Advent with monks

This year I am trying a Thing.  A Thing that The Society of Saint John the Evangelist have come up with.  Like an advent calendar, only with fewer doors and markedly less chocolate.  Contemplative, like.  We'll see how this goes.

Sunday:

#Look

I do all my looking through glasses these days.  Makes for awkward photography, looking through droplets when I go out in the rain and nose scrinching to keep them up there.  But it keeps things from being fuzzy.  And getting your lenses right, so that things aren't fuzzy is important at this time of year.  Keeping things in focus and with the correct perspective, that sort of thing.

Monday:

#Remember

I think Christmas is a time when a lot of people remember loved ones.  The first Christmas without someone is one of those significant firsts that you can't really avoid.  So I remember my grandma as she prepares for her first Christmas in 60 years without this man.  And remember that I am fortunate to have known all of my grandparents and privileged to have enjoyed their company for three decades, even though I'm just down to the one now.

Lent 2014 - Day 9

Flat discipline

Veggie pizza last night.  Tasty stuff but no impact on the vegbox front.  There will be new vegetables next week, so hopefully tonight's root vegetable and chicken curry will help a bit.  Tomorrow I plan (if I can fit it in around some Very Important Baking) to parboil some diced veggies so they are ready to go for future roasting purposes.  If there was going to be time we would roast them before putting them in the curry tonight, so hopefully having ready-to-roast veggies to hand will help them creep into more meals.

Lone discipline

Back to work mirror photographs so I can catch up with myself!



Wearing

Plum skirt (item 2):  Still loving these pockets!  I'm trying not to overuse them so that the skirt will keep its shape and so far it's still doing well.  Hopefully it will wash well too.
Floral shirt (item 16):  A new item for today.  I do like a 'proper' shirt, and while this doesn't quite count, it does at least have a collar and buttons all the way down the front.  There are also elasticated panels at the waist, so the fit's pretty good and it has little sleeves so my great long arms aren't an issue.  I'll be the first to admit that I'm not a great fan of blue (which this shirt is), but the purple and white flowers along with their greenery break that up to the extent that I'm happy wearing it every now and again.
Striped jersey blazer (item 3):  Oh, this is going to be a great favourite.  Someone actually asked me as I walked down a corridor today whether I was 'doing something professional' because the jacket-shape had fooled them into thinking I was dressed up.  I've photographed it today buttoned up and with the sleeves uncuffed, just for variety.  Having looked at photographs of it a bit I feel like it could carry a brooch and I don't often wear brooches so I'll have to look out something suitable.  Yet another reason to invest in blazer-type items, the brooch-deployment opportunities.

Footwear:  Tan-ish heeled Mary Janes - yet more polishing required.  I really should get on that.  The slightly dusky tone of these shoes is hard to see in the photograph and I think it makes them hard to deploy, but I go on wearing them, so it seems to be working.
Accessories:  Iolite necklace - a gift from my parents after my GCSE exams, I believe.  And I think it was purchased in or near Corfe Castle in Dorset, but don't quote me on that.
Hematite earrings - I nearly went with a pair of purple-stone dangly earrings today but decided that these little hematite drops with their delicate wires and tiny little hearts worked better with the slightly dainty feel of the necklace

It's an interesting choice to add an item of clothing that I don't truly love to the selection for Lent, and we'll see if it comes back to bite me, but hopefully it will offer a chance to think about the value of the items in my wardrobe that aren't favourites.  And this shirt has served a purpose previously - I was wearing a very smart dress to attend an interview but didn't want it widely known that I was sloping off to that, so this shirt reduced it to just a fairly smart pencil skirt and I looked relatively normal all day.  We'll see if I can come up with some interesting ways to wear it before Easter and whether I grant it a stay of execution or send it on its way.

Lent 2014 - Day 8

Flat discipline

Vegetable stir-fry as planned last night.  I wasn't cooking this time, so the vegetable over-catering wasn't in evidence but that left space for noodles, so a win nonetheless.

Lone Discipline

Slightly bleary-eyed after teaching a dance class

Wearing

Brown spotty dress (item 14):  Yet another charity-shop find.  This dress doesn't have proper pockets, but the breast pockets are just the right size to pop my phone or ID card in to run a short errand.  Size-wise this is pretty good, but it does gape between the top buttons (there's a strategically-placed safety pin deployed to deal with that) and the empire waist seam sits just a little too high at the moment.  But it's soft and fun and a very 'me' item of clothing.  Also the shortest dress I'm comfortable wearing with only a single pair of tights.  Wierdly, I'm prepared to wear a slightly shorter skirt than this, but I think that's because bending forward in a dress causes more hemline movement.
Orange angora cardigan (item 15):  Man this is cozy.  It's probably on the cusp of becoming unseasonal, but one of my offices (don't ask!) has highly temperamental heating, so a bit of extra warmth to throw on once it's getting darker can be a god-send.  There's a tie-belt, but I tend to leave it knotted at the back to give a bit of shape.  Perhaps if I wear it again I will try it belted, but it just makes me feel like I'm wearing a dressing-gown, which isn't even appropriate on a casual Friday.

