Sartorial Observations


men:women clothes

An Unscientific Sample of female vs. male attitudes towards clothing and attire

Me:  I care. I like fabric.  I enjoy pattern, texture, color.  He:  oblivious.

Me:  enjoy getting new things to wear. Even a new pair of socks can make my pulse race. He: does not enjoy new things to wear.

Me: happy to give away the clothes I no longer wear.  He:   “going through his closet” is tantamount to asking him to participate in a primitive form of torture.

Me: acutely aware when something seems hopelessly out of style.  He: will not admit there’ s a category called “out of style.”

Me: wears something new at the first opportunity. He:  A new article of clothing usually will die in his drawer or closet.  It’s shunned as a pariah, avoided as long as possible and when possible, forever.

Me: Shopping =Fun.  He: The last activity in life he would chose to do.  never. Nada.

Me:  I know what I like and what I’m looking for when I shop. He: no idea.

In Summary

I’ve become increasingly aware of what feels age appropriate to wear. Comfort rules. Ruffles, short hemlines, shorts and puffy sleeves are out.  High heels are out.

Otzi style clothes1

My husband never has had to cross that line.  He’s always dressed as he damn pleased with nary a concern, as far as I could tell, whether or not his attire might or might not appeal to the opposite sex.  He never dresses to please me. Sometimes I think he underdresses just to annoy me.   Some of it is about comfort, but I think a large part of it is about familiarity.  Nothing in his mind could feel better than wearing a t-shirt he’s had for a minimum of six years.  It’s clean in the sense of being freshly washed, but not in the reality of being stain free.

I think, when it comes to clothing, I’ve had a lot more fun in my life !  (And I can name a lot more colors!)



Our Sinister New Reality




I watched my tv screen in horror and amazement yesterday as the latest school shooting in the USA unfolded.  It all looked sickeningly familiar, but there was a new element to the coverage this time.  The victims had all practised for this moment as if knowing its inevitability.  Doors closed, halls emptied, locks snapped and everyone held their breath.  First responders knew their roles very well.  Help evacuate, identify the injured, Triage, send to hospital. Parents were quickly told where they could reunite with their children off campus.  Of course, they were the lucky ones who could reunite.

So this is our new reality. It’s actually political theatre. The politicians who got us here know their roles too.  Prayers for the victims, condolences for the families and heavy praise for each other, all the while looking very sombre and hugging nearby colleagues.    Absent in yesterday’s coverage was any mention of gun control. 

“We are here for you,” says Florida governor Rick Scott.  “We are here for you,” says President Trump.

Hell no, you are NOT and please don’t pretend to be. If your words were true, we would not be in this mess.

The politicians and their cronies have successfully erased these two words from the earlier scripts of similar crises.  Calls for gun control have become increasingly muted in recent years.  Now they are completely absent.  Unbelievable.

The lunatics have taken over the asylum.

I don’t give a damn about anyone’s so-called rights to carry a weapon.  What I care deeply about is the right of an American child to go to school in the morning and come home in one piece at the end of the school day to her family. It’s fundamental, isn’t it?

This, you have heard before: That meaningful gun reform is possible, must be possible, because Australia and the U.K. suffered a single mass shooting and decided it could never happen again. That a majority of Americans can agree that some degree of gun reform is needed right now. That 150,000 children and young adults went to school at some point in the last two decades and found themselves trapped in the midst of mass murder.

This, you’ve also heard: That there is a way, must be a way, to get ourselves out of this, because no developed and civil and educated nation can sit and watch as its citizens are slaughtered, brutally and repeatedly. Surely. Surely

Bustle, Jenny Hollander

Can we just agree to call it unacceptable for our country to have been so hijacked by the demands of those so wedded to their guns and rifles that they can’t see what they’ve lost by holding on so tightly?

I have pledged to myself that I will take action that feels meaningful. It’s too easy to just turn away. There are lots of fine gun control organizations out there toiling away.  I’m going to do my research and give support where I feel it can make a difference.  Just maybe, if enough of us takes some similar action, it might shake up the status quo and terrifying hold that the NRA now has on all of us.


