I came across the following as I clicked through Vogue's Filipa Fino's Editor's Choice picks on Style.com...a dress from The Row to go gardening in (and based on the accompanying image we're not talking about re-potting a cactus...this is real, soil, sweat, and hard labor stuff)...this is why I don't read American Vogue...

I've found myself staring into space quite a bit recently...thinking deep, boot related thoughts (I know, I know...like a prospective Miss World I should probably be considering world peace or the end of hunger but, there you go).

The problem is that this is yet another skirmish in the ongoing battle between "practical" and "what I'd really like if I didn't have to think about things like the weather...comfortable mobility...and a post-root canal lack of funds". In this instance I have a feeling that practical may lose...especially if I spend too much time thinking about these beauties from ld tuttle.

It's way too early to be talking about Christmas...at least, it feels that way to me...but I know that any day now some bright spark on television will tell us that "there are only X shopping days until Christmas" and set the clock ticking in my head. So, let's not mention the "C" word in relation to this little item...let's just say that, in an attempt to brighten mid-winter, Kenzo is packaging its Flower fragrance in a matryoshka...and that this is one of those cases where I don't actually want the item in question...just the packaging...

The scene: A cold, November night in the city. Huddled in a chair by the window the girl knows she must go outside, yet is reluctant. Almost as a way of delaying the inevitable she leans down and presses the button on a vintage tape recorder on the floor by her feet.

"Day 54...the search continues...how can it be this hard? All I ask is a decent, heavyweight piece of tweed...enough buttons to keep out the chills...a cut that's masculine, with a feminine side...costing less than the G.D.P. of a small country..."

"How doth the little crocodile
Improve his shining tail,
And pour the waters of the Nile
On every golden scale!

How cheerfully he seems to grin,
How neatly spreads his claws,
And welcomes little fishes in
With gently smiling jaws!"

- Lewis Carroll

With possibly the shortest gap ever between the internal decision points of "should I?" and "I will"...at least, for me...I now have a pair of polka dotted tights in my possession. To be honest, if I hadn't had a gift certificate burning a hole in my pocket the internal musings may have gone on a little longer but, armed with free money...and faced with being able to buy a pair in person as opposed to hesitating over the "add to cart" button online...the decision was made. Delirious with hosiery-induced madness I even picked up a pair of grey, croco-embossed tights from DKNY. That's right...not only will my legs have the pox this fall...they'll be scaly as well...

"He did not know what love was. And he did not know what good it was. But he knew he carried it around with him, a scabrous spot of rot, of contagion, for which there was no cure." - Harry Crews

I'm torn by the whole Balenciaga polka-dotted leg debate (what...you missed that...ah, it happened in a dull moment after the whole 'should a hem be double stitched' debacle...thrilling stuff). My concerns are twofold...

1. I am, as I've said before, a klutz...at a rough estimate, I give myself 30 minutes before the dots on the tights are joined by a few ragged tears and holes
2. Elegant though they looked on the runway I can't help but wonder if the overall impression (on me at least) will be someone with leg-based chicken pox who should be home in bed and not spreading disease through the general populace

The good news is that, should I decide to risk both of the above eventualities, I have located a purveyor of polka dots (at satisfyingly non-Balenciaga prices).

Having actually...a) tracked down a travel bag that fit my (admittedly rather exacting) criteria...and b) a trip on the horizon...it's time to see if I can manage to pack enough clothes for a six day transatlantic jaunt in a carry-on. In theory, if I can manage to not check any luggage for trips within the 48 contiguous states I can manage outside...but somehow, in my head, greater distance means greater uncertainty as to weather conditions and a corresponding need for more options.

I see a lot of nerdishly satisfying outfit lists in my immediate future...

Today's quote should really have been Labor Day related...but I couldn't resist using this particular piece of whimsy from Horace. Actually though, it works with the more surreal aspects of the day...like the vintage convertible/boat that chugged past us a little while ago as we walked by the lake...mother, father, two children...all smiling ecstatically and obviously having a wonderful day out (though, really, how could you not have a giddy good time when you're in a car surrounded by boats?)

Of course, as usual, I'd left my camera at home so you'll have to use your imagination...red...convertible...bobbing along...wheeeee!

I'm a voracious reader now but it started at a young age...thanks to Winnie the Pooh...Enid Blyton (and her Famous Five and Secret Seven)...and Maurice Sendak's "Where the Wild Things Are". As such, I can't say that I'm thrilled by the thought of Spike Jonze's upcoming film adaptation...so much of the joy of books is that each person creates their own unique CinemaScope in their head, I'm inclined to feel like these adaptations take a little something away from future reader's enjoyment of the books themselves...also, as "W.T.W.T.A" is comprised of ten sentences, I can't help but think that a massive quantity of artistic license must have been invoked to create a full-length movie.

So...anti-adaptation...but (just to be contrary) all for the Spike Jonze - Opening Ceremony - Pamela Love collaboration inspired by the film. I'm not sure whether the spiked and feathered little number is supposed to be worn around the neck or wrist...either way I'd probably stab myself, and several innocent bystanders whenever I wore it, but I can't help but think it might be worth the risk...

