" I really do mean that socks with pandas aren't my thing -- never has been. So I know what I'm comfortable wearing and I doesn't change much.

Yes, sometimes I look at what I think of as the earth-mother-Woodstock styles. You know the flowing skirts and Indian print tops and such. In fact, I really like those clothes but when I give in and purchase something I find myself not wearing it. I have a couple pieces of that sort and love them but somehow never reach for them when I'm getting dressed. So there it is. On the other hand I feel entirely too much out of my style if I put on sneakers for anything other than walks in the woods [or the rain when I don't want leather shoes to get wet].

Long ago I read "know our style" in those advice columns and thought it good advice and have stuck to it. The picture above is another street fair pictures. I often see some really nice one-of-a-kind jewelry at street fairs. Rarely, very rarely do I buy any because, as said, I have stuff from my travels. I prefer to remember a shop in Spain or a bazaar in Egypt than a no longer exotic [to me] New York street fair.

Changing seasons

We are shifting in autumn. Morning are cool, afternoons pleasant. The heat has come on in my apartment building at just the right time for a change. On the streets the young women are showing off their fake pashmina scarves. It's okay if they aren't expensive fine wool, they are magnificent colors. The above picture shows some that were for sale at the street fair for $10, because they have subtle designs. The totally plain ones in acrylic [tho sometimes labeled "Pure pashmina"] are often only $5. They are wrapped around throats or looped in ingeneous ways. The colors are a rainbow! It's gorgeous to see -- so much panache for so little money!

Another offering at the street fair was socks, often 3 or 4 pair, depending on plainness or fanciness for $10. Here are some fun ones. At the next street fair I will buy some dark colored trouser socks, much plainer than these, more age appropriate. I do have some fun socks for keeping my toes cozy while reading at night but I try to maintain a degree of dignity when I get dressed to go out.

NYC Street Fair

Fall street fairs always seem especially colorful and fun to walk through. Maybe it's because all the faux pashmina and cashmere come out in their rainbow hues. Street fairs happen in the spring and the fall, not the dead of winrs are around but venders do change because any Saturday or Sunday there may be at least a couple of street fair locations. Some things can be expected. The crepes stalls are a favorite. Other food venders can be expected too; the roasted corn on the cob people and the Thai food, the pickles, the funnel cake, the turkey legs and the gyros and shish kabab,and the cholesterol packed fries, Italian sausages and the utterly disgusting "deep fried Oreos."
There are many hat and tee-shirt and pocket book people. Here are some pretty neat pocketbooks made of zippers. Click the picture to enlarge. They're study and spacious and attractive. There are other leather goods, lots of sweaters this time of year, the people with beautiful embroidered "Kashmiri" jackets -- like one I purchase in Nepal ten years ago. I had a nice conversation with a couple of Nepali jewelry venders who mixed in Nepali and Tibtan designs with celtic designs. I thought of a a silver eternal knot pendant and the vender was more than ready to reduce is price -- very minimally and I didn't feel like dickering because I had decided not to buy it. I kind of wanted the silver barrel shaped aumulet box with a 'mani" prayer on a scroll inside it; but that I skipped as well.

There are always plant people, usually hearty looking foliage plants to bring some green inside for the winter, but lately the orchid people are around and they really are beautiful.
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It was wonderful to see a lot of the bent elderly people of the neighborhood out with their cane and walkers enjoying the street fair, people with dogs of every size and shape, most in leashes but some in carry bags and one in a rollng doggie case, like kids' rolling book bags. I have more photos and will probably add them tomorrow.

Finally I only purchased some bags of crunchy snacks at a good price and a platter of Thai food that was so generous it was not only dinner but I save the entire large serving of pad thai for lunch tomorrow. All in all a relaxing hour of wandering around before coming in and attacking the laundry and closet mess I had made before I went out.

Book addiction

This is a PARTIAL view of my bookcase of "to read" books. There is lower shelf not in the picture. In the bedroom there are about 75 books of poetry also. Do I need more books?