Footwear:  The brown leather boots are out again.  I'm still struggling with the length but it very nearly works, giving me a reasonable gap between the top of the boots and the hem of the dress.
Accessories:  Amber pendant - another gift from the paternal grandparents, this time one I chose myself.  It hangs on the chain from the celtic cross I wore on day 6, because it didn't come with a chain of its own.
 Amber drop earrings - A more recent gift, from Christmas 2012.
Hosiery:  I'm back to fleshtone tights.  This outfit looks more autumnal when I wear it with dark (or opaque orange) tights, the fleshtone tights lighten it up a bit for spring, so I'm good.

 This is a very 'me' outfit.  It's easy to wear, comfortable and goes well with my proportions.  It feels fun but it's smart enough for work.  It transitions seamlessly to a dance class where people need to be able to see my legs and feet.

Somehow this dress reminds me of the many charity shop items that have made their way into my wardrobe.  They make up 6 of my 16 items so far.  In the main they are dresses, skirts and tops, but that's par for the course when you're this tall.  I feel that with charity shops or clothes swaps you win twice (or maybe three times) - once for supporting charity, once for avoiding first-hand exploitative practices and once for the eco-points of reusing and recycling.  Of course, the downside is that there's a lot of work involved in finding items and if the fit is off you can't just try the next size up or down.  I get the feeling I compromise more on fit with these kind of items.

And I've still got 14 items to allocate.  We'll see how that goes.  I'm going to be adding two party dresses this weekend because Friday's dress will be in no fit state to wear on Saturday, so one of those might find itself in the casual Friday mix if I'm running low on inspiration.  Actually, 40 days on 30 items might not really be a challenge.  I'll have a think about reducing my selection further in order to improve the exercise.

Talismans... talismen?

Red Shoes MK IV

I have, in the past few years, developed a  habit of wearing red shoes to important events and interviews.  It probably started when I wore red shoes to my PhD interview and was woken the next morning by my flatmate exclaiming that there was a professor on the phone - I had got the place.  I subsequently wore red shoes to hand in my Masters thesis, to my viva and to receive the results.

Then came the Magical Shoes of Wonder.  One Christmas a group of my friends and siblings all got together and bought me a beautiful pair of red shoes, with heels and bows.  I was totally surprised.  I have never found it particularly easy to find shoes that fit (I'm right at the top of most manufacturers' size ranges and have wide feet to boot) but that pair fitted like a dream from day one.  They later told me that the friend with feet the closest in size to me had been sent into the shop to try on these shiny heels in her hiking socks!  The Magical Shoes of Wonder saw me through numerous presentations, my PhD Viva and graduation (I know the dress code is black and white, but they go with a red gown, it simply had to be done) and are still my most prized footwear.

These days, though, the red shoes above suffice for all but the most high-level requirements.  They also come out on a day-to-day basis.  I can stand all day in the Magical Shoes of Wonder but don't ask me to walk too far!

Now, I'm not a superstitious person.  I don't in any way believe that red shoes will change the outcome of any event I wear them to.  I think I wear them as a touchstone.  A reminder that, at the end of the day I am not the result of this interview or the reception this presentation gets.  At the end of the day I am the sort of person who wears red shoes.  The sort of person who can pull that off.  If I'm not the person for your job or you don't like my work, that's OK.  I have not misrepesented myself and all is well.

My shoes aren't my only talisman.  Others more specifically connect me to my family - the celtic cross necklance that my paternal grandparents gave me on my baptism, the ring that belonged to my great aunt, the perfume from my maternal grandparents.  That's important when you live five hundred miles away from your immediate family, half a world away from another branch of the family and have been separated by death from others.

Old Clothes

Une Femme posted an outfit on Already Pretty this week that included a scarf inherited from her grandmother and this got me thinking about my clothing heirlooms.

