Luxuriant lambs'-ears in the back garden. Choir practice tonight, work to do today . . . It's Holy Week and we're in the zone, but things are ordinary enough today. Tomorrow the Chrism Mass will occupy the early part of the day, the first out-of-the-ordinary thing, of the sort that happen every year at this time, but that still jolt the day out of its mundane groove: expected but still extra-ordinary.
I'm looking forward to meeting my friend Kristen for an hour before choir, to catch up. We sang together for years in our parish choir (which we basically directed---though neither of us had any job title or musical qualifications---planning all the music and leading all the rehearsals), and our youngest girls were Irish dancers together, also for years. Now we see each other only at diocesan choir events, two or three times a year, so it'll be fun to sit down and fill in the blanks before we go and sing.
It's freezing now (literally), but if the forecast is right, the temperature will make a 30-degree jump by the afternoon.
The piece I wrote for Religion and Liberty last fall, on Jane Clark Scharl's verse play, Sonnez Les Matines, is up on the website, after appearing in the print edition of the magazine in January.
Wearing today:
For the start of Holy Week: all-secondhand Postulant Chic.
*Secondhand Not Perfect Linen Smock dress (S/M) in (I think) Dark Gray-Blue
*Secondhand Chico's linen button shirt, redyed Evening Blue by me last summer
*The very old thrifted Eddie Bauer cotton cardigan, again
*Secondhand Keens Mary Jane shoes (this style must have a name, but I don't know it)
I might need to put some leggings on to walk the dog, because it's still not 40F outside, but with a jacket in the evening, I think these light layers will do for the day's projected spring temperatures. I love the feel of linen on linen, especially such soft, washed linens as these. And I love the weathered colors together:
These really are my favorite kind of colors and textures: weathered is a good word. Soft. Subtle. Muted. Kind of like the lambs'-ears, now that I think about it. There's just enough nub in the weave of the linen to be interesting against the cable-knit cardigan, with its ribbed grosgrain-ribbon placket. It's the kind of detail you wouldn't notice from across a room, but that's precisely what I like about it. You'd have to be standing next to me, talking to me --- well, really, probably, to notice me at all, which I say not as a complaint, but rather as a preference. I can talk to the whole room, but I'd rather talk to one person, and be talked to one-on-one, while the rest of the room takes care of itself. I think these clothes feel good to me because that's precisely their kind of energy and interest: not, maybe, all that arresting, but giving you something to notice and appreciate close up.
Going to peck away a little at some writing, then take the dog out in the sunshine.