This month has really gotten away from me.
When I posted about flower crowns it was a week before May Day. I know what I’ll do, I thought. I’ll ask people to send in photos of themselves with flower crowns and then I can do a May Queen post. One or two people responded, May Day came and went, a few more people responded, I went away, and now here we are, with exactly three hours left in May for me to get this post up.
Well, why not? I mean, really, how can I resist, with my friend Dana up there looking like Puck in a crown of pink jasmine, with the green polka-dots behind and (as if all that weren’t enough) the tiniest bit of plaid.
I have some news for you, and I should have even more after the next couple of days go by, but let’s catch up a bit first, shall we? It feels wrong to just blurt things out over here. I mean, I”m not against blurting, generally, but it’s more of a Twitter thing, which is a place where I tell my bits of news in between quotes from Walt Whitman, descriptions of the perfume I’m wearing, reports on the tiny flame tattooed between the breasts of the hostess who is seating me (completely true, and she was wearing an outfit where you couldn’t miss it), and running commentary on the French Rom Com I watched last night about two neurotic chocolate makers who are scared of everything and occasionally burst into song. (Better than it sounds, mostly because Isabelle Carré is luminous and utterly watchable, emotions flickering across her face one after the other…)
So, what have you been up to?
Well friends, I’m still reeling from the terrible events and plain bad news pileup of last week. I’m sure that many of you are, too. But in spite of everything that has happened and will continue to happen and was happening all along while most of us weren’t paying attention it is still spring.* It just goes on being spring.
Sometimes that feels like heresy, a sacrilege. But most of the time it feels like grace.
The windows have been revealed and gorgeous photos of all the Christmas windows are up on the Bergdorf Goodman blog. Click on the images to enlarge–they’re worth a long look–and don’t miss the commentary which begins, “You can call our Holiday Windows a study in maximalism.” After my own heart.
Now if only they would work out that teleportation thing so I could walk down Fifth Avenue on a frosty Christmas Eve and stop off for a drink with friends…
Just a little glimpse of glamour and impeccable stagecraft today, courtesy of Bergdorf Goodman’s blog. The grande dame of department stores is in the midst of being prepped and primped for her Christmas windows. This year’s theme is “Follies” as in Ziegfield. I cannot imagine a more perfect combination, though I say that every year.
While I was scanning the site for preview images, I spotted this photo of an earlier display. There is a point at which decoration and illustration become so fine and so elaborate, so committed to being just themselves beyond any advertisement or purpose, that they tip over into something like magic. You will have to imagine for yourselves what it’s like to catch a glimpse of that wonder walking down a noisy, crowded city street in the dark and cold of December.
The posts on this blog are searchable by sense–sight, scent, touch, taste, sound and “more” (for all those senses that don’t quite fit into the traditional categories). So far I’ve stuck mostly to scent and taste. Today’s post is (mostly) for the eye. Last weekend I attended a workshop on traditional Japanese Shibori dyeing techniques using natural indigo dye taught by textile artist and quilter Maura Ambrose as part of the excellent new Feliz Sale.
(Note for the perfumistas: There is some scent and perfume talk down at the bottom of this post and a giveaway for those of you who make it all the way through.)
Long ago, back in the dark, pre-perfume days of my life when I was still trying my damnedest to get a job as an English professor come hell, highwater or a temp position in a town I couldn’t find on a map, I would be coming around the particularly pretty curve of North Lamar that runs alongside Shoal Creek on my way from one of the best indie bookstores in the country to one of the best grocery stores in the country, or swimming through the cold, glassy green spring-fed water of Barton Springs in the still quiet of the morning, or picking strawberries at Boggy Creek Farm (where I know the farmers by name and a photo of me holding a bouquet of zinnias magically appeared on the farm stand wall one day) and a small voice, just loud enough to be heard over the dull roar of my chronic anxiety, would ask: What if this were your life? What if, instead of an academic, you became a…Texan!