She Who Restores Me To Myself

Posted on June 18, 2013 by mindfulmagpie

Magpies, in their love of shininess, have an especial need to experience scintillating moments with glittery people. By glittery I do not mean shallow, brittle, self absorbed, or vain. I am talking about an honest shine that comes from the inside all the way out, a unconditional shine that radiates warmth over others, a brightly colored shine that pulsates with willingness to pursue novel endeavors. I am of course describing my sister Ellen.

I promised in my last post to write about our latest adventures. But first a little background. Last summer I wrote a post about my sister in which I referred to her as L.G., or Little General. Ellen did not appreciate that appellation, so I have withdrawn that name from our lexicon. Last week, in a blaze of dervish like activity prior to boarding a plane, I referred to my sister as a hurricane, knowing that should she read the post I would be in big trouble, my kind intentions notwithstanding.

I am now on record to say that Ellen gets things done, but she is NOT a general. She is a force of nature, but she is NOT a hurricane. What then, can I call her? She is a person of great intellect, wit, and charm. Her droll humor and clever imagination cannot be matched. Her no nonsense work ethic and organizational skills are an inspiration to others. Her zest for life is unparalleled, her enjoyment of it a sight to behold. Her authenticity is a beacon to my soul. AND she loves me!

I had not seen my sister since December 2012, when I spent one night with her en route to a friend’s cabin. Little did we know that six long months would pass before we could see one another again. Somehow, with our various travel and work schedules along with family commitments, the weeks elapsed with no firm visiting plans.

We don’t talk on the phone much. We write letters by hand, on paper, to one another, and have for years. But this past semester many weeks separated our letters. I was beginning to feel like an American colonist awaiting word from the continent. Had my letter been lost at sea, dashed on a rocky promontory after a shipwreck? Would I hear that she and her family had perished in a smallpox epidemic? Finally my impatience got the better of me. I left her the following cryptic voice mail,”The jig is up!”

That, ladies and gentlemen, got a response, and at last we were able to plan for her to come see me in my town. She flew in on a Friday night just as my husband was flying out on a business trip, making the timing just right for an All Girls’ Extravaganza. I picked up the Hurric. picked her up at the airport and took her straight to my new midtown condo to spend the night. She admired the condo, and we both exclaimed over the sweet note my husband had left for us. Then she unpacked a few of her things. As I watched her familiar movements and listened to her long accustomed voice, I had this exact thought: I am restored to myself.

Our plan for the week was to have no plan. That way our plans couldn’t possibly go wrong. That evening, we wanted to eat dinner someplace where we could hear ourselves talk. I recommended a place where we chose a secluded table. No sooner had we sat down than a large group of ladies, some under the influence of more than two martinis with more in the offing, began screaming raucously, in a way that truly rattles the eardrums.

What do you suppose Ellen did? She approached those ladies, put her arm around one, leaned in and had a little ole talk with them. And they lowered the volume! When we left the restaurant a waitress followed us out to thank her for helping with the situation!!! How do you describe someone like this?

I told you she’s a force of nature!

The next day Ellen accompanied me to a Knit In Public Day at the zoo. She joined right in with these knitters, sharing knitting anecdotes from her own experiences.. And yes, she had brought her own knitting, self sufficient as always. She patiently allowed me to show her off to these folks who may never see her again,with nary a complaint about the heat or crowds. What would you call someone like that?

After knitting we stopped in a consignment store to look for midcentury modern furniture pieces for my largely unfurnished condo. She said she did not know what midcentury modern was, but she found me two tables, and rearranged my car so that they would both fit. But that is not all! She went all the way back down to the condo with me and helped me schlep them up there in grocery carts! Impressive, right?

And wait! There’s more! She moves furniture!

On Sunday Ellen gamely accompanied me to the Book Club Brunch where she knew barely a soul. I had actually not read the book to be discussed but by chance she had and was able to make salient comments while I nodded sagely. Though we were at a lovely function in a lovely home, Ellen murmured not when I announced we must be moving on to the theater to see Death Trap. This allowed me to use my last two remaining season tickets and also take advantage of the special that day for extending my subscription. All because of Ellen.

