Seriously, my cold/flu/grippe is beginning to ease up, and I've been managing to get out for increasingly longer distances this past week, although not yet more than six kilometres a day. Comfort is paramount, though, and safety, and last week I opted again for that 8-year-old grey wool pleated skirt and grey wool tights (previously seen here), but this time wore it with a pair of black trainers, my peacoat, and a cashmere scarf. And yes, you'd better believe I added a pair of gloves (black, leather). I'm such a baby about having cold hands -- no tolerance at all!
Part of what I've been thinking about, as alluded to in my last post about home vis-à-vis travel, is how we (can) use the one to sharper our appreciation of the other. Or maybe, how the borders between the two can soften, blur -- how can we be at home when we're away, and how can we travel, or at least get lost, when we're on our everyday stomping ground.
This Monday morning, I find myself not quite ready to commit many words to screen on that topic (although I will tell those of you who hazarded an answer to my Guessing Game that the top photo was taken in Bordeaux and the bottom in my home city, Vancouver -- more next post about the artist and about the shift I experienced when I recognised her work so far from home). But I thought I could share a discovery I made when "getting lost" in my own neighbourhood let me travel at/from home.
The technique reminded me of a ceramic mosaic Pater and I had admired in Paris, at the height of Parc de Belleville
I'm off again this morning, walking the neighbourhood, although this time a bit more purposefully, a bit less aimlessly -- indeed, I'm off to hang out with a not-quite-two-year-old while his mom and his sister have some Big Girl time together. Still, who knows what I might see along the way...
And I'm wearing a new coat against the cold (which is going to be replaced by warmer temperatures and copious rain later this week. Sigh). Still insisting on the trainers, though. And I'm trying to think of what two-word catch phrase might describe my style these days. That's Not My Age's Casual Glamour is clearly far beyond me, and I'm not sure there's enough pedigree in my gear to qualify as Amid Privilege's Sturdy Gal. I'm beginning to think I might have to accept a label as something like "Urban Bluestocking." I guess I could live with that. ;-)
Any discoveries you've made lately in your own neighbourhoods? Or any style compromises you've easily made to the realities of weather? I debated inviting you to lend me a couple of words to describe my style, but oh dear, that could be inviting trouble, right? So maybe not . . .