Full knee-deep lies the winter snow, And the winter winds are wearily sighing: Toll ye the church bell sad and slow, And tread softly and speak low, For the old year lies a-dying. Old year you must not die; You came to us so readily, You lived with us so steadily, Old year you shall not die.
He lieth still: he doth not move: He will not see the dawn of day. He hath no other life above. He gave me a friend and a true truelove And the New-year will take 'em away. Old year you must not go; So long you have been with us, Such joy as you have seen with us, Old year, you shall not go.
He froth'd his bumpers to the brim; A jollier year we shall not see. But tho' his eyes are waxing dim, And tho' his foes speak ill of him, He was a friend to me. Old year, you shall not die; We did so laugh and cry with you, I've half a mind to die with you, Old year, if you must die.
He was full of joke and jest, But all his merry quips are o'er. To see him die across the waste His son and heir doth ride post-haste, But he'll be dead before. Every one for his own. The night is starry and cold, my friend, And the New-year blithe and bold, my friend, Comes up to take his own.
How hard he breathes! over the snow I heard just now the crowing cock. The shadows flicker to and fro: The cricket chirps: the light burns low: 'Tis nearly twelve o'clock. Shake hands, before you die. Old year, we'll dearly rue for you: What is it we can do for you? Speak out before you die.
His face is growing sharp and thin. Alack! our friend is gone, Close up his eyes: tie up his chin: Step from the corpse, and let him in That standeth there alone, And waiteth at the door. There's a new foot on the floor, my friend, And a new face at the door, my friend, A new face at the door.
The only problem at this time of year...apart from feeling less than svelte after all the festive binge-ing...and yearning for a little sunshine to break through the grey skies...and...
Okay, not the only problem...but one that's fairly high up my list at the moment...is the fact that attempting to escape hypothermia is rarely chic (I’m talking on a day-to-day basis here... when tights, jeans, shirt, sweater, scarf, coat, and miscellaneous other assorted layers, are needed to simply pop out and get a bottle of milk). Nor is it remotely uplifting...it being hard to feel your best when you’re channeling a cross between an Oompla Loompa, a sherpa, and a deranged bag lady.
My current solution is to focus on the details...be they the tangible variety, like this vintage scorpion ring...or more subtle and personal...a favorite scent or comfortingly soft cashmere sweater. For those of you in a similarly frost-bitten state, a question...how do you survive the "so padded I feel like an over-stuffed sofa" blues?
Even though I have been in magazine curmudgeon mode for some time now...where I alternate between bitching about the price of European imports and the lack of content therein...I found myself standing by the magazine rack in Borders (mainly, I'll admit because Mr. Heb had dragged me in to look at the sale tables). I had a cursory flip through Lula #9 (Fall/Winter 2009...ridiculously late, I know, but the November issue of l'Officiel was close by...time, for mags crossing the Atlantic, is relative)...and was bludgeoned into magazine buying submission by the quality of the editorials inside.
The only downside? Of the two available issues, one was (quite literally) falling to pieces...and the cover on the second looked like it had been used to fend off attackers. In days gone by I would have left them both on the shelf and gone to another bookstore...but so many stores have closed recently there's no certainty of getting your hands on anything more exotic than US Vogue. Feeling like I should know better I ended up at the counter, wallet in hand...and jokingly asked the (very nice) man behind the counter if there were any slightly less abused issues in the back of the store..."No", he said, "but I'll take 20% off this one". Faith in mankind restored and eye candy to enjoy while I sit next to the hissing radiator...the year is going on a (admittedly rather low) high spot.
There's something inescapably wanton about an $1,100 scarf. Oh, wait...it's the fact that it's an...eleven...hundred...dollar...scarf. A pricing structure that beggars belief...unless it was handmade by angels...and, even then, they'd have to be Cherubim or Seraphim...none of those riff-raffy angels. Of course, having registered protest I also have to say that it is a beautiful scarf...oatmeal colored cashmere joined with a luxuriously thick band of lace. Exquisite, yet exorbitant (which, when you think about it, would be a lovely motto to have placed on your tombstone when you quit this mortal coil...sorry, the angels made me morbid).
