the things we leave behind

 source

“Second hand books are wild books, homeless books; they have come together in vast flocks of variegated feather, and have a charm which the domesticated volumes of the library lack”
- Virginia Woolf



 Ever since I started reading I have been entranced by the things I have found within books.  These have included pressed flowers, postcards, receipts, lists, monopoly cards, and tickets.  The books I have with names and inscriptions are outnumbered by those which are not my own, though I have a few Shel Silverstein books inscribed to me from my parents, and a few others from dear friends.  I try, when gifting someone a book, to put in a book mark, a book plate, or something of that sort.  On rare and special occasions I have been known to fill lovely books with related ephemera-- such as a copy of A Very Long Engagement filled with associated postcards and photographs placed in just the right pages.

This article lists things found in a secondhand book shop in Oxford.  There's something romantic, mysterious, nostalgic, about these items.  At least that is the way I've always felt about what I find in books.  There were a job lot of one woman's collection in my local used bookstore, and I was so taken with her taste and her bookplates that I was tempted to buy up whatever I could of her collection, just so they weren't separated.  I am, obviously a sentimental fool.  Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, I couldn't afford to at the time, and the books went to their separate homes.

I do love new books, don't get me wrong, there is something amazing about being the first person to own a book.  But there is something even better about being one in a line of book owners.  (I have to say that when a book comes to me I am often the last person to own it, at least in my lifetime.  Though I do try to pass books along when I can.)  I guess I will take my books any way I can get them, preferably in paper.

Back to the point...
Not only is there an article, there is an exhibition.  The exhibition features writer Wayne Gooderham's collection of books inscribed with personal messages of all kinds.  Information about the exhibition here, and Gooderham's blog full of the book dedications here.

And, a little song about secondhand stores, sort of.

Jeans are a type of trousers

Today's trousers: unsuitable for work, but I am wearing them anyway.  I'm a rebel! 
They are green, with patches.  PATCHES.  (I did not, despite my sewing prowess, install the patches myself.  They came pre-installed.  A strange concept.)

 

Now, part of my quiet and insubstantial rebellion at work is that I am in pain.  I'm in a little physical pain, and a little emotional pain, and a little existential pain.  I'M IN A LITTLE PAIN.  And so I express my pain in a healthly manner, like wearing inappropriate clothing and turning up for work JUST on time (not early! take that, work!).

This is a face in pain.

And not just because of the birds' nest hair going on. 

Anyway. Mr. Cereal has a sewing project for me-- something I have not attempted ever!-- jeans.  I'm a bit worried, but more because I see it as a challenge.  Luckily there is a ton of help on the internet.  And Mr. Cereal seems to believe I can do it.  (Though his words last night were less encouraging-- "you're my only hope!")  Ah, worth a try.  And I do like to have a project.  Plus, success would be incredible.  And jeans are, after all, a type of TROUSERS....

(I just can't say PANTS.  Pants = underpants.)

The saddest monkey in the world

nie moj cyrk, nie moje malpy-- just to remind you.

This is the saddest monkey

ever.

source

Not my circus, not my monkey.
This is one of the saddest things I have ever seen.
Thank god he's got a coat!

Building things

I keep finding myself stuck in a rut in front of my computer, making notes on projects I find interesting and I'd like to accomplish instead going ahead and accomplishing them.  I'm very tired of this.

I want to go ahead and build things, write things, and make things instead of making a library of notes on the things I will one day build and make and write.

 Notes from when I was working on my thesis- part of my "library of notes".

I made a list, either last year or the year before, of vague projects I wanted to accomplish, like painting something that I wanted to hang in the house, sewing a piece of clothing I liked to wear, things like that.  Goals that are within reach.  The thing that I did not foresee is that by becoming involved with Mr. Cereal, those things are actually more of a possibility instead of less of one.  I have never had a boyfriend who is so encouraging of my goals while providing inspiration for new ones-- and not in a weird or creepy or overbearing way.  It's difficult to explain.  Since we have become serious I have become involved in martial arts (on the bunny slope-type level), which I am enjoying so much more than I ever would have imagined.  But I am also enjoying the things I do by myself even more.  I can talk about any of my projects or ideas with him-- publishing my thesis, creating Cornell-type boxes, embroidering a representation of a mass grave... and he has ideas on some of them (good ideas!), and ideas for other things I can do.

