Red Rain: How to Brighten a Dark Day

Hat, brooch, earrings, and boots: thrift; Jeans, sweater, and camisole: Reitmans; Raincoat: London Fog; Ring: boutique

It's autumn now.

It's the season of bright and beautiful leaves.

And more beautiful leaves.

And, if you live in my part of the world, lots and lots of rain. Seriously: a LOT of rain, sometimes for days or even weeks on end. Note the river in the gutter by the red leaves above.

Now, I don't mind rain as much as many people do. It doesn't tend to dampen my spirits all that much. But, if I'm already in a bad mood when the dark, rainy stretches hit, well, it doesn't help.

I was already in a bad mood when when this dark day rolled around. I was cranky and angry. I was angry with the people who abused me and left me crippled. I get stuck in a bad mood cycle: I'm in a terrible mood because I'm in physical pain, I'm in pain because I was abused, I could feel better if I could exercise, but I can't exercise because I'm in pain, and that's because I was abused.

And, no, the rain didn't help.

So I couldn't exercise vigorously as I used to. At least I'd walk as much as I could -- not much, slowly, with pain, and in the rain -- but maybe it would help, at least a little.

And I'd brighten the dark day as much as I could. Maybe that would help too.

It started with the boots that I found for a mere $10 at my local Value Village.

Up until the last ten years or so, this city was crying out for bright, cool rain boots. I used to wear gumboots, those dismal black and brick rubber things you'd imagine wearing to muck out a barn. But, in the last several years, designers have been putting out great, crazily coloured, rubber boots. I really like this idea of feminizing things that were once considered too practical to be pretty: rubber boots, hammers, whatever.

Needless to say, brightly coloured boots are a fashion trend that was readily embraced in my part of the world. On this day, Beau commented that all the women were proudly wearing them for the first time and it's true. We were.

He also commented that we'd all be sick of them in a few months and that's true too. We will.

But, for now, I was excited to wear my polka dot boots.

Once I'd picked the boots, the rest of the outfit came together from there: brightness was the key.

When I bought this ring, I thought it would be perfect for summer days but, by the time I'd walked out of the store with it, I'd changed my mind. This was a ring to make the dark rainy days a little brighter. This was a winter ring.

I wouldn't normally mix pink and red but the boots do and it seems to work, in an eccentric sort of a way, so I went with it.

And since I was going with going with clashing red and pink hues, I added these earrings to continue the polka dot theme in my boots.

And any dark day is made a bit better with a ceramic flower brooch, especially if it matches the mural behind you. I'm glad I live in a murally sort of a neighbourhood.

This pink wall is new in the neighbourhood. I really must thank those at JQ Clothing (formerly known as the Jean Queen) for choosing this colour for the wall of their new location. It's so fun, I have a feeling it's going to show up a lot in my blog...

... especially on days when the brightly coloured leaves so quickly turn to a brown, mulchy mush like this.

 

I've also got to thank Beau for loving my curves so much. When I took off my jacket for him to take this photo, he made a happy noise of appreciation. I knew he would. He loves my skinny jeans. I've gained weight since my back got bad and I just wouldn't have had the confidence to wear a "body con" outfit like this before Beau started bolstering my ego.

I've  been explaining to him about "plus sizes." He thinks the term is ridiculous. Lately he's taken to looking at me and saying, "Plus sized!" and then bursting out laughing at the absurdity of such a term applied to me. He thinks I'm wee.

There really is something very wrong with an industry that refers to healthy, normal sized women as "plus size." We need to get rid of the term altogether, for all women, of any size.

But, if there is anything about me that's "plus" now, it's my curves, and Beau thinks that's a very good thing.

He was supposed to be photographing my earring here. He thought he was being sneaky by getting a cleavage shot -- but look in the mirror behind me. Beau's busted!

Not that curves are very evident in weather like this, we're all so covered up. They'll re-emerge in the spring.

Until then, we'll all just have to recall spring in our outfits. Check out the flower on this hat! I got it for $10 at a local thrift store. Is it too flashy? I thought maybe it was but I got lots of compliments on it and the wide brim really kept the rain off, so what the heck? Besides, I love the current revival of cloche style hats. It's sooo 1920s.

One more bit of rainy weather sparkle? The rain drops themselves, rolling off my London Fog raincoat, caught in the flash of my camera.

There's a metaphor in there somewhere but I'll leave it to you to figure it out.

(I'm joining the fun on Style Crone's Hat Attack, Spy Girl, and Visible Mondays at Not Dead Yet because, hey, look at my hat and boots!)

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?)