And so...a DIY project is born...out of necessity (mother of invention, aunt of "blimey, that's expensive"). I found a similarly hued, lightweight, cashmere scarf (somewhat bizarrely at Restoration Hardware)...and a wide length of lace trim from Hong Kong (via eBay). Given the speed of the mail at the moment I should finish this project sometime around Easter...
Except that today it's not a grey fluff...but a combination of grey skies and mind-numbing cold...that's causing an inability to think. Time to fall back on comforting layers of plaid flannel, grey wool, and a vintage French glass button necklace...
Grey woolen sweatshirt - Resistance RT, flannel shirt - Old Navy, necklace - Club Monaco, jeans - Joe's
I'm assuming, as I write this, that 'Pefect Day' was written in slightly milder weather than we're currently experiencing...mainly because, even though I love snow, I've never felt the urge to "Drink Sangria in the park" in a foot of it. Yesterday we did, however, manage a visit to the zoo...where, in the bird enclosure, a vulture was eyeing up a couple of shivering storks with all the fervor of someone who anticipated a large meal in the near future...and where, outside the enclosure, a flock of bright red cardinals were feasting on similarly hued berries.
All in all, a good day...or, as the man said, "You made me forget myself. I thought I was someone else, Someone good."
It was a classic case of "Add to cart" button hovering...the color and the perforated leather reminded me of a 1930's sports bag that I came across years ago in the basement of a large, country house...it had been too worn to do anything with except give a decent funeral...but this...this was the best of both worlds...a memory and a reality...and there was my finger hovering over the button again. It was also large enough to be really useful and able to be carried over arm or shoulder. What was I waiting for? Click for goodness sake!
The only niggle of doubt was the lack of information regarding closure...surely an oversight...who would create an "I'm going to carry my life around with me" bag yet leave it entirely open to the elements, pickpockets, and other assorted nasties? Would there be even a scintilla of doubt over the question of whether the klutz's among us (i.e. me) would need a bag to actually fasten to ensure that their belongings weren't strewn about wherever they went? Apparently, there would...because I'm reliably informed that that is indeed the case.
The sad/depressing thing about all this is that the memory-based pull is so strong that I'm still having to talk myself down off the purchasing ledge over a bag that I know is essentially useless (from my perspective at least)...
I don't know if it's more fascinating that Boxing Day...aka St. Stephen's Day...was celebrated in Wales (up until the 19th century) by the bleeding of livestock and "holming" (beating or slashing with holly branches) of late risers and female servants...or that in Ireland it's called the Day of the Wren...I'm leaning towards the former (though as, for me, B.D. is marked by slothfulness and chocolate consumption I should be glad that holming no longer takes place or I'd still be picking holly pieces out of myself at Easter).
The best part of all this Wikipedia-induced knowledge is that, as an expat, I finally have something intelligent to say when someone asks me "what exactly is Boxing Day?"
Turtleneck - Club Monaco, dress - Hengst, necklace - made by me, boots - Russell & Bromley
Usually I greet "practical gifts" with the same enthusiasm that a Dutch Oak must treat woodworm...and there was a "no Christmas gift" plan in effect here at Hebden HQ...yet, despite both of these inescapables, here I am about to wax lyrical about the key cosies that Mr. Heb placed under our tree for me.
Somehow it's difficult to think in terms of practicality when a small, rubber, Russian doll head is smiling up at you. Plus, this should alleviate the amount of time I spend outside my front door...gazing into space like the village idiot...trying to figure out which of my keys will let me in...
As this is my third year posting some sort of game at Christmas I think I can safely call it a tradition...if you haven't guessed by now, for me, some sort of g. is a necessity to while away the post-present opening/pre-feasting time period (though Mr. Heb will no longer play Monopoly with me as he claims I illicit too much glee from buying all the property and sending my fellow players to the poor house in record time).