Velvet Jacket

This jacket belonged to my great uncle Stuart Wynn Jones and I inherited it (possibly by way of my father) when he died.  It featured heavily in my wardrobe from my early teenage years until well into my university years.  I think it may even (along with the top two thirds of a three-piece pinstripe suit from the same source) be the item that began my interest in more structured tailoring.  I am astounded that this St Michael cotton velvet has stood up to so much punishment.  I have no idea how much wear it received with its first owner, but the elbows had already developed a bit of a sheen in my earliest memory of it.  And I have been wearing it for the better part of 20 years now myself.  I wore it to my aunt's wedding, on a daily basis to lectures, carried a flaming torch at the Castle Ceilidh and it still bears a parafin wax drip on one sleeve.  This lovely jacket doesn't get out as much these days, as it's a bit big around the middle, but it is still an important item of clothing to me.  My great uncle was someone I never got to know as well as I would have liked - he died when I was eight or so - and wearing something that belonged to him helps me feel connected to this whimsical, witty, creative man.

Hawaiian Sundress

I haven't exactly inherited this one, more borrowed it for a while, but it is older than I am so I think it counts as an heirloom.  This used to hang in my mother's wardrobe all through my childhood and I was never slim enough to wear it (I overtopped my mother before I left primary school, while I was still firmly planted in my tomboy phase) no matter how long I gazed at it in longing.  When I dropped a couple of dress sizes at university I finally fitted into it and was able to sneak it away from my mother every now and again.   I love it, it's so colourful and happy feeling.  The square neckline and empire cut are really flattering on me.  I wore it to go and hand in my Masters dissertation after a full all-nighter to get the formatting working.  I chose a shower and this dress over 2 hours sleep and I think I made the right decision, everyone else in the class looked like death warmed up but I was walking on sunshine.

There are other inherited items in my wardrobe but these are the most significant right now.  My paternal grandparents both died last year so I have a collection of evening gloves and silk scarves that belonged to my grandmother, but they haven't infiltrated themselves into really becoming mine just yet.  And I have no idea how one would classify my flatmate's 'camping jumper' that belonged to the father of my uncle (by marriage) which he passed on to my father and thence to me and subsequently now resides with said flatmate.  Is it still inheritance when the one you inherit it from is no relation at all?

My First Dead Body

I saw my first dead body at the age of 19 in an anatomy dissection room.  I thought I had left it rather late to have that kind of seminal first experience, but my Dad didn't see his first dead body until 11 years later.  His first dead body was his father.  Who was either some number well in double figures for me or number 18 depending on whether dead bodies that were in the room but at whom I didn't actually interact with count.

And those are quite different experiences.

A cadaver (that's a technical term) in an anatomy department looks like what it is - a preserved specimen.  The skin is yellowed and loses its familiar texture in the embalming process.  The head has been shaved for better access to cranial anatomy and improved cleanliness (or because certain embalming techniques turn the hair to gunge).  They lie on metal gurneys draped in damp sheets and oilcloth to prevent drying out.  The facial features are unaltered - the jaw drops open, the eyes may not be fully closed and the eyeballs have probably slumped.  They are unfamiliar.

A grandfather in a funeral director's chapel of rest looks more like who he was.  He is dressed in clothes that were his own (although he got a new tie for the occasion) and what little hair he retained past his grandchildren's arrival is trimmed and combed.  His skin is cold and pale but skin coloured and his hands are folded.  There are probably eye caps keeping the eyelids (which may have been sewn or superglued shut) from sinking.  The jaw is held closed by a suture around the jaw or a plasic device.  He is recognisable as himself.

The anatomy dissection room I studied in was a large, high space with a parquet floor (you could do yourself some real damage if you were feeling woozy and fainted) and huge frosted windows.  It was a place to learn and felt sort of venerable but also exciting.  It smelled, just a little, of gammon and pineapple.  There were blocks and dissection kits and bone saws and brain knives to hand.

We viewed my grandfather in a chapel of rest that was small and softly lit, a place to see someone's body for the last time.  It smelled of air freshener and flowers.  There were tissues to hand.  A place to take my grandmother to help it all sink in.  A gentle, unthreatening place for my Dad to see his first dead body.  We spoke about it a little - the change in someone once their features are no longer animated, how the person we knew was gone, how in many ways he had been gone for some time.  I kissed his head, as I had when he was alive, and we left.

I recognise that my experiences are somewhat unusual, but they have meant that I am reasonably comfortable around dead people.  Perhaps not as comfortable as my forebears, who would have laid out relatives themselves (although I would like to think I could do that for someone when the time came), or as comfortable as those who deal with the dead on a daily basis, but comfortable enough.  And I think that's good.  Perhaps there's a place for coming face to face and hand to hand with our dead, in the world today where to die is seen as losing a fight, as a failure of medical staff to keep you alive.  Perhaps I understand a little better my own mortality.  Or perhaps I like to think I do, while merrily denying that I will one day die.