On Sunday night we dropped in to Tug’s at Mud Island to be waited upon by my son. While enjoying our meal there we proofread a paper my son was writing for a summer school class. I am fairly sure we were the only two customers there discussing poetry. After dinner we took a leisurely stroll by the banks of the Mississippi River, remarking on the environs and how many pieces of driftwood resembled dinosaurs. Thus ended another cultural evening.

After a discussion of poetry over dinner.

Ellen did not flinch the next evening when it was time for Iyengar Yoga. Her graduate school schedule had prevented her from going to her own class all winter, but she knew enough to know not to push herself. She has “subbed” in my class before, so many members were of course glad to see her. After yoga we spent some quality time outside on my pergola ( which her husband was instrumental in building) before eating a lovely dinner of grilled vegetables and chicken. Prepared by Ellen.

Post yoga quality time.

Our chef having some well deserved relaxation.

Tuesday was my hair day but we made it Ellen’s hair day too. I told her I liked her hair better red than blonde highlighted, so she obligingly had it redone. I watched to see how the stylist blew it dry so I could show her later. We were too hungry to take pictures, so just believe me that we were two groovy red haired old ladies when we left that shop.

And Wednesday. By Wednesday I had to face a deadline – Mary Hannah’s portrait. For months I had been working on the portrait my niece had asked me to paint. I had decided that I would have it finished as best I could by the time Ellen departed on Thursday so she could deliver it for me. This meant that after helping me with some yardwork early in the day, Ellen would be stuck watching me paint. Ellen had, however, bought some teeny tiny canvases, and tried her hand at them while I labored repeatedly to get M. H.’s skin color to a reasonable tone. Or tint. Or something. Eventually, though her skin looked like combinations of calamine lotion and badly applied makeup, I could do no more. Ellen was suitably soothing and optimistic that the portrait would pass muster with her daughter.

One of Ellen’s tiny canvases.

That night we again spent the night at the condo in order to be closer to the airport in the morning. We wanted to have a nice evening so I made us a reservation a place close by where I did not think there would be gaggles of loud ladies. Ellen acquiesced when I suggested she change out of those crummy shorts, and together we walked in the blazing heat to the restaurant. She changed into a skirt of mine that was too long, while I was wearing a skirt I considered a little dowdy. As we walked I saw how easy it could be for the two of us to become peculiar old ladies together, going to the Early Bird Specials and matinees, careful to be home by dark.

It was a bittersweet evening. As I doodled on my side of the tablecloth, Ellen was compiling a list of all we had done.

Now with red hair.

The list was long, but not nearly long enough. Oh, the things we would do if we had more time! Oh, how empty indeed would even the mundane events be without her! We decided once again that there was no help for it but to retire together in the same place, on the same property if possible. We’ll tell our husbands it’s the only way.

Ellen has gone home now. The portrait is delivered. I am trying to recalibrate myself after almost a week with this adorable creature who knows my thoughts, who finishes my sentences, who always finds something to celebrate. Now that you have read my post I must ask: what you would call my sister? How can she even be described? If you can think of anything – not L.G. or Hurricane of course- I’d be glad to know. For now, I’m just going to call her She Who Restores Me To Myself.

Hurricane Ellen

Posted on June 13, 2013 by mindfulmagpie

I know you wonder why you haven’t heard from me. I know you’ve been worried about me. So let me assure you that I have lost neither life nor limb. But I have experienced a powerful natural phenomenon that one doesn’t encounter every day : Hurricane Ellen.

I volunteered to experience the effects of this powerful little swirling force. I invited her. I flew her here in fact! You may have heard of her last year if you read my post Extra Extra, Read All About It, which details my lovely girls getaway with Hurricane Ellen. I referred to her in that post as The Little General, but I have been informed NOT to call her that any more. So for now it is Hurricane Ellen. She’s not going to like that either, but my brain is in too much of a whirl to come up with a title that describes her in more superlative terms.

I do owe Hurricane Ellen a better moniker, and the flattering description she so richly deserves. In print right here I promise to do it. But not right now. I am packing to go out of town for the weekend, and my force of nature house guest just left this morning. For now I just want to tell you I am still here, not harmed, but actually much improved from having my wonderful sister here for almost a week.