This year's festive time-killing suggestions come from The Week-End Book, published in 1931...a time when, if this book is anything to go by, a weekend was considered a dead loss unless it consisted of good food and drink, a hearty dose of poetry, the singing of a few traditional ballads, some bird watching in the morning, and star gazing at night, some discussion on architecture and law, and games (both physical and mental). Ah, the good old days. And so...without further ado...the "sedate, intellectual game"...
The "fun with the right group of people game"...
And the "I really need to get out of the house more" puzzle...and, no, the 10 puzzles before this one were no less ponderous...
With or without games, I hope that everyone has a very Merry Christmas...frolicsome Festivus...or other, suitably entertaining, holiday shindig. Without you, dear readers, it would be very lonesome around here...
I realize the inherent dichotomy between my recent wish for a little more austerity in my wardrobe and today's pattern overload...what can I say? A Christmas Eve filled with ice storms and grey skies seems to make it almost mandatory...
"The masses seem to me worthy of notice in only three respects: first as blurred copies of great men, produced on bad paper with worn plates, further as a resistance to the great, and finally as the tools of the great; beyond that, May the devil and statistics take them." - Friedrich Nietzsche
Given the pulpy nature of Christmas chez Hebden we should probably have taken the whole thing to it's ultimate conclusion and bought some paper plates for use with our festive feast. That, however, would have been asking for grease stains whenever anyone laid a plate down and sudden spillages when someone got greedy and overloaded their plate (yes, that would probably have been me)...issues that would be solved with some of these one-of-a-kind, handmade, plates made from "porcelain paperclay" (something that I'd never heard of but which turns out to be a slurry of porcelain and previously used paper plates). I just wish that this form of recycling wasn't so darned expensive...
As someone whose childhood companion was a medium-sized Snoopy doll (and accompanying wardrobe)...well, at least until my Cairn terrier molested him horribly behind the sofa one afternoon...this plush pair (in their head to paw Hermes) induce nostalgia and envy in pretty much equal measures.
"Who persuaded you to cut off the nose of your wife's lover? Wretched husband, that was not the part which outraged you! Fool, what have you done? Your wife has lost nothing by the operation" - Marcus Aurelius
Apologies if you've reached Christmas craft overload...I realize that I posted once already about our origami tree decorations...but, at the time, I neglected to mention project number two (or the great lino cut experiment as it was otherwise known). The last time I put chisel to lino was back in high school so the idea to print our own Christmas cards was at once nostalgic and terrifying (both from the point of view of how much I would have forgotten and whether I would gouge a hole in myself before the project was over).
The end result however was a success...nothing fancy...a few Ho's and a Christmas tree (which must be the punchline to a bad joke)...but infinitely nicer than the store bought, generic variety. Now, instead of sugar plums, I have ideas for lino'd t-shirts dancing through my head...
Snow is falling, though as we're due for a deluge of rain on Christmas eve it's looking more like it'll be a "dank and murky Christmas" as opposed to the white one of song...
Striped top - Zara, over-sized argyle cardigan - vintage Joseph, jeans - Joe's, flats - Old Navy
"We love labels. We really do--as a society, I mean. It's so much easier to understand the world around us if we name it, tie it down, and distance ourselves from the parts we don't like." - unknown
I'm not sure if parents still label their off-spring's school uniforms with their names or whether it's considered horribly old fashioned and the children just have to fend for themselves. All I know is that...lurking in the depths of my sewing basket...is a packet of tags, embroidered with my full name. My mother obviously bought in bulk and I've kept them because a) I'm a terrible hoarder, b) they take up very little space so I forget that they're still there until I start digging around trying to find a loose button or exotically colored piece of thread (i.e. something other than black, white, or navy).
