Goofy Dora, cuddling with the Artgirl last night on the study sofa. We had just come in from a long, quiet, contemplative neighborhood walk, and she had had enough of the contemplative part of the business.
Our high today: 87F, but with 97% humidity. I think I was happier when I didn't know the humidity count every day, or what anybody says the weather is supposed to feel like, regardless of what the temperature is. But anyway. It continues to be not as hot as it has been, for which I am all gratitude.
And there's just something in the quality of the late-summer light. I don't usually photograph this side of my kitchen for some reason:
And yes, I have a huge kitchen. It's one of the great luxuries of my life. But anyway, the back of the house tilts kind of northeast, so what direct morning sun we get comes through the back windows, which in the case of the kitchen are simply the top of the door. There's a moltenness to the light, morning and evening, this time of year, that makes me think --- although it's really unlike --- of the gauzy sunshine of the far north. In Norway, as in the north of Scotland, you constantly feel that you're looking at distant things through a scrim, a veil that's fallen between you and the distances, even in the clarity of midday. Here it's more like you're looking through water, which I guess you really are, on a day with 97% humidity. Anyway, I like how the light lies on floors and walls as the sun moves through its course --- except it doesn't. We move through our course, around and around, turning our walls and floors to the sun, which touches whatever is facing it at the moment.
That medical glove on the fridge . . . my husband went with the Artgirl to the doctor when she came back sick from Italy, and blew up the glove to amuse her, as he always used to do when the children were little. Then he brought it home and taped it to the fridge, and now it's a regular kitchen feature.
We spent three and a half hours in a meeting yesterday with the estate planner. I was glad I'd gotten my essay written before we went. What the meeting was, truly, was estate planning --- not that we will have much estate to speak of, but we really want our children not to be left with a snarl of details and no easy way to sort them out. So, in addition to streamlining our various pension sources (my husband has had a lot of jobs) and figuring out how to optimize them, what we're going to do basically is organize what we have going on: legal documents like our wills (which we do have, but which need updating), insurance information, all our various accounts and assets, so that we can see clearly what's going on, but so that our heirs, when the time comes, don't have to spend days rooting through the filing cabinet to figure out what we've left them to deal with. We are not wealthy people, in the grand scheme of things, but we have enough to be a pain in the neck for people to have to sort out in the midst of grief.
So we spent the entire afternoon yesterday on this work, which was good and productive, but fairly exhausting. When we came out, it was, if not dinnertime, at least happy hour, so we wandered down to the pub and had some beer and burritos from the food truck. Both progeny were working --- not too many days left for the summer jobs, so they are making the shekels while they can.
The Texasgirl reports that they've gotten the tree off the Pink Flamingo (i.e., the shed that became a backyard tiki bar). She says that insurance will pay for tree removal from the shed, but not removal of any part of the tree not touching the shed, so she had to go out and ask the tree guys to do an itemized bill for their services. The poor Pink Flamingo is looking very crushed, but we all hope it will rise again.
Not much on today, a nice change from yesterday. I want to write another essay, tinker with my own writing, and continue my course planning for these recorded classes --- I meant to resume that on Monday and did not, and now it's Wednesday, and it'll be Christmas if I don't look out, so I had better do something.
Going shortly to take a bath, wash my hair, and make some clothing decision. I've been feeling very betwixt and between this week, not really excited about anything, at least in the clothing department. My old impulse would have been to go to Goodwill or trot down to the Good Neighbor Shop, to drop some cash on things I didn't really need or even want, except that they represented novelty, which I did want. Now, I've already acquired the novelty this week, picking up this Bandi pocketed belt I've been wearing . . . it's time to look at my Dress Tracker spreadsheet and shop my closet for some inspiration.
Aaaaaand . . . .
Wearing today:
Wet hair, obviously, contributes to the morning look. Meanwhile, here we are in the second week of August, and I hadn't yet worn Camellia this month. So out she came. It also occurred to me that I've been subconsciously, and so far my subconscious mind has not divulged its reasons, saving my skirts for Sundays and church. Why, thought I, am I doing that? I'm still craving that fit-and-flare shape in my dressing right now, and one way to feed that craving is to add a flared skirt to my swing dress, wearing her as a top.
I've never much liked the dress origami we've all done to turn our swing dresses into shirts because we were wearing said dresses every day for a challenge and craved some variety. Outside the parameters of a same-dress-every-day challenge, I have not been remotely tempted to wear my dresses as tops. As tunics over a longer dress or skirt, yes, sometimes. But to pretend that my dress is a top over a skirt or trousers is just more than I'm willing to do at this point.
BUT! I love wearing a dress as both top and slip under a skirt. Here I get the waist definition I've been wanting (and mostly creating with belts or belt packs, if not wearing a dress with an elasticized waist), plus slip coverage under my skirt.
And I just like this skirt.
It's swishy and floaty and fun. The greens are not my greens, as in greens I would wear next to my face, but they harmonize so nicely with the touches of cobalt blue and teal in the print, and the whole effect is cool and fresh and springlike. The fabric is a linen-rayon blend that wrinkles a little less readily than pure linen. It's appropriately light and easy in the summer, but I also like wearing it in the middle of winter for a touch of springtime in the cold. The fabric is heavy enough that it can stand up to a pullover and boots and not look too self-consciously out of season. It's flattering to my highly imperfect aging body.
Camellia makes a perfect tank to wear with this skirt. I can swish happily along the greenway, walking the dog, feeling as cool as it's possible to feel on a day when the air is made of bathwater. Even in the sun, nobody can see through my skirt, because . . . I'm wearing a dress under it. But they don't have to know that. AND the dress is lighter and cooler and more moisture-wicking than any slip I have ever owned.
As I think I've mentioned every time I've worn this skirt, I've had it for ages. Eight years, maybe ten, maybe even more. It's survived countless closet purges and revisions. I doubt I'll ever get rid of it, at least until it falls into rags, at which point I'll at least intend to make it into a pillow. Whether I will or not remains an open question, so I'm just as glad that it hasn't fallen apart, and I can still wear it as a skirt with no complications on the horizon.