In parting I will say that if you know someone you long to spend the week with, go ahead and make it happen. Don’t wait to have the time of your life. You may not experience it as a Hurricane, but any force of nature brings its own rewards. I must stop here because my husband is clearing his throat and giving me those “hurry up” looks. I will give the full Hurricane report when I return!

Remedial Girl

Posted on May 31, 2013 by mindfulmagpie

Reading is the one skill I can say comes naturally and easily for me. I can’t even begin to list what reading has meant to me in my life, but for today suffice it to say there was no “low” reading group for me. From the beginning of school I regularly enjoyed a lofty position in the “high” reading group, grimacing as the other poor souls in my class struggled to sound out sight words. My early success in reading led me to believe, falsely, that all other things would come easily to me as well.

I’ve been thinking about that because I recently was given one of those questionnaires you get when you join an organization. What are your accomplishments? List your other skills. And what would people be surprised to know about you?

The answer to all three questions was “Nothing.” I can’t do anything but read. I have no skills. Nope. Can’t do anything well. And nothing about me would surprise anyone. Needless to say I didn’t turn in the questionnaire.

I’m fairly new to the whole “knowing how to do things” game. I grew up too late to be one of those little Southern girls who could embroider a hankie, converse in French, sketch my friends’ likenesses, dance the quadrille, and thrill my the menfolk after dinner with my singing and delicate playing of the pianoforte. Had I lived in those times, I still don’t know if I would have been very accomplished. I was an impatient child. I expected to learn and master skills without effort and persistence. If a particular activity frustrated me, I would just quit. Why did I need to learn to make a beanbag when I had Little Women right in the next room?

Also I was something of a klutz with a nice dose of performance anxiety. If I had chances to practice gross motor activities repeatedly, such as roller skating, I would eventually catch on. But fine motor activities were harder. Apparently I held my pencil in “lazy valley.” For years every one of my school papers was returned with a big red “MESSY” written across the top, until the fourth grade when, in a clever act of deceit, I traced my classmate Claire’s perfect penmanship and inadvertently grew some new neural pathways. I just knew my fingers were way too big to handle a tiny needle and thread, and besides, one had to continually rethread the needle. Overwhelming, AND boring!

It was lonely sometimes down in Lazy Valley.

When I was older, my mother, who sewed beautifully, told me that if I could read I could sew. That was SO not true! Do you hear me, Mother? Assuming one could lay out the pattern and cut the fabric, one had to be able to operate the machine without fearing sewing one’s finger to the table. Between choosing a pattern and the finished product there were just too many critical mess up points for me. In middle school a friend helped me sew a jumper, but my mother pronounced it unwearable. Ouch. Mothers don’t know their own power.

As a result I grew to be an adult who knew how to do one thing well: read. Since reading IS the one absolutely vital skill for a productive life, I am not complaining. But arriving on the scene of adulthood with few other skills caused problems of its own.

I married and had children. I had neither decorative nor practical skills. If buttons fell off of our clothes we simply never wore them again. My stomach still hurts when I think of having to sew those thick Boy Scout achievement badges on my boys’ uniforms, before the meeting in one hour, before my husband came home, while something burned on the stove. What was so challenging was that when I was frustrated I didn’t have the option to just set the task aside; I had to move out of my comfort zone or else send naked children to school. I am sure the pressure made me a very cranky Mommy at times, and is no doubt underlying cause of all my childrens’ neuroses!

As I became older I finally had the time, and seemingly out of nowhere, a deep undiscovered well of patience to learn to do some things. My desire to do, to make, to create, finally won out against my poor self discipline, lack of skills and self confidence. I dreamed of sewing bright, contemporary quilts, dyeing fabric, painting, knitting, making mosaics – everything in the world, really. I now have a whole list of activities I enjoy doing badly. Right now I am mostly knitting. But whatever I may be doing at any given time the skill level is the same: remedial!

About eight years ago when my sister taught me to knit I envisioned being one of those people who give handmade knitted items as gifts. After so many years as a hopeless klutz, I thought that learning these skills would be a nice boost for my self esteem. But along the way I’ve learned that the object is not knowing how to do something. The object is knowing myself better.

