Summer in my town is small and sleepy and all sorts of wonderful. Everything slows down and everyone re-discovers why it is they love this town. Our preamble to summer are the millions of bluebells that bloom on one of our most popular trails. When you stumble upon them sometime in April, it begins to dawn on you that the summer is really, actually, going to happen. Then the students, who make up about half of our population, begin to realize this as well, creating a frenzy about town, as they hurriedly write papers and study and read books that should have been read months ago. All of this activity culminates in a week and half purge of the town, as the students celebrate their freedom briefly before fleeing town with just the essentials. They leave behind couches and old t.v.s, clothes and books. In those last moments they are frantic to make themselves as light as possible, shedding anything that may weigh them down this summer. Then the hoarders and the deal-seekers drive about town, picking up what goods they have deem worthy from amongst the piles and piles of trash left behind. And then, the big moment, we pause, cock our ears to the sky and listen. Tentatively, we smell the air. We look back and forth. We drive Uptown, we find a parking spot and we all breath one collective sigh of air. The town has been reclaimed. For three blissful months it is ours and no one else'. Don't get me wrong, come August, we will all be longing for the hustle and bustle of the school and all its' attendees, but that doesn't mean we won't treasure our little town, when it does truly feel little.
Our annual wine festival, which takes place the weekend after this said purge, feels like the perfect way to celebrate this town. As the Boy and I make our way uptown, me beside him, holding his hand and taking two skips to his every one step (the Boy is tall), I vow to go to every festival, every Thursday night concert and wake up early to hit up the Farmer's Market every Saturday. It is hard not to declare such things, when you get to walk around your town park, listening to the lovely croonings of local musicians, drinking wine and drunkenly speaking to everyone you see. Everyone is practically drunk upon arrival, such is their overwhelming excitement at this ritual into summer.
The only point to this post is simply to say that today I am happy it is summer. Tomorrow, I will think about running again, to attempt to get my body lake-worthy and doing some much needed spring cleaning and I might even tackle the issue of my skin, which insists on being less porcelain and more of a searing white light when the sun shines directly upon it. But, today I will breath the honeysuckle on the air and listen to the loveliness that is the silence, where once were drunken cries and I will sigh in complete and utter happiness that it is Summer in my Town.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Friday, March 1, 2013
Mad Men: Joan's curves might be my favorite character.
The boy and I have been watching Mad Men. A lot. We recently purchased a flat-screen t.v. The most adult purchase in our relationship, thus far (Thanks Mamajama, Pops, Donna, Charles, Trula and Bill!). We decided, since we need a new dvd player anyway, to get a blu-ray player. There really isn't a huge point to buying a blu-ray player if you don't have some blu-rays to play...This is where Mad Men came in, they were on sale so we bought the first three seasons...Needless to say we were a little behind on the bandwagon, but we have significantly caught up in the past few weeks.
I am in a bit of a whirlwind love affair with this show. A tumultuous, sordid love affair. The one that you know probably won't last, but you can't bring yourself to quit. If you like vintage, the show is orgasmic. This is probably not new information to anyone. The show is also frustrating, for many reasons that a women's studies major (Miami University 2008! Go Redhawks!) might divulge in during an essay on how the media and the glamorization of a certain time period can continue and encourage certain stereotypes, body images, etc. Take your favorite feminist issue and you can probably tie in Mad Men. Since I would rather just enjoy the show, I will ignore all my natural feminist inclinations to have critical discourse and just say, "oh that's lovely."
Moving on to the reasons why I love this show. The suits, the afternoon whiskeys, the shape of the women, it is an endless array of sensations to be experienced, as much as one can experience things through their television. It is just such a pretty show. It is constant eye-candy. And that is as much a compliment to the producers, directors and cinematographer as it is to the actors in the show.
This show makes me want to day drink. And I don't mean that in a depressed, sitting in your room all alone sort of way. I want to have a moment in the afternoon to relax, sip on something, feel the weight of an old-fashioned whiskey glass in my hand, as I ponder whatever task I am attempting to solve that particular day. I want to wear red lipstick (more than I already do). I want certain pleasures to be slowed down.
Has anyone ever gone to a show, to see an opera or a ballet or play? You get all dressed up (an event in and of itself), go a little early and have drinks before-hand. Maybe make some reservations someplace swanky for after the show. Walking into the Theater house is exciting. The boy is wearing a suit (and boy does he know how to wear a suit) and you feel sexy, heels and something satiny on. And then there are such jarring moments that knock you out of this experience. Like intermission. Watching Mad Men, one might think that during the show, you have time to powder your nose (I don't actually powder my nose, but well you know what I mean), reapply said red lipstick, grab a cocktail in the lounge, make some new friends (get casually invited to model for Coca-Cola), but one would be oh so wrong. Intermission these days means fighting your way out of your seats, waiting in the long line to the women's room, hoping that the men's line is shorter so that he will be done before you to grab some more wine in a little plastic cup, before you meet back in your seat just as the lights are going back down. Dear lord, slow it down. Its not like we scheduled anything else for the evening. The was sort of the main course. We don't mind having a little moment to process things. To keep this experience up.
