Popular Posts

Friday, November 30, 2012

Clothes ... and changes.


Clothes

My favourite game as a child was dress ups. Mum would sometimes let me wear her shoes during my experiments.  She had these amazing red patent leather platforms, and all of her shoes fit me perfectly when I was around 10. Her feet are tiny. Her cork soled wedges were too high for me to balance on, but the leather uppers were hand painted with small pink roses. Mum still has these shoes. She let go of a lot of things in the 80’s, and in the 90’s I took all of her 70’s stuff that I could fit and wore it till it fell apart . I ended up giving Tamasin one of the best dresses mum wore in the late 70’s  because I couldn’t fit it anymore. She looked amazing in it, but then, she’s so beautiful that she could wear any old crap and still look cute.

I’m thinking about clothes a lot right now because of all the changes that are occurring.  In the 90’s I wore quite a lot of polyester. This seems unbearable now, but in my 20’s I had a vast collection of 70’s frocks and it was rare that you’d have seen me wearing jeans. As a teenager, I was not one of those privileged North Shore girls who flicked their (very straight or spiral permed) hair and spent their considerable pocket money on a nice pair of $300 Zambezi shorts. I couldn’t take part in conversations where someone was saying “oh god, I know I shouldn’t have, but I had to have it!” about some linen skirt in Cuntry Rd or Esprit.  I wanted something that was magical and fun to wear, something that took me to another place. As much as I appreciated the costumes of punk and goth, I didn’t want to commit to one ‘brand’ in the way I looked. I enjoyed op shopping more and more,  finding cheap frocks from the 40’s, 50’s and 60’s (which was still possible in the 80’s) and pairing them with boots. I felt like Anne of Green Gables and Kate Bush combined.
By the time I was 22 my wardrobe was so varied that it looked like several different people must have shared it. I liked classy things. I liked slutty things. I liked funny things. I liked hats, big earrings, plunging necklines, short skirts, long socks. From the time I was around 22 to 25 I lived in a fantastic oversized flat on Mt Eden Rd. It was positioned above an Op Shop, a pie shop, and next door to a whorehouse.  Living above the op shop meant I often grabbed amazing things before anyone else could, and I once scored a lime green crotched skirt and matching cardigan. The best thing I ever got was a large creepy doll from the 1950’s. She cost me $3. I love her, I like to think that she’s a protective energy, that she might scare away thieves and naughty ghosts.

 When I moved out of the Mt Eden Rd flat, I gave so much stuff to that Op shop that they asked me to stop; they were running out of room. In the night I would sneak down and put another bag of stuff outside their door and hope that someone would walk past and take it.

These days I’ve only just figured out how to wear silk. I found a couple of amazing vintage silk shirts this year, but they’re so ‘good’ that I wasn’t sure when I’d be able to wear them. One morning I threw one on over a singlet and knew I’d finally figured it out. Layers and casual. The shirt might have cost a shit load originally, but since I only paid $4 for it, I’m wearing it with the ease of an old t shirt. What’s amazing about silk is that when I sweat it doesn’t show up! This must be something all those silk experts know, but was new to me. I also have an incredible cream (vintage Thorton Hall) silk nightie that I’m gonna wear like it’s a rag from K Mart. No more ‘saving’ things. I bet that’s how I’ve got these things in such good condition. Someone kept saving it for good, and then they died. This nightie is long. It reaches the ground and it’s like walking in a waterfall of  thick liquid cream. I wore it around and then to bed last night, and I’m sure I slept better for it. Now I’m full of half formed plans to buy ugly silk shirts and make them into pillow cases.


I scored a Helen Cherry silk slip with cute pockets from Dressmart for $10 yesterday. It’s got a really lovely pattern on it, and although it’s not sexy, I couldn’t resist the fabric. The way things feel makes such a difference.

Scored lots of excellent baby clothes too. I touch them and imagine a baby wearing them with its soft skin and inability to know where they start and something else begins. Ti is looking really pregnant, and Tam’s womb fruit popped out in early October. The Painter and Miss Monday are back together and I’m wishing them well! The sexy ex has a new lover. Rob got an amazing contract for his business. Things are changing. Friends are having babies, travelling or starting courses of study or courses in Love. I’m in a new and loving relationship. It’s time to wear silk, eat strawberries, grind my own coffee beans and learn the guitar. Year of the Dragon. You fucking bet!