They're a memento of my childhood...but essentially useless...and I'd swop them in a second for Antoni & Alison's versions...."I'm imagining things" and "Don't spend any more money" being much more helpful to me at this point in my life...
I've read on various forums and blogs that Frye boots take a while to break in. Thankfully I (somewhat ditz-ily) missed all of the bad reviews before I snagged my Chelsea boots. As for me (and what I must assume are my horribly abnormal feet) they're the most comfortable boot, or shoe for that matter, that I've ever owned.
I'm not saying this from any kind of freebie perspective...hard earned scheckels were handed over for these puppies...I'm just living in the blasted things and had to share the joy...
Plaid shirt - Old Navy, faux fur lined cardigan - Orvis, skirt - Alice Ritter, leggings - American Apparel, boots - Frye, necklace - H&M
Or...as Newton's third law, the law of reciprocal actions, states "To every action there is always an equal and opposite reaction". In this instance, that equates to the shoe that I love but would be unable to stand up in...aka Repetto's suede heeled loafer (a shoe that, to me at least, demands to be worn by a 60's era Catherine Deneuve)...and the viable alternative that I could actually (damn my practical self) walk in...aka Urban Outfitters' rather unappealingly named 'Leather Lady Heel'.
Side by side, one is but a poor imitation of the other...but if you separate them...and squint...on second thought, perhaps I need to revisit the original question...after all, is mobility an absolute necessity?
Ah, Christmas...the time of year when you're virtually guaranteed to be hit by waves of homesickness (and a rather glutinous attitude towards comfort food)...both of which I was able to bludgeon into unconsciousness by making Lancashire Hot Pot...cue scenes of dark, northern mill towns...flat caps...and the occasional whippet (to go into stereotype overdrive I even found myself singing "On Ilkla Mooar baht 'at" until Mr. Heb claimed it fell under the auspices of cruel and unusual punishment).
The recipe, as you can see below, calls for neck of lamb...however my request for that specific cut of meat was met with blank stares at Whole Foods...so I had to settle for shoulder blade chops and some time spent alternating between de-boning and cursing. The end result, however, was worth the hassle...tender lamb, in a flavorful gravy, topped with just the right amount of potato.
Some mornings, you wake up, and the sun is shining...birds are singing their little hearts out...and, as the poet Browning put it, "The snail's on the thorn...All's right with the world!". Other days are not so cheery and accompanied by a belligerence that makes you want to close the blinds and throw a stone or two in the direction of the wildlife.
For those not so cheerful mornings I think I need to slurp my coffee from a porcelain knuckleduster mug...refined, but in a slightly menacing manner.
The mind becomes stationary; the brain stagnates; the even current of reflection is interrupted; the thinking power of the brain resolves itself into a monotone. As the waters of a tideless pool putrefy by reason of their stagnation, the mind becomes turbid and corrupt through lack of action; and the perpetual reflection upon one subject resolves itself into monomania. - Lady Audley's Secret
It's a well-established fact that our tastes change and evolve as we, ourselves, mature (a much more pleasing phrase that than "get older"...how infinitely nicer to mature like a particularly ripe chunk of cheese or a fine wine). Anyway...our tastes change...and sometimes the “investment pieces” that we spent all that money on in our carefree youth work with the newly evolved version of ourselves...and sometimes they hang around our necks like millstones (until we manage to convince someone on eBay of their i.p. status and recoup some of our losses).
Not that I’ve felt any seismic shifts recently...but I have found myself spending increasing amounts of time pondering pieces that are a little more austere than my usual fare...not plain, just with a certain purity of design. The spanned dress from Canadian based mono clothing, however, was the piece that caused me to make the jump from looking to purchasing.
It was, quite frankly, love at first sight (aided by a 15% discount code...MONOSHOP02, good through the end of the year)...if this is a time for change then all I can say is "Vive l'evolution!"
One of the few instances where I can nod my head and say, "Ah yes Geraldo, sage advice"...of course, as any Scotsman could tell him, it's much worse when it's whistling up your kilt...
