Fall Colours and Autumnal Melancholy

Hat: Goorin Brothers; Shirt: Nick & Mo; Blazer, brooch, and coloured ring: vintage; Diamond ring: Effy; Earrings: I can't remember; Pants: Reitmans; Boots: Ecco

It is unmistakably autumn now. Since I was a child, the return of autumn colours in clothes has excited me. They're certainly my colours. In August, I would pour over the Sears catalogue and savour the rich burgundies, the forest greens, the oranges, the browns and practically hold my breath till I got to wear them again. 

It still feels like falling into a soft, downy bed: just right.

I've always loved autumn in general. One of my very earliest memories is of listening to the roar of the autumn wind in the maple trees. This was when I still lived in New England. We don't have maple trees here unless they've been deliberately planted. I admit that fall is not as spectacular here as it is back east. We don't have whole mountainsides turn red like you folks in New York do. It's the only time I get a little homesick for the home of my very early childhood.

Still, even here, I love the smells, the colours, the leaves, the light. I even love that weird, melancholy feeling one always gets in the fall. You know what I mean: that feeling of the tenuousness of beauty and of life itself, the feeling that one must grasp at all this loveliness before it passes into lifeless winter. 

Poets have spent lifetimes trying to capture that feeling in words and I just spent quite a while writing that last sentence. We writers will always fail because it's a feeling beyond words. You know it when you smell the fallen leaves and breathe the golden air. But you just can't put it into words

Of course, fall is far less melancholy where I live. We don't really have winter here. Really, we just have a short summer, a very long autumn, and a very long spring. I can look forward to the crocus shoots poking up in January here.

I can also look forward to a LOT of rain, but I don't really mind that so much, not if it means more clement weather and foliage thriving right through the winter season.

But, you know, I can't quite believe it is fall yet. The older I get, the faster the seasons come and go. 

 

Time feels different now, doesn't it? It's not endless. Things can pass me by so quickly, I miss them.

That's part of why I like writing my blog. It forces me to slow down and look at the small details, including the changing seasons.

For instance, I only seem to notice this weird tree's fall flowers (or are they fruit?) when I'm wearing something that matches them.

 

What the heck is this tree? I have no idea. Do tell me if you know. It's furry! What tree is furry?

And, like all life on this rainy west coast, it itself fosters further life. I assume this is some sort of lichen? Yes? No?

And it seems to me that the texture of the lichen is echoed in the Brutalist style brooch I chose to go with my highly textured, richly coloured, wool tweed blazer. I like to slow down to notice things like that.

Some might say this blazer is a little over the top, and even more so with the hat and flaming orange shirt. I say, "Whatever!" It's my body and I'll adorn it if I want to. And I want to adorn it with tweed. I love tweed.

As usual, wearing fun and interesting clothing helps me cope with my chronic pain and PTSD. This is a blurry photo of me hauling myself up a set of stairs: not an easy task for me.

In this photo, I look as I generally feel these days: wan, tired, depleted, in pain...

... but, for some reason I really can't even understand myself, tenacious and stubborn too.

You may have noticed that this image -- my stylishly clad feed astride the "keep out" lightning bolts -- has become a sort of visual trademark for me. For the sexually abused, the power to say "keep out," even if only years after the fact of the abuse, is a powerful and wonderful feeling.

Like autumn, it's a melancholy, bittersweet feeling, but it's somehow good, useful, helpful.

And so, in my funky brown cords, caramel coloured boots (with matching satchel purse, natch), and over the top tweed, I found some beauty in yet another day, despite the coming winter.

I'm linking this up to Hat Attack at the Style Crone, and Visible Mondays at Not Dead Yet, because I want the whole world to see this tweed. 

Beau and Bear: Part Two

Beau and Bear have been getting up to quite a lot since last time you saw them.

Beau swears that all the shenanigans are Bear's idea, but I'm not buying it.

The two of them growing very close, thick as thieves, in fact. 

I'm pretty sure Beau's soft spot for Bear leads him to come up with great ideas that he just says were Bear's idea.

I can never be sure with those two. 

But I'm happy they found each other. It's a beautiful friendship.

