I read the most beautiful post the other day.
Lindsay has the capacity to tell such a wonderful story about the simplest things. No artifice, a soft palette. I have the same reaction to her pieces every time, my senses tingling. I sat back after this most recent one and wondered what I would tuck into my handbag. In a way, I’d quite like to be considered eccentric, the woman with something as exotic as cardamom pods. Maybe I could roll a vanilla pod inside a soft Liberty hankie – just for the fragrance alone.
My most favourite thing of course would be chocolate – any sort, but Haigh’s by preference. Or Lindt. But even so, it still doesn’t smack of exotica, and it would melt. Back to the drawing board…
I was reminded of a post I wrote last year ‘A year or so ago I attended a ballet performance, and I carried one of Mum’s rather yummy clutch bags. I reached in to pull out my glasses and noticed a zip pocket I had never investigated. Unzipping it, I found a Benson and Hedges cigarette snapped in two…’ Was my mother’s cigarette exotic? Probably in the unenlightened 50’s and 60’s it was.
Even more so, if she had it in the small gold Oroton cigarette case with accompanying gold Oroton cigarette lighter.
All tucked away in her clutch bag which is made of subdued blocks of snakeskin – taupe, navy and black and which actually feels beautiful to touch. Nowadays, the cigarette, the lighter and the snakeskin clutch would be considered rather politically incorrect.
Doings:
Exotic doings? Not really. Just shivering in the chill. Last year from May till August, I was recuperating and effectively missed the whole of winter. This is a new experience! There’s an old saying: As the days get longer, the cold gets stronger… Indeed.
At ballet I froze, even though I had on a thick forget-me-knot blue leotard made in Lithuania. Couldn’t take off the zip-up polar vest at all.
Cold enough for my joints to growl and grumble and for a new tendon or ligament in the right leg to feel as if it was unzipping. I think I need doona boots like real ballet dancers wear on cold days. Nevertheless, despite the Antarctic blast, it was a beautiful session as we learn new choreo.
(*Note to self: LIFT your head and eyeline!)
Took the Womble for a play date with the love of his life, Vita Violet Crumble, the Chocolate Lab. They had a wonderful time, wrestling and rolling, whilst in a balmy seven degrees, Willi and I inspected the rare snowdrops and auriculas and a million other beautiful plants. Now those plants WERE exotic. Nothing like one would find in the average plant nursery.
My husband and I went for the first of our winter hikes (although the location made this one far more of a city-edge amble). We’ve purchased maps, done our research and I’ve purchased petite thermoses for our hot drinks because there’ll be no cafes where we’ll go. If this is something I enjoy, (ie – winter hikes) I’ll eventually invest in a decent small daypack for myself. My husband already has one.
By walking, by ignoring digital news and ring tones, I’m hardening my resolve to ignore the news of the world and to take life exuberantly. So far so good…
However…
…back to exotica within handbags. I’ve been known to carry the odd flower cutting, found as I walked past an over-hanging branch of an unknown climbing white rose in the street, or even a tiny oak seedling pulled from a public path where an acorn had germinated (which we planted in our orchard and named after our grandson when he was born. It’s grown to hip height.) My dear late friend, David, always went walking with secateurs in his pocket and would sneak overhanging cuttings and then strike them with 100% success in his glasshouse.
Sometimes there might be a beautiful feather I might have found lying amongst a bed of delicate dandelions. A shell to remind me of that day on the beach with Pupsie. Maybe even a piece of silk thread whose colour I’m trying to match to other threads or even to clothing fabric. Always a Liberty hankie and embroidered felt glasses cases. And the inevitable pocket heart of birds, bees and dragonflies, because that gives me strength on days when I have none.
Still not exotic though.
I’m finally left with something that uplifts as soon as I put it in my mouth. A boring peppermint Mentos which I mustn’t crunch exuberantly, or I’ll break a tooth!
So it seems that for the contents of my bag alone, I shall never be seen as either eccentric or exotic.
Perhaps if I dress like Iris Apfel… (image courtesy of Vogue)
Music for this week? I remember my father had an LP of this man’s music and I found it as exotic then as I do now.
My mom,lovely and elegant in her linen palazzo slacks and Cuban heels ( even to garden!), always had a few Werther's butterscotch in her clutch purse. When we were gathered to spread her ashes at the head of their cove, I brought a bag of Werther's to share and with tears and smiles we all ,from 4 years old to 95 years young enjoyed the sweet memory.
I love your mother's handbag. It's beautiful. I also love all the vintage smoking accessories - even though I've never been a smoker. There's something so elegant about them. My mum carries secateurs for exactly the same reason as your friend. The kitchen window sill is full of vegemite jars with water and cuttings in them.