Okay Mother Nature, you asked for it...I'm pulling out the big guns now...

You managed to sneak your frosty fingers into my gloves but try pulling that little trick with a two foot long faux fur muff...you'll be like a mouse caught in a maze (albeit a cozy one with no dead ends and tassels at each end)...

B'wah...ha ha...ha ha...

While I'd never claim that The Daily Mail is "a reliable source"...or "reliable"...or...oh, nevermind...I had to comment on their recent piece "Black clothes can put years on you: The unwanted side-effect of fashion's favourite colour" (contender for longest online tabloid title ever)...

Apparently, "Black gives the illusion of slimming down the wearer, and designers will have us believe that it's the colour of the season and you must not be seen in anything else. But it can also bring out dark circles under the eyes and lines. The effect can be as serious as making women feel drained, self-conscious and introverted.

Just one in five of us apparently have the correct skin tone to wear black well."

And now the really confusing part...

"This is because most women in Britain have what is known as a 'warm' skin tone, based on yellow, orange and gold colours.

Wearing black detracts from the healthy-looking golden hue by 'flattening' it and bringing out tired-looking darker patches on the face. The one in five Britons who suit black close to their faces have 'winter' complexions consisting of pale, cool and dramatic colouring."

Now...much as this may vindicate my choices...self being an incredibly pale Brit with a partiality for black clothing...I have to point out that a) it's virtually impossible to feel self-conscious in black clothing...invisible, maybe, but self-conscious...never. And b) to ask where exactly this "healthy-looking golden hue" comes from...I recall the seasons in Scotland breaking down as 10 months rain, 1 month sleet, 3 weeks snow, 6 days fog, and 1 day sun...not exactly the recipe for a sun-kissed glow.

Much the same as (I should imagine) most of you reading this, there's a folder on my desktop...marked "Inspiration"...where I place any images that I come across which fall under that heading. Maybe New Year's Resolution frenzy finally got to me...or I just got fed up with the disorganized mess on my computer...but I decided that I finally needed to do something with them...so...in much the same way that I used to paste magazine clippings into hardcover albums...I've created a tumblr account to house their digital equivalent.

It's called Inspiration and Impulse, after the Beryl Markham quote, "I could never tell where inspiration begins and impulse leaves off. I suppose the answer is in the outcome. If your hunch proves a good one, you were inspired; if it proves bad, you are guilty of yielding to thoughtless impulse." If you're in the neighborhood, stop by and say hello...

Must...stop...checking...my...email. As if the countless reminders that the "additional 25-30-40%" off will end tomorrow weren't enough (I know the mini sales are going to end, if I was interested...or had the necessary funding...I would have clicked through already)...if they weren't enough, I have Kate Spade showing me (what are admittedly absolutely lovely) studded sandals. The only problem being that in negative whatever temperatures I have a hard time imagining myself in sandals ever again...frozen in an ice block...or smothered under thermal layers...maybe...but shimmying forth, almost barefooted, seems incomprehensible at this point.

Quoting the American Kennel Club (five words that I haven't placed in a sentence together before)..."The only acceptable color for the Black Russian Terrier is solid black or black with scattered gray hairs. Any other color is considered a disqualification...The coat has a slight to moderate wave"...and it's considered a serious fault for them to fall prey to the extremes of demonstrating either "shyness or excessive excitability". In other words, the BRT and I have quite a bit in common...

And, as of yesterday's mail, we have one more thing...courtesy of a belated homemade Christmas gift from the Heb-in-law...we have shaggy black fringes...

Don't you love unexpected gifts? Especially the ones that give you just what you didn't know you needed so badly...?

Which came first...the chicken or the egg...the acorn or the mighty oak...the shower curtain or the dress? From my perspective, it was the shower curtain, as it was the first to catch my eye...the Hebden household, quite frankly, needing something a little more interesting in the shower curtain realm than we currently possess.

Of course, the subsequent question is...who else now has an overwhelming urge to blend with...or at least complement to an alarming degree...their soft furnishings?

"After eating an entire bull, a mountain lion felt so good he started roaring. He kept it up until a hunter came along and shot him. The moral: When you're full of bull, keep your mouth shut." - Will Rogers Off of a tangent (again)...this time courtesy of Alexander Wang's "hunter" vest (from one of his earlier and, to my mind infinitely better, collections). Striped top - Zara, denim dress - Surface to Air, hunter vest - Alexander Wang, boots - Frye

I need to start this post by saying 'thank you' to Silje of everything and nothingness...had she had not written about the black leather pouch she purchased from VDC I would not have clicked through to their site and discovered their collection of linen clothing (the fabric for which comes from a Belgian company which has been specializing in the production of linen since 1858).

Browsing VDC's site was one of those rare instances where I could have ordered enough pieces to send myself to the poor house...and probably would have done had it not been for the fact that this was my first time buying anything from them and I was wary as I knew nothing about a) their sizing, and b) their quality, "what you see" being in so many cases disturbingly different from "what you get"...add in c) that any returns would need to be sent across the Atlantic...and you get the end result (a+b-c). I ordered one dress...sleeveless...in dark grey linen...whose fitted top and full skirt was like a clothing cocktail...three parts Azzedine Alaia...one part Degas' ballerinas...with a shot of punk, courtesy of the industrial strength zip down the back.

Now the dress has arrived (in record time, I might add...faster than some items have made it across the US) and I am a happy little camper. The fabric is...heavy...almost too much so for those who dislike such things...but the weight allows the fabric to hold it's shape...and creates an almost structural delicacy...the shape is feminine, the material is a little more rugged.

All in all, a perfect way to welcome in a new year...

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?"

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...