I feel like this might be my secondary motto: I am a just a girl in search of a vintage life and what does that mean exactly? Well, today it means having experiences. I don't want to do something just to move closer to the next thing. I want everything to slow down. Working through lunch when you are busy is fine, as long as you take your time when you can and don't get so wrapped up in a routine that grabbing something on the go becomes the norm. I will let Mad Men show me all the pleasures that can be had, if you simply take your time and savor everyday moments.
I am in a bit of a whirlwind love affair with this show. A tumultuous, sordid love affair. The one that you know probably won't last, but you can't bring yourself to quit. If you like vintage, the show is orgasmic. This is probably not new information to anyone. The show is also frustrating, for many reasons that a women's studies major (Miami University 2008! Go Redhawks!) might divulge in during an essay on how the media and the glamorization of a certain time period can continue and encourage certain stereotypes, body images, etc. Take your favorite feminist issue and you can probably tie in Mad Men. Since I would rather just enjoy the show, I will ignore all my natural feminist inclinations to have critical discourse and just say, "oh that's lovely."
Moving on to the reasons why I love this show. The suits, the afternoon whiskeys, the shape of the women, it is an endless array of sensations to be experienced, as much as one can experience things through their television. It is just such a pretty show. It is constant eye-candy. And that is as much a compliment to the producers, directors and cinematographer as it is to the actors in the show.
This show makes me want to day drink. And I don't mean that in a depressed, sitting in your room all alone sort of way. I want to have a moment in the afternoon to relax, sip on something, feel the weight of an old-fashioned whiskey glass in my hand, as I ponder whatever task I am attempting to solve that particular day. I want to wear red lipstick (more than I already do). I want certain pleasures to be slowed down.
Has anyone ever gone to a show, to see an opera or a ballet or play? You get all dressed up (an event in and of itself), go a little early and have drinks before-hand. Maybe make some reservations someplace swanky for after the show. Walking into the Theater house is exciting. The boy is wearing a suit (and boy does he know how to wear a suit) and you feel sexy, heels and something satiny on. And then there are such jarring moments that knock you out of this experience. Like intermission. Watching Mad Men, one might think that during the show, you have time to powder your nose (I don't actually powder my nose, but well you know what I mean), reapply said red lipstick, grab a cocktail in the lounge, make some new friends (get casually invited to model for Coca-Cola), but one would be oh so wrong. Intermission these days means fighting your way out of your seats, waiting in the long line to the women's room, hoping that the men's line is shorter so that he will be done before you to grab some more wine in a little plastic cup, before you meet back in your seat just as the lights are going back down. Dear lord, slow it down. Its not like we scheduled anything else for the evening. The was sort of the main course. We don't mind having a little moment to process things. To keep this experience up.
I feel like this might be my secondary motto: I am a just a girl in search of a vintage life and what does that mean exactly? Well, today it means having experiences. I don't want to do something just to move closer to the next thing. I want everything to slow down. Working through lunch when you are busy is fine, as long as you take your time when you can and don't get so wrapped up in a routine that grabbing something on the go becomes the norm. I will let Mad Men show me all the pleasures that can be had, if you simply take your time and savor everyday moments.
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
So, here's how it happened:
It was a bright, sunny day in my beautiful, little town. One of those days that is warm, but you sense an underlying coolness in the air, which smells vaguely of fallen leaves, damp earth and bonfires. Otherwise known as, fall is almost here. The boy and I were wandering around town, when on a complete whim, I decided I wanted to go to the antique stores in town. Now, I consider myself a pretty professional antiquer and in my most knowledgeable opinion, I didn't think too highly of the local antique stores. I hadn't gone there all that much, but what I remembered from those few times was overpriced merchandise and not very friendly shopkeepers. These experiences were not conducive to that description. This is the scene (and for future posts, you can always imagine this is exactly how shopping goes for me):
The boy and I are browsing. Mostly it is just fun being next to him and imagining our house someday and all the ways we will fill it with things that we buy together (in other words, I wasn't really shopping for anything in particular but rather enjoying an experience). When suddenly I spot the trunk (and at a most perfect moment, because I had been checking out the price-tag of an old suitcase, of which I have way too many and probably would have purchased if the magnificent trunk hadn't made its' appearance to me through all the old linens and shabby shutters and hats). It is beautiful. Black and upright, not falling apart just sitting there. I wander closer, tentatively as though it may scare if I approach it too fast. I had been looking for a trunk for some time now. As I got closer, I began wincing at the price-tag that I just knew was going to be entirely out of my price-range. I saw that the inside had a little bit of mold, but nothing that couldn't be fixed, all the drawers were in tact and it even had most of its' hangers. Now, I really didn't want to look at the price-tag. For clarification purposes, so people will understand my hesitance at looking at the price tag. Restored trunks go for somewhere between $500 and 3,000 on Etsy. Not-yet-restored trunks are more along the lines of $150 to 500. Even $150, is more than I am willing to invest, at this moment in my life. I decide to look. The Boy has to catch me, as I faint in complete shock and happiness. (This didn't actually happen, but isn't it nice to think that some girls still faint and that some boys still catch them?) The price is $59. Now comes a turn in the scene that will probably surprise most people.