I am not used to this kind of thing.  This seems like what people have been talking about, about what relationships could be like, but which I have not had.

Anyway.  I'm making a plan to accomplish more. And I like that.
Oh, and I plan on keeping Mr. Cereal around too, if he lets me.  He makes my life a bit better all the time.

Made this for a friend a few years ago. She and her husband wanted fish, but had no room.  Viola!  I created a few fish they could hang from a bookshelf (I guess a fish-mobile of sorts) that would sparkle as they turned around.

yeah, it's corny...

 (source)

Elf Socks?

Today's socks: so-called elf socks.
Now, normally I hate compliments at work. HATE THEM.  When most of my workmates compliment me they say "oh, you look nice."  And instinctively I think:
"I don't need nice!"
I don't need "nice." I don't need myself to be it, and I don't need anybody else to be it at me.

 (source)

(This does not mean you, Stella and Jessi.)  Partly because I am not trying to look NICE.  I am trying to look AWFUL.  And my preferred compliment is something along the lines of "Oh, well, you look homeless, and from the 1970s."

But today a few co-workers have complimented my socks.  excellent.  They have not said they were nice.  Even better.   One even made fun of them, calling them "elf socks", but even that is beginning to grow on me.  Elf socks.  heh.

Today's outfit is a bit librarianish.  Topped off by very librarian hair, even. 

And, to sweep away the cobwebs of yesterday I will (I am hoping) very soon be getting into my stupid gym clothes and going to the stupid gym.  Bleurgh.

Here's some Andrew Bird.

Work Trousers

Today's trousers: green, subtly herringboned, super-static-making
Today's M:

There's some days you wake up in a mire of overpowering sadness.  And there's others when you wake up and things are awesome and then work tried to kill you and suck out your soul.  Today is the latter.  Even if my trousers had been awesome they could not have saved today.  Bugger.

However, tomorrow is a brand new day.  I have spent all evening cleaning my room (it's an ongoing project- like cleaning an oil spill).  Currently I have 4 bags of clothes to go to the charity shop (my sister will be very proud!).  I'm tired, and I feel as grumpy as Grumpy Cat looks.  It's the kind of day I call "wombat".

Post script: the good news is this: "When I am attacked by gloomy thoughts, nothing helps as much as running to my books.  They quickly absorb me and banish the clouds from my mind." Michel de Montaigne
I am running to my books, and even the thought of it makes me feel better!

Symphony in Brown

Because my beloved co-workers are in the office today I am wearing an EXQUISITE ensemble in brown.  A symphony in brown.  (A symphony of ugly, more like)  And because my beloved Stella is in the office today I chose a terrible shirt to amuse her.  I have already done my hideous Liz Lemon dance to amuse Catherine.  I am on co-worker amusement fire today.  I am living to make others happy, and it is making me happy too.

Mr. Cereal is having a tough day at work.  And I have a plan to make it better later.  I'm really excited about that too.  I don't want to spoil it, but it doesn't involve a symphony in brown. 

Speaking of brown, it always makes me think of Lewis Mumford's book The Brown Decades:A Study of the Arts in America 1865-1895.  Mumford was, of course, a student of Patrick Geddes, the subject of my thesis.  Mumford had a problem with the way Geddes taught, as illustrated in the way Geddes would take people (specifically Mumford himself) through the Outlook Tower, showing them how to see Edinburgh through it. 

It's an interesting idea that Geddes was so insistent on showing people how to see things the way he saw them.
.

Soup Shoes

Today I was musing on my old soup shoes.  They are somewhere in my closet at the moment.  Since I am no longer sitting at the front desk, I no longer have to wear dress shoes to work.  Instead I wear sneakers most days, adding a touch of insanity to even my most normal outfit, and making the crazy ones look that much more dressed-in-the-dark-baglady-ludicrous. 

Good old soup shoes.  They were the high point of some of the outfits last year.  They were so named because one shoe had a slight stain, probably from some soup.  They made me look more homeless than usual, especially when paired with ugly trousers.  I looked like someone had dressed me out of a Salvation Army charity box.

I like my sneakers better, mostly because they are comfortable and help my feet stay warm.  I must be getting old, all my fashion is so clearly based on warmth and comfort.  And I now own about 80 scarves.

