slave to fashion

1993 inauguration ball001

I’ve been watching a lot of shows on the History and Science channels lately. “Ancient Aliens”, “America Unearthed”, “River Monsters”, stuff like that.

In 2004 Will (son #2) and I met in northern England, where he was finishing up a summer as a volunteer on a dig at Bamburgh Castle.  I’m going to blog about that trip this week, because things are quiet here in New England and I’ve done enough whining about writing.  The baby quilt is coming along nicely (after an invigorating trip to the local fabric store for more thread and just a little bit more blue fabric), the new “Blues For the Fiddle” dvd lessons are inspiring me to practice for hours and my office is clean.

So I thought I’d revisit Scotland.

This picture was taken in the Orkneys.  Will and I had just ascended from a mysterious hole in the ground called “Mine Howe”.  We’d paid our 2 pounds, been given helmets and sent up the hill to make our way down the slippery stone steps dug into the earth.


Anyway, while I was looking at old pictures and found this gorgeous one of More Pie The Archaeologist, I realized I still have that coat, those boots, the sweater (which I bought in Orkney and love) and those pants.  Nine years later and I wore that coat to the movies last week. Hmm.

I’ve been known to wear some really horrendous outfits around my house.  Truly, you cannot imagine.  After the last months of writing and rarely having to get dressed to leave the house, I’ve sunk to new lows of “letting oneself go”.

Poor Banjo Man.  I have spent way too many days looking like someone who lives under a bridge. Or in a deep hole in the ground.

So I have changed my ways. My goal is to get dressed in something decent every day, something decent enough so that if anyone dropped in to say hello I wouldn’t have to hide in the bathroom because otherwise they would think I was (a) psychotic or (b) had the flu.
1993 inauguration ball001

Glamour is now my middle name.

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