Friday, November 23, 2012

I'm in love


22nd November 2012
Poets may pine for it, sanity is sacrificed in its name and songs lament or celebrate its undeniable power. How can I come fresh to the topic of romantic love? Perhaps I can’t, yet of course I want to say this one is somehow set apart.

I am newly in love. Brand new, the key in hand. He is kind. He is funny. I mean, really funny. He has the most beautiful voice and this slow and soothing way of speaking. His eyes drew me in from the start, and yes, his nose is magnificent! He continues to give amazing compliments, and this generosity helps me to relax and give to him in a way that I’ve wanted to give for such a long time.

I can be free in how I love. I don’t have to wonder if showing too much kindness or enthusiasm will be received with some kind of disdain or taken for granted. Of course I’ve had moments of fear and anxiety, yet those moments have been used as an alchemical process. We’re richer for it. Where one man might flee or resort to games and cruelty, this man instead holds my gaze and talks with me. He stands steady.

This is just a quick note on this ‘in love-ness’. I’m busy in a way that I’ve been finding really difficult, but accomplishing a lot. Last night when I got home, I hopped into bed and pretended I’d been sleeping all day. I imagined the reason I was so tired was because I’d stayed in bed for so long. Talk about self-hypnosis! Within 15 minutes I had that lovely lazy sleeping in feeling and felt really refreshed. I was able to get up and even make a healthy dinner. I went all crazy raw vegetable woman orientated! The fact that the stove is dodgy as fuckery helps. I imagine fuckery is dodgier that fuck.

It’s time to head out the door, off to Henderson to teach my dear ladies some English (among other things!). Yesterday we talked about different suburbs in Auckland and what they’re like, since once they leave the safe house they have to find somewhere to live. We ended up having a good conversation about gangs. One of my students said “they’re nice aren't they?”.
I said it might depend on the gang and the age of the members. Older gang members who now have grand children start to see things in a different light. There are Mongrel Mob members who might have mellowed out, but generally speaking you probably don’t want to live next door to a gang headquarters.

Friday 23rd November

My Love is working over most of this weekend. We don’t get to see much of each other because he lives much further away than is entirely reasonable. I’m trying to clean and sort things out as I’m eventually moving, but I’m going to put a lot of things in storage so that I can clear out my cluttered mind.

I’ve not been able to catch up with friends properly for ages, but I did manage to get to Lou’s birthday in Devonport last weekend. My Love came with me, and we enjoyed a great bbq and visit before we headed off to see bands playing at Lucha Lounge in Newmarket. It’s the first time I’d seen Frankie play in many years, and her last gig as part of Bunnyjack. She is an accomplished guitarist and singer, her voice strikes the magical tension between fragility and strength.


 I really enjoyed it, but unfortunately I had a shitter of a headache and towards the end of the show (when Vessel were playing) I was struggling. My Love and I are both overcoming problems with our necks and shoulders.  Hearing people whine about pain isn’t particularly entertaining, but if you’re the one in pain, a bit of empathy (and a hottie) sure help. Oh, and I mean a hot water bottle, but an actual hottie (a desirable human) definitely assists in the healing process.

The sun has finally been shining. I turned 42 on the 16th of November and was treated to a fancy pants lunch by mum (pork belly at Y Not on the waterfront: lacklustre service but good meal), and then a kissy moo dinner with My Love. What do I call him other than My Love? Love Man? The Music Magician? The Meowser Houser?

My Love took me to Cibo in Parnell. I’d read about it and decided that I wanted to go to a really swish sounding place. The waiters are like myriad gay sharks dressed in black, smiles practiced and plastic. They performed a perfect dance of service; the dress rehearsal for something much bigger in all of their lives. We enjoyed observing these things, and the food was like small works of art, delicious and delicate. When we got home he gave me the earrings we’d seen in Jet Set Bohemian the previous weekend. Earrings I love so much that I’ve not wanted to take them out, even when I go to sleep.

I’m in love. I'm in love. I'm in love.