Now, I'll admit that I don't always approve of the things I find Bear doing. I sometimes wonder if Beau is a bad influence on him.

Let's take a closer look at Bear's reading choice here, shall we?

"He's getting interested in fashion," Beau tells me. Fashion, eh? Sure, that's it: fashion.

Bear's adventures are sometimes downright nerve-wracking for me. Beau swore that Bear wanted to know what it's like to be a cat and that's why I found him in the cat carrier on top of the dryer, but it left me a little uneasy. 

After all, Bear was too high up for me to rescue him if he got nervous. That's what comes of having a tall friend like Beau.

Sometimes Beau even gives Bear quite grown-up responsibilities that I'm just not sure he's ready for. Like here, he's protecting Milo the cat from Mimi the psychotic neighbourhood kitty who likes to come and terrorize us all by banging feet first into this door at about 10:00 every night.

But Bear seemed to like this job and he took it very seriously. It seemed to make him feel important and special -- needed, if you will.

I suppose Beau knows what he's doing. Bear seems awfully fond of him, and none the worse for all his adventures.

And it is true that some of Bear's adventures are of educational value... if you call watching kitten videos on YouTube educational.

And he does often seem to do things that I'm fond of doing, liking yacking forever on the phone, and reading Agatha Christie.

But, like Beau, he's a little ... sillier and more adventurous than I am.

So of course he had to come with us when we stayed in a mountain resort hotel. We didn't actually bring him up on the gondola with us, but we probably should have. He probably would have had a better time than I did. And he might have cuddled me while I strove not to have a panic attack in that swinging swaying fear machine dangling in the middle of the sky.

For such a small Bear, he seems to be very brave and calm.

 

Bear's not mad about not having a gondola ride. He's just happy that Beau is his fast friend. They've been talking about taking a trip downtown together. 

I'll keep you posted.

(Bear really wanted to get in on the action over at Not Dead Yet's Visible Mondays. I explained to him that Visible Mondays is not meant for bears, but he insisted and explained that he's a stylin' bear. Who am I to object?)

Strength in Silliness: trespassers will be electrocuted

Shirt: thrift; Jeans: Reitmans; Boots: Jessica

I don't actually think that this photo of me is wildly flattering, but I like the sentiment is conveys: a brutalized woman finding ways to claim her strength.

As those of you who regularly read Sublime Mercies now know, my disability and chronic pain are the result of horrendous sexual abuse in my childhood. For someone like me, there is empowering symbolism photographing myself standing, spread legged, over a sign that says, "KEEP OUT!"

Entering is a privilege and honour bestowed only by me.

Anyone violating that edict will be electrocuted.

Wouldn't it be nice if I'd had such powers as a child?

 

There was a time when I could feel tough by exercising a great deal. There was a time when I could have assumed this tough pose and you would have seen real muscle -- beautiful, strong, cut definition in my whole body. 

But the disability ended those days for me. It's pretty hard to feel strong when I can't even walk any distance without pain. It's hard to feel buff when I can see cellulite in my arms.

So I'm working to find new ways to feel both strong and beautiful.

There is beauty in my new curves and in the softness of my body as it is now. Occasionally, I can see it. Luckily for me, Beau can always see it, and he tells me about it all the time, especially when I'm wearing anything a little tight.

Bless his being man enough to like a woman of substance. I am that, and not just in body either. My personality is not what one would call that of a wilting violet. Strength need not only be in the body; it can be in the spirit, heart, and mind too.

 

Doesn't Beau look good in this blue plaid shirt? We found it for him at Value Village the other day. It's very soft and cuddly too.

Oh, and do notice those mountains in the background. I love them so very much.

Beau is a very handsome man but it's damned hard to get him to pose. When it comes to taking himself seriously enough to pose, he's as bad as his nine year old son.

Why look handsome when you can look silly instead? Duh!

Beau's helped me learn how fun it is to be silly and childlike. I didn't have the luxury of ever really being a child. Learning how to be playful with Beau is more healing than I would have imagined.

A gal with a past like mine needs a little playfulness in her life...

... as she works hard to find new ways to feel tough in the face of her own brutal reality.

(I'm linking this up to Visible Mondays at Not Dead Yet. See you there.)