Here are a few curriculum highlights in the “low group” of knitting:

1) My senses require that I have my hands in the tangible magic that is yarn and to delight in the endless ways to invent with it.

A feast for the eyes.

2) My spirit requires that I savor the sweet deliberate motions of knitting and enjoy its meditative qualities.

3) Each knitted object has a story and a process of its own. Within the finished object are all the memories of what was happening in my life at the time.The mistakes are part of the story. The mistakes are a vital part of the story.

This was to be a lovely afghan for my daughter. I learned the hard way that working on it while my Mother was having chemo was a BAD idea. I had to felt it and turn it into a shawl for my daughter instead. When I remarked that ot looked so odd she probable couldn’t wear or she said, “Don’t worry Mom. I go to Berkeley!”

4) I must follow my own knitting path. I listen to what others may say about the benefits of double pointed needles or knitting two socks at a time, but only I can know which is best for me.

5) I must learn in my own way. If I must read instructions 400 times, so it is. If I must start over half as many times, I accept that also.

6) I must remember not to take myself too seriously. If my knitted washcloths look like pieces of fuschia colored naan, and my scarves like snakes that went through the garbage disposal, that’s just part of the fun. After all, they are definitely original creations!

7) I give myself permission to be lost, to need help and to ask for it. This may be my proudest achievement of all. Not knowing is not a reflection on me; it’s just part of the glorious process of creativity.

So far, so good on my latest project.

You may have realized that I am in no hurry to graduate from the Remedial Knitting Group. I am as serene as a bag on unspun wool at my Tuesday night knitting group, where the skill level of the other knitters ranges from brilliant to super extra brilliant. Unlike the first grade, there is no penalty for taking as long as I need to complete an item or to lovingly start the whole thing over again.

Will I one day knit up a pair of flawless socks? Present a baby afghan I designed myself? Follow the yarn process from shearing through spinning and dyeing? I’m sure I would be pleased if I could, but if I don’t, that is fine too. This Remedial Girl is learning plenty anyway.

How Did It Go?

Posted on May 18, 2013 by mindfulmagpie

Whoa! I haven’t partied like THAT in a long time! It’s nice to know I could fit so many people in my house. Even now I pinch myself that they all found their way here. But really, how did it go? You’ll have to tell me because when something is at my house I can never tell. I’m too busy with my hostess duties.

I’ll tell you what I DID notice. The doorbell kept ringing and ringing and ringing! I met so many people I can’t remember all their names, but they were all book lovers. And such a creative vibe! It doesn’t even seem real that I got to entertain so many readers, bloggers, writers, and artists.

Here’s what got the party started!

Did you see that knot of people at the top of the stairs? The hipsters drinking out of the whiskey glasses? They met each other after they got here and sat up there for hours discussing everything from literary theory to the best discount travel sites.

They helped themselves to the glasses. Sorry everyone else had to use Solo cups!

And then there was the group that stayed over by the fireplace; I guess they were lucky, in that crush of people to have a place to sit down on the hearth. I overheard a lot there about literary fiction. People were good natured about the crowd, though, and perched wherever they could.

In the sunroom there was lots of laughter, apparently connected to a disagreement over the best children’s literature. Everyone was advocating for their favorite childhood book characters. I merely smiled as I looked in, knowing quite well I had “Bread And Jam For Frances” upstairs in a bedroom, literally above their heads.

People formed groups organically, in a kind of human Dewey Decimal system. I met grandmothers, sci fi fans, hikers, librarians, poets, cooks, and doctoral students. Young mothers seemed clustered together, and the retirees stayed put on the upholstered chairs. People kept offering to help me but I really just wanted them to meet each other and have fun.

Mingling among the groups. I had little time to spend with each person. I did admit to someone that I don’t really know how to use twitter,and that the weekend I was trying to write my first blog post, I nearly burst into tears trying to crop the magpie picture on the header. I had hoped to get each person to just recommend to me ONE book, and I was going to keep them in a list on my phone so I wouldn’t lose it. But I couldn’t even keep up with my red solo cup of wine, much less my phone. I guess that will have to be a future blog post.

