Princess Finds Lump of Coal in Stocking!

Dorothy Shoes: Side Elevation :: Watts // Big Up // No flashCan you believe it? I almost literally found a lump of coal in my stocking on Christmas morning. Everything was arranged and I was ready to go: the last item on the agenda was to put on my new glittery red Dorothy shoes.

I crammed my right foot in … and in one of those earth-shattering filmic moments was pulled up short. Something was not right. Had I switched places overnight with Cinderella’s sister? I was disbelieving for a moment and turned the shoe over. It was in fact the wrong size.

I turned the left over. It was also the wrong size.

Impotent rage seethed within me. On Thursday I had tried on my usual size, but found the shoes were a little short in length for me, and I asked the salesgirl for the next size up. She obliged, and asked me if they were better. “Much better,” I told her happily.

She returned a few minutes later and asked automatically, “Are you going to think about it?”

“No, I’m going to take them.”

She seemed surprised. Perhaps her usual clientele were not usually so decisive. But: Red. Glitter. Dorothy. Magic could happen in those shoes. How could I possibly say no?

Dorothy Shoes: Rear View :: Watts // BIg Up // No flash

Magic could happen in those shoes. How could I possibly say no? … Magic did happen. Black magic. 

Magic did happen. Black magic. That witch masquerading as my fairy godmother (to mix fairytales) pulled a switcheroo, and sold me the smaller shoes.

I wore them anyway, and beamed at the railway turnstile attendant’s grandiose compliments as I bravely hobbled through. Later on I accepted my family’s compliments through gritted teeth, and a couple of hours later the shoes were off. Fortunately I had taken a spare pair of shoes with me to travel home in.

The next day I cleaned up the shoes (not a mark on them) and promptly swapped the evil twins for a good pair. The moral of the tale: it’s Christmas, so don’t be naughty, be nice – at least until the salesgirl gives you the right pair of shoes. Then you can whack her upside the head with the wrong ones … what?

On the First Day of Christmas …

My true love gave to me this bird that he said was a partridge, in a miniature potted pear tree. “Ho, ho, ho,” I said to him, “very cute.”

When on Boxing Day he showed up with some caged rats-with-wings (yep, turtle-doves cover doves and pigeons too), and another partridge in a pear tree, I thought he was taking the joke a bit far. “I couldn’t find real turtle-doves,” he explained apologetically.

My apartment was becoming crowded and rather noisy, and as much as I was looking forward to day five, I was a bit worried about those four calling birds, not to mention the French hens (although I suppose we could eat those in the near future) …

Illustration of the Twelve Days of Christmas, by Ilonka Karasz. Image from Black Eiffel.No, seriously, has anyone ever thought about the origins of this dusty old Christmas carol? I mean, if your true love brought you all those things, what would you be thinking? Uh huh, that he needed to be committed. (And I’m not talking about his devotion to you.)

The Twelve Days of Christmas are the festive days of Christmas beginning on the 25th of December, aka Christmastide, during which period you can eat as much as you like. Twelfth Night is on 5th January, culminating with another feast on the following day (as if you hadn’t eaten enough already) to celebrate Epiphany. (Hmm, this explains the origin of all those New Year’s resolutions.)

… if your true love brought you all those things, what would you be thinking?

As for the song … it was first published in English in 1780, although it may be French in origin, and much older. Wikipedia informs me that it possibly began as a Twelfth Night ‘memories-and-forfeits’ game, in which players repeated verses after a leader, and if anyone made a mistake they had to pay a penalty, such as offering up a kiss or sweet. You can just imagine the mayhem that would ensue if a particularly attractive person was playing.

Well, that’s a relief. I’m so glad to know that this song is not a record of the extravagance and folly of some lovelorn suitor of French nationality.

Merry Christmas, enjoy your day however you celebrate it and don’t eat too much. Remember you need to save yourself for January 6.

The Weakest Link

Procrastination is the thief of timeThis is a tale of two necklaces, both owned by my friend Sapphire. Both were presents from friends. Both broke. In both cases the weakest link was the spring bolt clasp. Since I had made one of them (the one with the pearl and white agate), I offered to repair it. I took it home a few months ago and promptly forgot about it.

Then I saw her wearing her silver nameplate. She had stopped wearing it months ago because it was broken, she’d told me. Now I learned that it had not been fixed after all, she was just continuing to wear it with a broken clasp. And then, laughing, she admitted the necklace had actually broken years earlier!

I rolled my eyes, took it home with me, and the following night repaired both … in about five minutes.

The lesson here is the weakest link was us!

It’s Spring, Hooray Hooray!

I tell you, Melburnians have desperately been awaiting spring after a particularly cold winter this year. A couple of weeks ago we had a lick of sunshine and warmer weather, and that only made us more eager for the real thing. And it’s here at last!

Spring is such a hopeful season; inspirational. Those lovely new rain-washed colours of clear blue skies and fresh green leaves and buds are so uplifting to the spirits. Spring is when you feel something wonderful might be about to happen. (Such as money falling from heaven so that you can buy a whole new wardrobe of joyful hues, and do away with winter dullness!)

Sour cherry tree [image from Wikipedia]Spring is the time for poetry, here’s some: my own, and the eternally beautiful words of Rainer Maria Rilke.

The first balmy breezes
of spring fill my skirts
and lift me up
rush through my hair
like a whirling dervish
caress my eyelids
like a lover

The scent of evening blossoms
carries me off
to a faraway land
where the air is filled
with fluttering petals
and my feet fly over a fragrant carpet
to my hopeful bower

Spring has returned. The Earth is like a child that knows poems.
~Rainer Maria Rilke

Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night.
~Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters of Rainer Maria Rilke

Hats On for Easter

Any excuse to don a hat, and Easter is the perfect time to do so. I recall making Easter bonnets in primary school years ago, but where does this seemingly strange tradition come from?

A fine new Easter hat is the last remnant of the old tradition of wearing new clothes at Easter time. Celebrating the renewal of the year, and the promise of spiritual renewal and redemption, the origins of Easter parades lie in Christian culture: processions in remembrance of Palm Sunday, and Christ’s death on the cross.

Easter Parade in New York, late 19th CenturyThe Easter parades began on Fifth Avenue in New York in the 1870s as an after-church cultural event for the well-to-do. They would stroll from their own church to others to see the floral displays in other churches – and to be seen by their peers of course. It was also a prime opportunity for the poorer and middle classes to take in the latest fashions. 

Nowadays, purely decorative hats are no longer commonly worn except for special occasions such as the races, and it can be difficult to purchase a delicious little confection, unless one has the funds to afford the services of a milliner. I am constantly disappointed in the wares on offer in boutiques and department stores: this winter the only colours I am seeing is brown, black and cream, and usually only berets or fedoras. So boring!

Lucky there is eBay and Etsy for vintage indulgences delightful enough for a traditional Easter. And hats aren’t as fattening as chocolate.

Happy Easter!