I'll admit that, upon initial consideration, a doorstop falls into the same Christmas gift category as, say, a vacuum cleaner or a set of kitchenware...undeniably useful but lacking a little something in the excitement category (and liable to lead to an argument if your spouse tries fob you off with one as a "gift"). In the case of the porcelain versions created by San Francisco artist Armando Ramos, however, they actually become viable stocking stuffer material...if I were the recipient of the orange one I could (somewhat depressingly) see myself, come Christmas morn, wandering around trying to find doors to cheer up with its presence.
Up until this point I can honestly say that I hadn't spent a great deal of time considering the pros and cons of elf ears. You either had them...and were therefore, in all likelihood, an actual elf (of either the menacingly maniacal or distinctly non-intellectual variety)...or you didn't. Elf prosthetics were kept, at best, for misguided forays into "seasonal dressing" (i.e. the St. Patrick's Day leprechaun, a Halloween hobgoblin, or one of Santa's assorted minions).
Now I find myself smitten by a pair of pointy ears...albeit ones encrusted in sparkle by Erickson Beamon...thankfully the insane impulse to buy them is being held in check by the sort of price tag that would make the king of the elves shudder...
There used to be a children's television show on the BBC entitled "Why Don't You Just Switch Off Your Television Set and Go and Do Something Less Boring Instead?"...the gist of the show being, somewhat perversely (though unsurprisingly given the title), suggestions of interesting things to do which would, if successful, lure you away from the t.v. and the very program you were watching.
All of which has very little to do with the rest of this post...except that, despite the frigid temperatures, the other day found Mr. Heb and I yearning for a little fresh air. In true "Why Don't You?" fashion I suggested a trip to the museum and a little window shopping on the way...Mr. Heb fell in with the plan on the understanding that our outing would include a side-trip to Orvis for something utilitarian in the glove line (Mr. Heb's current pair falling into the "more hole than glove" category).
I've mentioned Orvis before...being filled to the rafters with Barbour and Viyella it reminds me of my childhood...at least the men's section does...the women's area being less outdoors-y and more "Women's Institute...making jam...and having tea with the vicar"...in other words, mumsy. But, looking at gloves can only hold you in thrall for so long (i.e. about five minutes)...and I found my feet heading towards the sensible skirts and turtlenecks...where, to my amazement, I found this little item...ribbed sleeves...leather trim...funnel neck collar...faux fur lining...all wrapped up in a "60's snow bunny hanging out at the ski lodge" package. It looks appalling on their website...and wonderful in real life...something to wear on part two of "The Great Glove Hunt" I suppose...
The exterior is quilted...and therefore vaguely reminiscent of Chanel handbags and the kind of leather banquettes found in certain expensive restaurants...studded with edible silver balls, and affixed with a silver bow tie.
The interior is comprised of a center of creamy chestnuts, candied apple, and a confit of yuzu and lime...entombed in milk chocolate ganache and pecans.
The whole is the result of a festive collaboration between French designer Alexis Mabille (best known for his bow ties and couture creations) and Parisian restaurant Angelina (best known for its hot chocolate and gateaux).
The only bad thing about this particular piece of Yuletide joy is that it is only available from Angelina’s Rue du Rivoli tearoom from December 21-26. Oh, bugger...
"Love is as much of an object as an obsession, everybody wants it everybody seeks it, but few ever achieve it, those who do, will cherish it, be lost in it, and among all, will never...never forget it." - Curtis Judalet
Normally the term toile de Jouy conjures up idyllic, and generally pastoral, scenes in hues of red, blue, green, brown, and black, against a pale background. A design concept that I'm all in favor of...Marie Antoinette meets soft furnishings. Julie Verhoeven's Forget-Me-Not wallpaper however takes the idea of classic toile and leads it down a more subversive path...adding a little Japanese bondage along the way.