I was glad for people to peruse my bookshelves. It would be the first thing I’d do in THEIR homes!

I would say there were one hundred people in the back yard. Some seemed to recognize flowers I had photographed for the blog. Others were out there to smoke or to get some fresh air. The few times I checked out there, I got some good tips on growing tomatoes.

I don’t regret catering in the barbecue. That’s the easiest way I know to feed 500 people on short notice. Certainly my guests had no great cuisine expectations, but there was no way I was entertaining without serving food. There is no banana pudding left, by the way.

I guess my social skills WERE needed for my impromptu party!

Thanks to onecreativescientist, the ice chests were stocked with beer, soft drinks and ice. My few wine bottles were supplemented with donations from my gracious guests. Krugthethinker and thewaiting were absolute angels; they were two extra sets of hands to greet guests, keep drinks flowing, and direct people to the facilities.

I’m thinking of some little hostess aprons for krugthethinker and thewaiting for all their help.

I won’t even try to count the languages and nationalities represented. But wasn’t it cool how many made friends, exchanged emails and made plans to visit one another in India, Wales, Chile, England? And to read one another’s work?

As soon as I get this place cleaned up, I’m going to sit down and write some thank you notes.

A lady always has stationery at the ready.

Because I really am thankful that so many people stopped by to read my post. It WAS like a party for 500 people, one I would love to experience over and over again. In fact, I would love to know more about those who stopped by, and to make a new friend, or 499 friends. Welcoming all of you into my life, however briefly, is the best Fresh Press of all!

Magnificent Obsession

Posted on May 12, 2013 by mindfulmagpie

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It was Friday. I’d been looking forward to it, dreaming of it, actually, for days. I knew what I was going to do. No need to announce my intentions to others. I had an itch of a kind that must be scratched.

Let’s just say I was looking for a companion with certain attributes. I wanted a solid, steadfast presence with some nurturing aspects. I tended to favor the company of a more mature companion, but I wouldn’t discriminate based on age. Nor would I turn down an adventurous or mysterious spirit. In my mind’s eye I had seen myself, breathless and enthralled, hanging on to every word and moment with my future friend, marveling at his (or her) genius. And ah, our imagined parting! What sorrow! I wanted to weep in advance, for as surely as I would cleave to the charms of my companion, so I would also seek to avoid our inevitable parting.

This insatiable need I am describing is not new. I don’t mean to be such a user, but if I am anywhere close to my type of friend I can’t pay attention to anything else. In the end I will take everything the friend has to offer, turn away from it and seek a replacement. Friday was no exception. I was on the prowl.

But I couldn’t go just yet. I had to prepare. I showered, dressed, and fortified myself with a light lunch. I would need my wits about me for my journey. I didn’t bring my camera; I didn’t know if this kind of intimacy was something best recorded on film. You know, the capturing of souls and all that.

In due time, I left the house. My heart was eager, and urged me to travel swiftly toward my rendezvous. I reminded myself I need not be desperate, that the right companion, or companions, would await me. This was not a time to dwell on imaginary scarcities. There will be an ample supply, I murmured to myself to slow my heart’s acceleration.

When I arrived, I was welcomed into a pleasant chamber to view my prospects. Others were there, no doubt to choose according to their desired types, but I barely registered them as I reconnoitered the room. Perhaps to prevent frenzied behaviors on the part of the lookers, our hosts had piped in some smooth jazz recordings which sent an unspoken message,”This is a classy type of meat market.”

Music helped to manage our obsessive tendencies.

But a meat market it was! Our hosts had scoured far and wide to provide us with a startling array of companions- new, old. short, substantial, local. practical, exotic. cultured, unrefined, alluring, erudite, nondescript. Helpers circulated among the lookers, encouraging them in their choices. No one would have to leave empty handed.

These autographed options stood on a bookcase by themselves.

You can’t judge them by their covers.

I saw many familiar friends from the past, ones whose beauty and truth I would never forget. I ran my hands over them, willing the fond memories of our times together. I was glad they were available for others. I browsed. I took my time, moving aside patiently for others, as they in turn did for me. The atmosphere was so civilized that I risked taking a few discreet pictures with my phone.

So I can soothe my savage beast at home.