(source)

sans tube tops

Thanks to the Goodwill in Clarksburg, WV I have expanded my ugly shirt collection!!!

I LOVE a good butterfly collar.  LOVE THEM!

Now, I have a theory, and since I am technically a doctor I can say it's scientifically proven, though it is only scientifically proven in my own brain.... My theory is that my love of ugly clothes stems from my being a child of the 70s.  I grew up in ugly clothes.  My parents, and my parents' friends wore them.  I love them!  MORE PLAID, MORE POLYESTER!!! POUR THEM IN MY CLOSET!

 This is the combo of shirt and trousers. The trousers are green, fake wool, and subtly herringbone.  My whole ensemble today is a symphony of green, except my shoes.  Same sneakers as always, only these are brand new, and look exactly like the old ones.

Maybe there's something safe about these clothes, something comforting.  Maybe my ideas of what is beautiful were formed when I was a kid and now I can't undo them.  I remember dressing up in my friend's mom's clothes: tube tops, and sparkly gold lame, and things like that.  Her mom was so glamorous to me... and now here I am (sans tube tops) wearing things my mom may have worn.

I was not only influenced by the 70s, though.  The 80s had their input too.  And I blame Barbie.

This Barbie to be exact (source).  I had an aunt in the 80s who wore stuff like this, and to me was super glamorous and grown up and awesome.  Oh, and 80s movies! Weird Science, Pretty in Pink, all John Hughes movies, really... Is it any wonder I wear what I do?

But here is the interesting part.  Though I love ugly clothes, they are not usually what I would choose to wear, if I had a choice.  I own normal clothes, sophisticated and simple clothes, made of natural fibers.  And I love them.  I would wear them all the time if I could, they're beautiful.  but somehow I end up in the ugly clothes again and again.  Maybe it's because I am not wild about my job, and this is one way to make it more fun.

Cabinet of Whimseys and Joseph Cornell

As I am trying to build my own work inspired by Joseph Cornell, I found the link below to be particularly interesting.

Anonymous Works: Cabinet of Whimseys: Rare as hell. A cabinet of 13 different folk art whimseys made by a man named Charles B. Gardiner.

I am a bit lost on how to start with my boxes.  I have acquired two types of boxes, so I'm good there.  All I need is what goes in them.  Building up a repository of junk should be easy for someone whose friends and family have lamented their very under-appreciated ability to collect treasure.  (Hey, it's my blog, I can describe my skills in glowing terms!)  But my boxes aren't about junk, they're about expressing an idea.

Whenever I think of Joseph Cornell I think of Audrey Niffenegger's The Time-Traveler's Wife.  Not the film, which I refused to see on principle, but the book, which I loved.*  In the book Alba describes how Cornell must have made the boxes (particularly with the birds) because he was lonely and wanted company.  I found that idea intriguing.  That, combined with the idea of Clare making tiny paper sculptures in her tiny studio in her's and Henry's first apartment made me think in terms of creating a discrete world, a box which could contain an expression, an idea, a feeling.

 (above images, and the one at the top, from this source)

But the idea didn't start (or stop) there. It was also inspired by the work shown below, The Cabinet of Curiosities, from the Smithsonian Museum of American Art.  Then it veers into ideas of authenticity (being inspired by Cornell, how can make sure that my work is authentic and not merely a copy?).   And then my brain goes into overdrive with ideas and problems and how to implement all my genius ideas into reality.  I don't have enough time... or is it that I lack willpower?

It's taken me forever to finish putting this together explaining my ideas.  Lack of willpower?  Confusion?  Too many ideas?  Need more ginko?  I just don't know.

I'll let you know how it goes on the boxes.

*I made a good friend over his hatred of the book.  He called it "trite", but his phone's predictive text changed it to "tripe", which I thought was funny.

Note: Serendipity! Found this without looking for it!  Look at this!
This is what I think my insides look like, particularly  my brain and my heart.  This is beautiful.

Anonymous Works: Four-legged Stool

I like to image what sort of babies this stool would have if it bred with a claw-footed bath.

Anonymous Works: Four-legged Stool: Sold at Fontaine's for $1,200.00 (w/o premium).

Bear with me

Wouldn't you like to see a film about a bear who fought in World War II?  Well you probably won't any time soon.  Sadly.  Here's the story.