Absolutely!!When there is a book sale that fills a full block of a cobblestoned SoHo street and the books are $1 each. You bet I need more books. But I am learning restraint -- yes, I am. Here are the ten books for ten bucks that I got.

Yes, it took a while to be sensible. I lugged around others, including a couple of really neat coffee table photography books. But do I need more coffee table books? Especially when they're heavy and,of course, the ones on the coffee table aren't all there are in the place? Rhetorical question.

Except for the Tulip book, a recent purchase form the Metropolitan Museum for $12 and containing far more than I ever thought I wanted to know about tulips, these are mostly art quilt books and Tibet books and if I get into a long telephone conversation, I love sitting here and paging through them as I talk.

I have always been a book addict. Not the devouring Jane Austin at age 13 type [our small town library did not have Austin or Bronte!] but because everything I want to know is in books somewhere and many things I didn't know I wanted to know or ought to know or would just enjoy knowing or would feel greatly enriched by knowing -- it's all been written. I find gems of wisdom nearly every day in the stuff I read. This is an addiction I do not plan to give up.

Shagy Dog Story

[just shrunk my head - wish I could do that to my waist and hips with a few key strokes.]

I look like a shaggy dog -- shaggier than this picture and it was pretty shaggy. In fact, I think I'm beyond the shaggy dog stage and into the wild Shetland pony phase. I wish I could cut my own hair. But I learned way back in junior high that I couldn't even cut bangs straight, let alone tackle other part of the mane. There's two problems -- or really only one problem but it's compounded by the second which would be a non-problem except for the real problem. Confused? It's this way: I don't like having things done to me, i.e., I don't like sitting in a hair dressing salon and I've never had a salon manicure or pedicure in my life. The problem that shouldn't be a problem is that my hair grows fast. This wasn't bad back in the years when I wore it long but now that I'm acting my age and wearing it in a very easy short style it's a problem.

Every day this week I've promised myself I'd get a hair cut and every day I've found a more or less legitimate reason why I didn't have time. In fact where I work there is a salon on the lowest floor but I don't go there although the price is quite reasonable. The hairdresser is Igor, who does "unisex" but, in fact is a barber. He's also an egotist who is short, stocky, wears what he thinks is a fashioniable 36-hour shadow stubble -- and consequently looks like a member of the Russian mafia. Various things suggest that he's actually an okay human being but I got off-put when he posted a sign of his definitely unappealing mug with the misguided advertisment "Igor is here!" If he thinks that's attractive, what would he do to me? In fact on the occasions when our paths cross he is friendly and pleasant ... still ... it's wooly mammoth time for me.

Now on the subject of having things done to one I also am not a fan of massages -- except for the Turkish hammans [baths] - that's another story that I think this is not the time to tell -- those slippers shown a couple posts ago have me thinking about things I enjoyed about Turkey. I won't say the hamman was the most fun I've ever had with my clothes off, but it ranks pretty high. Believe me, it's not a dirty story -- it's possibly the cleanest I've ever been. But the massage -- oh, wow!

Thanks -- and an unconnected thought

Thanks to the people who've weighed in on my choices of arrangements, include a couple of emails not in the comment section. I'm still very torn and have turned for the moment to making a baby quilt for charity while my mind is spinning. Any other comments will be appreciated also.

As I was working at my transcription job today I was stopped with great sadness by a rather casual remark. The interviewee is a woman who moved back with her mother's house to care for her as she slips deeper into Alzheimers. The patient had six children, four sons and two daughters. Said the caretaker daughter, apparently without pain, "when you ask her how many children she has, she names the four boys. Then I said, but what about me?" And the mother says, "oh, yes, there was Cathy and Linda."

We feminists will never win our battles for equality as long as mothers value their sons more than their daughters. How many hundreds of years will it be before boy children and girl children are valued equally? How often do we hear of sons giving up everything else in their lives to care for an aging, needy, perhaps demented parent? And how often is it the daughter or even daughter-in-law? 'Nuf said.