Hello, handsome!

More eye candy.

I selected carefully, opting in the end for an eclectic mix of potential friends, returning to the fold those which did not strike my fancy, just as I hoped others would do for me. I had no idea how long I had been in there, oblivious to hunger, thirst, or any other human need. A glance around the area showed I was not the only one in an endorphin filled haze. Gladly I gave the nominal fee to take my choices home for further inspection.

To each his own.

This kind lady and other volunteers helped me replenish my supplies for the nonce.

It has been two days. and we are settling in together nicely. I need not hurry to choose a favorite; each one will share its treasures with me at my pleasure, as many times as I want. There will be other selections in the future, but these are fine for today. My itch has subsided for the time being, happy with the anticipation of the thrills to come. How about you? Met any fascinating new friends lately?

The Warmth of Another Sun

Posted on May 5, 2013 by mindfulmagpie

I couldn’t get warm at all yesterday. In the South may the fourth should conjure pictures of sunny sidewalks and folks out in shorts and flip flops, but this year we were subjected to torrential rains and temperatures in the 40s. 40s!!!! I spent most of the day doing what I do in February – huddling under a blanket with the space heater on. As I occasionally covered my icy nose with my sleeve, I asked myself if it were true that just one week ago I had been basking in the sun in the Napa Valley?

Why yes, I promptly answered myself, because talking to myself helped my blood circulate to my extremities. Just last Saturday, I told myself, you were luxuriating in golden sunshine at the Fremont Diner. And I reassured myself by looking at the pictures I had of that very day. One can’t be too careful; frozen people have been known to hallucinate.

A little background: I accompanied my husband on a business trip to the Bay area. We were fortunate that our daughter could fly up from Pasadena and spend the week with us. Maybe I should be writing my first post about the trip on how wonderful it was to get to see her for the first time since Christmas and how she warms my heart, but I’m just too cold. So let’s move on to the Fremont Diner. And by the way, all those corny expressions about being kissed by the sun, soaking up the sun’s rays, the sky washed clean? Those are all true.

On Saturday we drove to the Napa Valley. We had big plans for the night, but we’ll discuss those later. I sat in the passenger seat of the rental car, reading on my Ipad ,while my daughter and husband discussed the logistics of the trip. I was free to gaze upon some of the sights I had missed so much: the Golden Gate Bridge, Marin County, and the surrounding countryside. Thanks to the GPS we were guided in due time to the Fremont Diner, where my daughter’s dear friend Steve had advised us to eat lunch.

We clambered out of the car in our short sleeves, sunglasses and cameras and found our way to the hostess stand. There would be a 45 minute wait but we were in no hurry. And we would be in good company, with the other 50 or so folks waiting for tables on the …… not a patio really, more of a gravel yard.

You could set a spell in the sun.

We got ourselves some drinks and sat under umbrellas. For me there was a somewhat surreal feeling. We were in California but I could have sworn I was in Alabama. The restaurant appeared to be in an old gas station. Drinks were served in mason jars. Fried chicken was on the menu. And the place had a friendly Southern vibe.

We passed our forty five minutes visiting the chickens and watching the other waiting folks. Women in heels walked hesitantly across the gravel to picnic tables where chickens darted and scratched at the dirt. I suppose high heels on gravel could be considered an indication that one was not in fact in Alabama. Mothers attempted in vain to keep their children from chasing the chickens. Some waited in the grass rather then on the gravel.

A little privacy with her lemonade.

This little Missy was determined to catch a chicken. Her Mother thought otherwise.

But her brother did score a reasonable rock collection. He presented one to my daughter as a gift.

Hmph. Humans everywhere!

Finally a brilliant turquoise picnic table opened up for us. And oh yes. The three of us knew this food: Southern, fresh, down home, plentiful. Who knew we would come all the way from California to eat good ( and in the South we don’t use that term lightly) barbecue! Of course the trouble with this food is that one cannot stop eating until every last glorious bite is gone. My daughter and I had the barbecued chicken sandwich with a delectable side of fresh green beans, black eyed peas and tarragon. My husband had the same, only with pork. My husband was thoroughly pleased but my daughter and I had pushed beyond the boundaries of our appetites. What had Steve been thinking, sending us to a meat restaurant?? No dessert, please!