And since we are talking about bears and how they're awesome and can do awesome stuff like drink beer and carry ammunition... Well, then you HAVE to know the story of Potapych, one of my all-time favourites.  I ADORE HIM.

Take your friends to parties, but don't let parties take your friends.

trousers can be deceiving

Today's trousers: from this photo they look awfully normal.  I look awfully normal. 
Luckily, these trousers are deceiving.  I have Helena Bonham-Carter-eqse (HBC) hair (though it is admirably tamed, sort of) today.  It is Bride of Frankenstein hair.  It is epic.

And though I have had my V8 AND all my vitamins, I have pre-caffeine face.  A lot.  Strange hair, strange face, normal trousers.  It may be a strange day.

The apparent normalness of my trousers reminded me of something I came up with this summer: the ugliness of the elastic waistband of your soul.

Oh, and in other news... I seem to have a boyfriend.  Yep.  I have reacquired my beloved Mr. Cereal.  No more excruciating first dates for the foreseeable future.  I am ecstatic.  Not over the lack of first dates, which is great, but because I genuinely love Mr. Cereal.  And he does not mind (and indeed enjoys) if I talk about genocide, Stalinworld, etc.  I am a terrifically lucky girl, even if only for a brief time.  And I am happy.

The difference between ugly and hate

I've been thinking a great deal lately about the difference between clothes that're ugly and clothes that I hate.
This is mainly because although I recently (read: sometime last month) organized my closet enough so that I could enter it, it has now become so disheveled and crammed that although I can reach into it, I can no longer get into it.  This makes it harder to chose clothes.  So I generally go with what I can see.  And this leads to some interesting choices.  Many are the days I have appeared at work looking like I got dressed in the dark.  I didn't, I just don't care if I match or not.  And many are the days I have worn things I don't particularly like, just because they are clean and within reach.

There's a difference between things that are ugly and things that I hate.  Some fit into both categories.  Sometimes it's the way things fit or feel.  They can be staggeringly uncomfortable.  Or ill-fitting.  Or just WRONG.  They can be wrong.  As I am trying on these garments I am putting them in the bag to go to the charity shop-- one monkey's trash is another's treasure, which is how I ended up with many of my lovely clothes in the first place.  And I am glad to see them go to another good home.

But as I sometimes wear these emergency clothes (read: need to clean your room, Miss!) to work, I often think about how clothes make you feel.  The subtle differences in your day when you feel better or worse just because you have the dark and guilty secret that you are wearing an elasticated waistband, or that you folded over the waist of your trousers to stop them falling down, or, as has happened to me, that your trousers DID fall down in the parking lot on the way in to work.

I'm trying.  I buy clothes too large without trying them on.  I have long felt that I am not good enough for good clothes.  I am trying to feel better.  But I do love my ugly clothes.  I am just trying to love ugly clothes which actually fit.  It will save me hours of parking lot humiliations in the long run.

Not my monkey

This is not my monkey

This, also, is not my monkey

Brilliant!  I love Polish! I love Poland! I love pierogi!
I love the fact that the phrase is "not my circus, not my monkey!"  I will be practicing saying it in Polish.

You may not know this, but as Scotland had an influx of Polish people in the early 2000s, some people learned some Polish phrases.  I was one of them.  I can say hello, how are you, thank you.  And now I can say, "not my circus, not my monkey."  Watch out, Polish bouncers, prepare to have your socks and/or trousers&pants knocked off!

Starting on the wrong foot

Today's trousers: fancy jeans
oh, and by "fancy" I mean: they have no holes, they are dark blue, and they fit.
The shirt that accompanies them: blue oxford shirt which also fits.

It is the shoes which complete the ensemble which are the subject of today's sermon blog.  I'm wearing sneakers (uh, trainers).  I told one of my bosses I was going on a date, that's why I'm dressed so nicely (i.e. wearing clothes that fit).
He said, "Oh, did you bring date shoes?"
I said, "These are my date shoes."
He looked at them again.  "Oh." With accompanying grimace.

(Even friends of mine are worried that these shoes send the wrong message.  I think they send a great message.  That message is: "Listen, pal, I'm sure you're nice and all, but I can kick you in the junk and run like the wind!")

I did recently buy some new shoes but they are more of a second date kind of thing.

