Here we are, working on another week of this and that. I thought after all the years of writing these words that I had hit a brick wall. Then it came to me. I watched an episode of Miss Fisher’s Mysteries. I do enjoy a good murder!
Not only am I intrigued at the murder aspect, it is the fashions of the 1920s that made me look at my own sense of style. As you know, my fashion sense has been negated by my lifestyle. Still, I can look back over 50 years at my time working as a fashion model. An outfit that just happened to fit was not what I might wear for a magazine shoot or a runway walk.
We were fitted with something that would suit our character, colouring and of course the theme of the show. I came to this topic after seeing one of those makeover segments. Some kind of outfit was put on a person who did not match the idea. A jacket that does not fit. Colours not quite right and a hair cut done in a rush.
This all sounds a little over the top when one thinks about my style now. I cut my own hair. When it is too bad I wear a hat. I wear baggy pants and an old shirt with a scarf I hope covers any dribble I might display. So as you can imagine, I really should not criticize anyone for their sense of style. This takes me back to the Miss Fisher show. Her great hats and other garments make me long for a sense of style.
My mother dressed like Miss Fisher. She actually designed clothing for me that was in that genre.
This complaining about the fashions of this day has very little merit coming from someone who wore a poodle skirt and saddle shoes. Had I not had the three years working as a model my perspective might be different. I have to tell you it was a good job. I was paid $14 an hour. Just imagine! Helped pay for some university education.
Maybe I should try again. Then again, maybe not.
I was reading a book of poetry by Leonard Cohen. A brief line that said “Life is a drug that stops working.” Made me think of some of the people I have spoken to lately. There was a couple From Edmonton I encountered on a walk. Great people looking at life with enthusiasm. There was a lady at the grocery store who told me when her old dog died, she said that’s it — no more dogs. Then she told me she now has a couple rescue dogs. She didn’t like not having something to talk to in the morning. I agree with her there. I think of a note I received from a special friend which sent a big love to me. Made my day. Another special time was a long chat with my older brother.
That one line from the Book of Longing by Mr. Cohen might be true for some, but for me and all those I have met “life is a drug” that I hope does not stop working.
Hope these words are not too confusing. That’s all from this old fashion plate. Or is it dinner plate?
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