Morning tablecloth still-life, which for all its simplicity encaspulates a lot. For one thing, it suggests that my lip balm and I are never far apart, which is the truth. It also pleases me because not only do I like this tablecloth and this spoon, but also I like what they represent, which is the extent to which my home aesthetic turns on secondhand things and repurposing. The spoon was one of a bundle from a local antique mall, given on some gift occasion --- my husband knows what I like (he always gives me multi-packs of lip balm, too). The tablecloth, meanwhile, is actually a shower curtain. I can't remember what size my kitchen table is --- 68'x72', maybe --- but the day I realized that it's the perfect size to cover with a shower curtain was a good day indeed.
It all began with a purple shower curtain, picked up for a couple of bucks in our neighborhood thrift shop, for Advent. I didn't realize that what I thought was a tablecloth was in fact a shower curtain, until I'd gotten it home and shaken it out. It was marked Dry Clean Only, which I thought was funny for a shower curtain, even though of course it's the decorative curtain that hangs outside the tub, not the liner that gets wet. Still, I figured that that might explain what it was doing in the Good Neighbor Shop.
I've had that curtain/cloth for many years now, and use it regularly in the penitential seasons. In fact, that's often been just about the extent of my liturgical living, and when people ask what everyone's plans are for observing Advent or Lent, I generally just say, "Well, I have this purple tablecloth." Here it is on what must have been a Saturday night or Sunday in Lent, with a celebratory little glass of dandelion wine.
I've since added several other fabric shower curtains to my tablecloth collection. In fact, in just about every way, they are the best tablecloths I have, nice and heavy and sturdy, in useful colors.
This white one, featured the other day, sees a lot of use, especially in the summer. I have a sort of soft green one in the exact same style as well.
And then there's this one, my summer favorite, which my mother passed along to me when she sold her house in 2013:
She had a guest suite over her garage with this Garnet Hill shower curtain in the bathroom. The comforter on the bed was also covered in this fabric; it's now on the bed in my husband's office upstairs. Anyway, I love zinnias, and this is a fun cloth to set in the summer and fall.
I got about halfway through my proofreading yesterday, which has really given my anxiety a good safety valve. There's still a lot to do between now and next Thursday, when I hit the road with my children for the trip back to school, but seeing myself get it done is a relief.
The day's agenda:
*walk the dog
*proofread
*mull my Sun essays for the next two weeks. I was up yesterday, writing on Sara Teasdale; I'll have another outing, with Laurence Binyon, on Thursday (already written). My upcoming poets, for whom I must invent things to say, are Jane Greer, Countee Cullen, George Meredith, Dorothy Parker, and Robert Herrick.
*maybe sweep up some dog hair, since we seem to be drowning in it.
Meanwhile, I wish I had a dime for every time I said to myself, back in the winter and spring, Oh, I won't wear my Sierra much in the summer.
Yeah, right. There it was on the drying rack from day before yesterday. Now it's on my body again. A "nothing" outfit in terms of thought and effort, but a "something" outfit in terms of effect. Looks like I tried when I didn't.
Day 5 hair still holding up all right, with a little refresh from my spray bottle of gel-emulsified-in-water.
Off to walk the dog.
LATER:
Seven poets down in my proofreading today; since yesterday I've done nineteen in all. Nine to go, plus about five others whose books weren't in from inter-library loan yet.
Taking a little break.
Outside in the sun, let's face it, this wool dress felt a little hot on my skin, but not too unbearably so. Meanwhile, my hair really did feel hot, so I put it up with spiral pins.
The good thing about this is that a) I'm cooler than I was, and b) I look that much more as though my appearance were intentional, not just a lazy accident (although I am being silly with my skirt here):
I felt pretty affirmed by Elyse Holladay in this new blog post: YES, simple is a style, and to a great extent it's mine! This explains why I'm not entirely comfortable with, say, adding a decorative scarf to my outfit in the summertime. It always feels like one thing too much, and an unneeded thing at that. Scarves in the winter, when I want to layer up and be warm, are another thing entirely. I wouldn't have defined my mojo as utilitarian or pragmatic, exactly --- I don't need earrings, for example. They serve no function. I wear them because they're pretty. But there's a limit to how much I'm going to put on my body for the sake of pretty.
As always, having some language for what you feel good in is so helpful. Simple is a great word. It's one thing I think when I look at this dress, and many other similar dresses in my wardrobe, dresses I own because I do feel great in them. Natural is good, both to define the kind of fibers I want to wear and the colors and patterns I like: blues and greens and rosy pinks, sweet garden-y florals. Calm and soft and muted: I like gray as a neutral, not black. Streamlined but not structured might be another handy phrase for defining what I do and don't want. I don't want tailored. I don't want the crisp button shirt. I don't want the poplin dress. I don't want the straight sheath. But I also don't want tons of layered tiered boho gauze. I don't need to look like somebody's hippie living room. What I really love are these clean, sweepy lines that skim my body's shape without totally obscuring it, leaving me room to move. I'm not sporty as in athletic, but I am active. I like small beautiful details, but I don't want to be dripping with them. This extremely plain dress with a pair of luminously beautiful earrings (so luminously beautiful that I wear them every day) and a simple but noticeable necklace: just the right balance.
All of this is impossible to round into some broad category. I'm not exactly romantic, though I love these tiny romantic details. I'm definitely not sporty, as in I would ever really wear athleisure. I don't even, at this juncture, own a pair of sneakers. I don't wear ball caps. I wear leggings for sure, but not in an overall gym vibe, even if I did dress it up. Yet I'm active, outdoorsy, a hiker, a walker, someone who spends a lot of time with a dog. Whatever that is, it's not really sporty, but it's not quite not sporty, either. I'm creative --- a word I've come to loathe, especially when people use it as a noun, but I mean, I have just written a whole novel, so move over, creatives. But I wouldn't describe my aesthetic as artsy or bohemian. I don't go in for costumey stuff like cottagecore or the whole academic thing (dark or light), although I like elements of all of those.
It is helpful to pare away at things, because even considering what you're not is revelatory. Walking into a store and going, "Well, not that," is at least as helpful as knowing what you do want. It's a lot better than going, "I don't know," and just grabbing something in a panic and buying it because your mother, for instance, looked at it on the hanger and said, "That's cute."
It is okay to like what you like and not like what you don't like. In fact, as Elyse points out, that's your style. That right there. To a huge extent, it is really as simple as wearing things you like and not wearing things you don't like. That at least is a sound starting point.
And I'm glad to be wearing something I like today, so that I feel good in my skin as I tackle . . . nine more poets. My eyes are falling out of my head, but by golly, I feel GOOD IN MY SKIN.