Look, I do ok in the summer, I just wear a dress all the time.  But today I had to wake up (that in itself a horror show), fix my mophead (I am not even kidding!), and get ready for work.  Then I am supposed to figure out clothes! Jeez! The pressure!

I'm doing the best I can.

However.... tomorrow I will be going to see my awesome friend STELLA and drinking all the drinks.  (With plenty of time to look beautiful!) Neither one of us are excited about this at all.

(yeah, that's my mophead AFTER it's been fixed, by the way.  yikes)

Sock insurrection

Today, shockingly, my socks are staging an insurrection.

Perhaps it is their proximity to the baby poo brown plaid trousers (yes, again! Alright, I woke up late for work and blah blah blah!), perhaps they lamented my choice of brown shoes... but my black work socks have staged a slouch-in and have refused to cooperate.

They have fallen down on the job.
They are refusing to cooperate.
And so they will be punished with a trip to the bin.

Oh, it's true, I could give them to the charity shop... but why on earth would I give disobedient socks to some unsuspecting person?  No.  I will not!

(Oh, and maybe they were trying to teach me a fashion lesson... well ok.  No more black socks with brown shoes... not ugly enough... brighter, uglier colors from now on... Prints! Patterns! That's it!!!)

(Above is today's ensemble- the aforementioned ugly trousers and ever-present shapeless green work cardy)

Small...far away

These are small, Dougal, and these are far away.

The problem with being the one doing the photos for this thing (because my beloved co-workers are far away) is that ALL the photos are just ever-so-slighty (or ever-so-greatly) off. As demonstrated above.

Today's trousers: tweed skirt, green shirty-thing, green cardy, and knee socks. Not my full-on librarian, which is MUCH classier.  (Green shirty-thing seen below, as is my pre-caffeine face, be warned!!!)

Maybe I should have warned you about the mad badger hair as well. It's to be expected, generally.

Clearly, though, I have been missing a trick in the trouser department (in the non-dirty way!).  a friend has pointed out that RED TROUSERS are the way to go.  I'll get shopping, post-haste!  Or better yet, I'll get Midge to do it for me!

It's the small things

via Design is Mine
"seasonal furniture" by virginhoney. (See also: Sabine Timm on The Jealous Curator)

It's the small things, like teeny tiny furniture.

You can't go home again, or can you?

Need a little good news?
Mango was kidnapped  and then returned.  You're welcome.

And the trousers go to...

Today's trousers: baby-poo brown plaid with a subtle blue stripe, jauntily mismatched with a blue floral shirt because it was what was laying on top of a box where I could see it this morning. 

Oh, M, how I enjoy your fashion sense!  So quirky, so devil-may-care, so COLORBLIND!

Yes, yet again I look like I got dressed in the dark... but I didn't!

These trousers are the ugliest color in my collection, but I think not the ugliest trousers overall.

The trousers are ugly, but the photograph is unflattering.
It's win-win frankly.

Oh. You wanted to hear about the date. 
1. I did not fall down
2. I did not spill
3. I did not mention Stalinworld as my ideal honeymoon destination
4. I did not mention Stalinworld
5. I did not mention my love of genocide as it relates to my research on cultural nationalism

Surprisingly we were still able to make conversation.  So we'll see. 
And: this is not me, but it could be

Who's wearing the trousers?

Today's trousers: green military-esque skirt with black shirt. Lookin' good for a date to a dive bar!

It's true, I rarely wear my ugly trousers for dates.  Well, not for first dates, I would not want to scare a gentleman off with my awesome fashion sense.  Plus, I would hate it if I were better dressed than he.  No need to make him feel inadequate right away, as my massive intelligence will surely do that at some point anyway.

And here I am contemplating said date, or possibly sleeping on the job.  I'm already tired.  And a bit out of sorts.  I am not sure this bodes well for the date in question.  But you know what?  It's another freakin' first date.  GAH! http://myfriendsaremarried.tumblr.com/post/30758271121/when-my-friend-asks-how-my-first-date-with-a-new-guy#notes

Happy Trousers to You!

Today's Trousers will bring you the best of the worst of all my clothes!

Sadly, since my best co-workers are scattered to the winds, I can no longer share with them on a daily basis the fashion faux pas which I so gladly make to make them laugh each day.  So, I have created Today's Trousers to share them virtually!

First I bring you: a top which looks like bus upholstery, and a binder clip in my hair.  Enjoy.