You Remember What You Want to Remember! And don’t forget it!

If I could sum up the most important thing I learned during my junior high years, it would be the statement frequently heard in my Social Studies class when a question was posed by our teacher to which no one had the answer.  “You remember what you want to remember,” she thundered.  I cowered. I was a timid soul in those years.

Holyoke, Mass. school teacher, Helen Dunn

Miss Dunn was the end of the line for the never married teacher.  She must have been under 5′ tall, stout, buxom, with greyish white hair, cut short.  You didn’t mess with Miss Dunn, but you learned what she wanted to teach you. She still had the remnants of an Irish brogue and she scared me to death.  She taught me grammar in 7th grade and then was my Social Studies teacher in 8th.  She was a stickler for details, but when she taught, I remembered, because I knew it was in my best interests. I’ve often said she was the only good teacher I ever had as an undergrad.  The above photo is the only time I remember her smiling. May she rest in peace.

I never have described myself as someone with a “good” memory.  These days, as my recall gets a little dodgy, Miss Dunn’s words continue to reverberate.  Do I not care enough about the things I’m forgetting? Maybe not! There are still many things I clearly remember.  They are usually things that I cared about or things that scared the s*%t out of me, searing some brain cells in the process.

But, heaven help me if Miss Helen Dunn would reappear today to ask me what I ate for dinner last week, or ask me to remember details of a conversation I had recently. Could not do. I obviously just didn’t care enough.

Now, some things just have stayed with me, like the words to songs or my mother’s warnings like “Don’t come crying to me!”  I’ve never been one to remember plots of movies.  That’s been going on for a long time.  Now, even if I hear the title, I might not be sure I’ve seen it, never mind recount the plot!  I also can forget the plots of books, although I generally remember if  I liked/disliked.

But I’m not getting worked up about being a little more forgetful than I’ve been.  Yet.

I love the poignant ballads, “I Remember You” as well as “Try to Remember.”  I’ll feel certain that I’ll still be able to sing those songs on my deathbed. 

I’ve always had trouble remembering why I’m angry at someone because I can’t usually remember the reason for it.  That’s for the best I think.  I have been heard to say, “I’m supposed to be angry with _____, but I forgot why.”

All the new emphasis on brain exercises doesn’t interest me.  I still like to think, as Miss Dunn would have it,  that if it’s important enough, I’ll remember it!



A Little Knowledge is a Dangerous Thing

Definition: A small amount of knowledge about a topic can make people falsely believe they are experts on that topic.

My apologies to any of my readers who recently may have tried to find my posts on my WordPress website.

I’m struggling through an awkward attempt with a new WordPress theme (for me) that promised to update the look and feel of my blog.  I’d gotten bored with my original look.   Please bear with me. The demonstration made it look easy.  Just like professional figure skating.

A little knowledge had convinced me that I could handle any challenges with the help of the WordPress theme’s “happiness engineers.”  They’re a cheerful enough group of helpers, but I eventually tired of them.  Yesterday  I came to know a particular HE better than my husband, since he and I spent most of the past two days glued to our screens, texting each other non-stop as he gamely tried to help me with my chosen theme. After hours of trial and a lot of error,  I finally told him I thought it was hopeless.  He quickly agreed.  I was sure he’d give me an argument, but he actually agreed immediately to give me a refund.  That was a big relief, but where to go now?

There is no going back to the old theme now since I don’t remember its name and there are hundreds of them. I’m pushing on, trying to keep my appetite for the new and sexy looking themes under control this time!  My HE recommended that I go to the beginner’s choice of themes. I humbly agreed.

I’ve been trying one out in the last few hours.  It’s not perfect, but it’s not chaos either, so I think I’ll settle.

To whomever it’s applicable, thank you for your patience while I dallied in tech overload land.

To be honest, the design will be a work in progress for a while. I might soon decide to try another one. I might find someone to help me!  Thankfully, I’ve got the blogging part figured out, but the design elements are still not all that I want them to be!  I will promise not to let the design elements stop me from blogging because that would completely defeat the purpose.  Once again, thanks for your patience.  I want you to stay nearby.