We paused for a few more pictures before we resumed our journey. I think we were all just too full to get back in the car.

Whatever killed the skeleton inside the truck…. it wasn’t the cold!

The sun and sky were endless that day.

The next stop was, unbelievably to our stomachs, a wine tasting. There was no room for wine. but we would cross that bridge when we came to it. For now we had full stomachs, endless sunshine and no humidity. Aah! Memories really can keep you warm!

Spring Fashion Preview

Posted on April 15, 2013 by mindfulmagpie

It’s early days here in the South, as far as spring weather goes. We endured a blustery rainy March and early April which has just now given way to a few golden temperate days. I have risked exposing myself to a mushroom cloud of pollen lately JUST so I can get a first hand look at what well-dressed flowers will be wearing this season. A magpie will do anything for fashion!

Keep in mind that most flowers haven’t even made their appearances; this is just a preview of the early comers. I have assured all the seeds, tubers, bulbs, and seedlings on my property that this is NOT the final word. They’re a competitive bunch. As the season progresses I will be documenting ALL the fashion exploits in my back yard. Magpies don’t discriminate!

Without further ado, here are the early spring beauties. Ahem. In no particular order. Feel free to have some refreshments while you watch! This little lady, a member of the groundcover family, strikes a casual pose against what is for her, a brick wall. She is dressed in a carefree frock of lavender, white, and goldenrod, with handbag to match. She is younger than many of her fellow flowers, and prefers to run in a pack. This is a rare individual shot. Our next model is Scarlet Dahlia. She personifies simple, classic design with her red pleated ruff and brilliant yellow center. Her timeless look will always be in style. Scarlet leads a busy life, organizing teas, showers and the like for ladies of a certain social stature. And I’m sure she doesn’t have to do her own ironing.

Some were surprised to see Miss Mary Gold in our fashion lineup. In the South she is thought of as a workhorse, protecting tomato plants from pests, rather than performing the role of fashion maven. I am pleased she had enough self esteem to put herself forward. Her brilliant orange and yellow ruffles are elegant. She reminds us that her species is used as a wedding decoration in India.

This frail lady, a Japanese Snowball, is another surprise in today’s event. She was seriously ill last summer and almost lost her life. Her branches were ravaged by a vicious outbreak of some sort of gross insect. Her condition was critical. I don’t mean to gossip but she had to have entire branches amputated. She looks delicate in this creamy white, but don’t underestimate her; she’s a fighter! I must say that purple and gold combinations are all the rage this year! Here is Miss Spiderwort, arrayed in periwinkle and gold. The deep green stems and leaves show off her complexion perfectly. Miss Spiderwort works at her posture constantly, as the gold filaments she wears are quite heavy. She enjoys tennis and other sports during the day, but by dusk she has withdrawn into herself, to rest until morning. A relative latecomer to this revue is Miss Pink Dahlia. She is the niece of Miss Scarlet Dahlia, who is kind enough to have her visit each summer. I don’t know the specifics, but I heard Miss Pink has a difficult home situation. In fact she arrived this year a little worse for wear. Miss Scarlet intimated that Miss Pink would perk right up after some brush up etiquette lessons. But for now she is a vision in variegated shades of pink.May I introduce Miss Woodland Violet? She is the first true shade lover to appear in flower this year. Her hourglass figure is set off by a dainty lavender shade. She is a tidy little thing. Even her accompanying leaves are arranged impeccably. She runs a tight ship. I am not going to tolerate any negative talk about our last model. Some of the girls have actually called her “trash” and “a possible weed.” I admit I do not know her provenance, but I can see she has worked her heart out for today’s revue. She is dressed in a jaunty orange and yellow print, with an oversized yellow button at the right hand side. The large, even clunky accessory adds whimsy to the ensemble. Miss No Name certainly has an eye for fashion.

And there they are, ladies and gentlemen! Can we have a round of applause for these fashion forward ladies? I hope we’ll get to interview each one personally this season. For now though, we admire their bold fashion sense. You’re going to see their signature looks copied over and over this season. Just remember: you saw it on MIndful Magpie first!

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