As anticipated my new dress didn't spend long lurking in the closet waiting to be worn. Ideally I want to wear it with thick opaques and ankle boots...however, due to today's high humidity, all I could manage were double weave fishnets and flats. Summer can end none too soon as far as I'm concerned...

(Sidenote for annemarie...if you're still considering this dress bear in mind that it may be longer on you as I'm freakishly tall...5'11" in my fish-stockinged feet)

Our city council...bless their little cotton socks...has finally taken pity on a rather scrubby piece of parkland and planted about a tonne of assorted wild flowers (cue massive excitement in the local sparrow and butterfly community). If I ever have anything that could even remotely be termed a garden I'm using this as inspiration...

...though, as Juliet would probably have admitted, the sadness is mitigated when you come by what could be deemed as a "steal". As I mentioned yesterday, the fact that my favorite local store was closing was riddling me with guilt...and a vulture like urge to pick the remains...

An emotion that others must have shared as the pickings weren't plentiful. I did, however, manage to check an item off my mental wish list when I stumbled across this dress from Paris based designers, Surface to Air. I've been on the lookout for a denim dress for a while now...but I didn't want one that screamed "denim"...just a dress with interesting design details that happened to have been made out of denim. In this instance, the details are off-kilter sophistication on the front (as Mr. Heb said, "it looks like a dressy nurse's uniform)...while on the rear, the raw seams that I'd usually associate with Japanese denim have morphed into a very decorative embellishment. The best part...and the reason I'm calling it a steal...is that its price tag had been satisfyingly scribbled upon with reductions and counter reductions...until it reached the final sum of $46.

"Unless one says goodbye to what one loves, and unless one travels to completely new territories, one can expect merely a long wearing away of oneself and an eventual extinction." - Jean Dubuffet

One postcard in the mail...and suddenly I'm filled with guilt and recriminations...the reason...it was a store closing notification...for possibly the only bricks and mortar store in my immediate vicinity whose aesthetic was close to my own. The "G&R"...caused by the fact that I haven't visited in a while...they're clothes aren't cheap and I've been attempting to "be good"...but, as they say, every little helps...maybe I could have done my bit to keep them in business. And so the thoughts circle around in my head...

In reality I know that there was probably no one single thing that caused the store to close...during a recession all of those moving parts...that are so precariously balanced during the good times...start to shudder and fall apart. Yet I can't help feeling a little guilty...

Added to this guilt is the fact that the postcard was announcing a blow-out closing down sale...current season stock reduced by 25-50%...prior seasons by 70-90%. Will I be dashing over to try and take advantage of the deals? Yes. Will I feel like a vulture picking at the carcass of some deceased desert creature while I do so? Probably.

I've mentioned Made Her Think's bags before...but in that case it was a stingray clutch...so I'm allowing myself a partial re-post to mention her latest design (which is a shoulder bag and therefore much more useful for daydreamers like myself who rely upon a strap to keep themselves and their bags in close proximity).

It's not the strap though that's getting my pulse racing...that's being taken care of by what I can best describe as the "Dr. Frankenstein goes luxe" concept of slightly wrinkled leather...sewn together by a surgeon wielding golden sutures and copious amounts of metal plates.

Or...in my case...they leave an address so that a dress can be forwarded to them. Actually, in the case of this "veering towards Catholic schoolgirl but saved at the last moment by a swerve into French insouciance" plaid dress, I'd actually leave a stamped, self-addressed envelope so that temptation wouldn't even have to go to the Post Office (those long lines can make him so cranky).

Generally hair...once it has left someone's head and can no longer be termed as long, luxurious, luscious, or any of the other "L" words that seems to attach to hair like bugs caught in a blast of hair spray...loses its romance.

Except, that is, when it's been braided and encapsulated in a golden heart...then the love is back (though with a certain poignancy as this is, in all probability, a piece originally used by a Victorian maiden to mourn a lost love).

My "tip for the day", as one of the ever-so-helpful agony aunts might say...is not, under any circumstances, when one has been faced with the double whammy of a root canal and the bill for the aforementioned root canal (and no dental insurance)...not, I say, to weigh up the cost of said r.c. in terms of, say, a certain green Balenciaga handbag. Because that way, my friends, madness lies.

Instead try a cheery cost per wear analysis on your newly refurbished tooth...or write a blog post while you're still under the influence of pain killers...

The thing that I like about today's quote is that by pronouncing 'environ' in just the right way you can manage to get 'iron on' to work with the rhythm of the sentence (egad, I need to get out more). Not that I'm suggesting that Galsworthy spent much time considering the humble iron on...though somewhat surprisingly, as I always thought of them as something quintessentially 1970's, they were actually invented about 100 years earlier...so, in theory at least, Galsworthy could have spent the odd moment pondering their beauty...just as I'm currently doing with these quaint, naive, muted examples from Sukie.

When you're feeling rather grotty...especially on a Sunday...there's nothing like curling up in a corner and flicking through a few magazines in search of inspiration (for when you feel better and less interested in your "comfortable but crappy" sick wear). Inspiration, or so they say, comes in many forms...I just never expected one of those forms to be American Elle (and with Jennifer Aniston on the cover, no less).

Yet, there you go...styled by Camille Bidault-Waddington, "Age of Enlightenment" is all about the details...and what fascinating and appealing little details they are...