I flounder. I debate. I question my intentions. I begin to question the meaning of my life and how exactly the trunk fits in. The weird thing is that while I decide that yes, yes the trunk does fit into my life, I still walk away. As I walk away, the rather lovely shopkeeper says something which sticks with me.
Shopkeeper: "Did you find anything you like."
Me: "I found a trunk I would very much like to have."
Shopkeeper: "Oh yes, that trunk would very much like to be had by you."
Such a simple thing to say, but it is probably what did me in, in the end. Because now, at this point, if I don't buy it we are like a couple who have been torn apart by vicious and terrible obstacles. It's not just that I wanted it, but it wanted me!
I still walk away, in fact, I leave the store entirely and walk all the way to the doorway of the next store, where Seth simultaneously holds me and checks fantasy baseball on the phone while I debate some more. I honestly don't know why things are so difficult for me sometimes. I think it is because I am getting older and feel like I should be more responsible with my money. As Seth is holding me and I am wondering why this is taking me so long and why I can't just walk away, a couple walks into the store. In a panic, because I am pretty sure they want my trunk, I decide, finally, that I can't live without it. I buy the trunk. The End. Hopefully my next post will involve some before and after pictures...
It was a bright, sunny day in my beautiful, little town. One of those days that is warm, but you sense an underlying coolness in the air, which smells vaguely of fallen leaves, damp earth and bonfires. Otherwise known as, fall is almost here. The boy and I were wandering around town, when on a complete whim, I decided I wanted to go to the antique stores in town. Now, I consider myself a pretty professional antiquer and in my most knowledgeable opinion, I didn't think too highly of the local antique stores. I hadn't gone there all that much, but what I remembered from those few times was overpriced merchandise and not very friendly shopkeepers. These experiences were not conducive to that description. This is the scene (and for future posts, you can always imagine this is exactly how shopping goes for me):
The boy and I are browsing. Mostly it is just fun being next to him and imagining our house someday and all the ways we will fill it with things that we buy together (in other words, I wasn't really shopping for anything in particular but rather enjoying an experience). When suddenly I spot the trunk (and at a most perfect moment, because I had been checking out the price-tag of an old suitcase, of which I have way too many and probably would have purchased if the magnificent trunk hadn't made its' appearance to me through all the old linens and shabby shutters and hats). It is beautiful. Black and upright, not falling apart just sitting there. I wander closer, tentatively as though it may scare if I approach it too fast. I had been looking for a trunk for some time now. As I got closer, I began wincing at the price-tag that I just knew was going to be entirely out of my price-range. I saw that the inside had a little bit of mold, but nothing that couldn't be fixed, all the drawers were in tact and it even had most of its' hangers. Now, I really didn't want to look at the price-tag. For clarification purposes, so people will understand my hesitance at looking at the price tag. Restored trunks go for somewhere between $500 and 3,000 on Etsy. Not-yet-restored trunks are more along the lines of $150 to 500. Even $150, is more than I am willing to invest, at this moment in my life. I decide to look. The Boy has to catch me, as I faint in complete shock and happiness. (This didn't actually happen, but isn't it nice to think that some girls still faint and that some boys still catch them?) The price is $59. Now comes a turn in the scene that will probably surprise most people.
I flounder. I debate. I question my intentions. I begin to question the meaning of my life and how exactly the trunk fits in. The weird thing is that while I decide that yes, yes the trunk does fit into my life, I still walk away. As I walk away, the rather lovely shopkeeper says something which sticks with me.
Shopkeeper: "Did you find anything you like."
Me: "I found a trunk I would very much like to have."
Shopkeeper: "Oh yes, that trunk would very much like to be had by you."
Such a simple thing to say, but it is probably what did me in, in the end. Because now, at this point, if I don't buy it we are like a couple who have been torn apart by vicious and terrible obstacles. It's not just that I wanted it, but it wanted me!
I still walk away, in fact, I leave the store entirely and walk all the way to the doorway of the next store, where Seth simultaneously holds me and checks fantasy baseball on the phone while I debate some more. I honestly don't know why things are so difficult for me sometimes. I think it is because I am getting older and feel like I should be more responsible with my money. As Seth is holding me and I am wondering why this is taking me so long and why I can't just walk away, a couple walks into the store. In a panic, because I am pretty sure they want my trunk, I decide, finally, that I can't live without it. I buy the trunk. The End. Hopefully my next post will involve some before and after pictures...
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