Suddenly I wish that I had a 'downstairs toilet'...aka 'guest loo'...aka '.5 bathroom'...so that I could paper the walls in something unforgettable.
For the last fifteen years or so Mr. Heb has been, via the mixes he provided...first on tape and then, as technology advanced, on CD...my personal purveyor of percussion. Of course, I get lazy...and let too much time go by before I actually sample the bounty he provides...then, as is the case with the song below, I become so addicted that I have to play it on a continuous loop...
I mentioned some time around Thanksgiving that plans were afoot for a crafty Christmas in the Hebden hacienda. The theme was paper and the idea of origami decorations seemed like a good one when we were younger, more enthusiastic, and not suffering from multiple paper cuts.
Actually, now that we're finished...and the hours of folding, threading, and (in the case of the paper chains only) sellotaping are behind us...I have to say that the end result is rather snazzy, in a Victorian/Japanese kind of way...and, minus the expenditure on the actual tree, ending up costing less than the price of a couple of store bought decorations.
If anyone wants to try this I can recommend double-sided foil origami paper to add a little glitter...as many extra pairs of hands as possible to assist with the cutting and folding...and the patterns for samurai helmets and ninja stars close to hand.
There used to be a day when an invitation to a party meant the knowledge that I'd be forcing myself into something tortuously uncomfortable in which to attend. I don't know if times have changed...or if I have...but my current thinking revolves around something comfy that will allow me to actually enjoy the event.
What do you give that perennial pain in the posterior, the "person who has everything"? (Apart, that is, from dirty looks and muttered imprecations.) Well...how about a dot? Or, go all out, be lavish...splurge...give them six dots (and support art conservation while you do so).
That's what The Art Institute of Chicago is offering with their "Adopt a Dot" program. The dots in question are part of Georges Seurat’s A Sunday on La Grande Jatte. The recipient of your gift gets a pin featuring their dot color...and a card describing the location of their dot. You get the glow of satisfaction that comes from finding an inexpensive, yet unique, gift.
A few more layers and I should be able to give a reasonably successful parody of the child from A Christmas Story who couldn't put his arms down...a few more layers after that and I turn into an Egyptian mummy. On the plus side, I'm warm...
Until I started looking for one I hadn't realized that the humble duvet cover came in two forms...1) ruinously expensive...and 2) hideously ugly. Yet that seems to be the case, as numerous excursions to bedding departments have left me wondering why the only options seem to be the covers I could imagine waking up to each morning (yet whose $4-500 price tag would give me many sleepless nights) or the kind of cheap (in looks, feel, and price) cover that you associate with slightly seedy budget hotels.
Before anyone points it out I will admit to being possessed by an inner demon that allows me to rationalize expensive fashion-y purchases yet boggles at handing over a chunk of change for something that I will spend a good portion of my nights under (and something that, if the weather continues to wallow in the depths of -20 wind chills, I could see myself spending several days under as well). Clearly I have issues...in addition to hypothermia and a shamelessly nude duvet.
"If thou fill thy brain with Boston and New York, with fashion and covetousness, and wilt stimulate thy jaded senses with wine and French coffee, thou shalt find no radiance of wisdom in the lonely waste of the pinewoods" - Ralph Waldo Emerson
I realize that 1930's shades of green nail polish have been de rigeur for months now...and that by this point everyone is thoroughly jaded (oh, puns...how I love thee)...but the combination of my lack of enthusiasm for nail varnish during the warmer weather...and my addiction to the inky depths of Chanel's Blue Satin since the temperatures dropped...has caused me to refrain from trying any of the shades on offer. Until I spotted this duo lurking in Urban Outfitters...part 1930's socialite...part 1950's bathroom suite...and, at $5 a piece (and 30% off), definitely worth a try.
The photographs do not belong to me (except the ones I personally shot.) All photos are only used by commenting purposes and none are used for commercial reasons.
The avatar image used for this blog was taken by Ryan Robinson.
