Charlotte and Beau Get Engaged!

Yup, we did it. Beau and I got engaged and we told the world.

We'd been planning to wait for a bit longer but it was Valentine's Day and I was feeling full of love for Beau, so I called him and said we should just go ahead and do it, right here and now. It just kind of felt like the right time: we'd just found a wonderful 1949 home, it was Valentine's Day... Why not?

True, getting engaged on Valentine's Day might be a bit cheesy, but what the heck? Getting married will be the most "mainstream" thing I've ever done so I might as well do it all the way, right? sparkly red hearts and all.

On Charlotte -- shirt: Reitmans; belt: boutique; clutch, earrings, bracelet, and pinkie ring: vintage; skirt: thrift; leggings: who knows?; boots: Ecco; Necklace: bespoke. On Beau: shirt, belt, and vest: thrift; jeans: Levis; t-shirt: Old Navy ;shoes: Ecco; Glasses: Geek Eyewear

I really honestly never thought it would happen for me. After all, I'd reached middle age without finding that special someone. I didn't mind being single. I did not feel the need to have a partner, though I was not averse to it.

Plus, to be honest, I thought I was too emotionally damaged by the abuse I endured in my childhood to ever be able to love or be loved in any kind of a healthy way.

But, when Beau came along, well, he was just it, pretty much right away. I think I knew before we even met in person.

We met online, if you can believe it. He was drawn particularly to two sentences in my online profile: "You are iconoclastic but not allergic to theists," and, "I appreciate a man with a large vocabulary." I'm a bit cheeky. (He actually didn't get that joke about a large vocabulary until later. Can you believe it?)

When he wrote to me, I thought he was too young and too hot for me; he's all of four years and eight months younger than I am but my self-esteem was very low then. I thought he'd take one look at me and think I was too old and too fat for him. That's not what happened. 

We met in person for the first time in this cafe, and we hang out here a lot, so it's fitting that this is where we ended up taking photos for our engagement. We hadn't really planned it. We just said we'd meet for coffee to talk about whether we were sure we wanted to announce our engagement on Valentine's Day. Without having discussed it beforehand, we both dressed up. Sympatico?

Two years ago, on that first date, the first thing that appealed to me about Beau was that he really truly listened when I spoke, and responded thoughtfully. He had a lot to offer in a conversation and was fully engaged (ha ha) in our discussion. He was clearly very vibrant -- intellectually, spiritually, and emotionally questing. This was not a man with whom I would stagnate.

I was right. We have both helped each other grow and change a lot since we met. Everyone remarks upon it.

This being our neighbourhood, a very friendly place indeed, and our local hangout, we had no trouble finding friends to take these photos. We just handed them my phone and said, "Go for it." This accounts for many of the photos being a bit blurry but that's okay. This was a rather spontaneous thing, after all.

The couple who took the photographs had brought their little granddaughters, both in pretty red dresses for Valentine's Day. Their older granddaughter was transfixed by the idea that we were getting married and wanted to give us a present. She came up to us and held out her treasured pack of gum, offering us some. 

The above images are of me realizing that Beau was rather conspicuously chewing said gum while we were being photographed. He stopped. The photograph session continued.

Beau and I have known for almost a year that we plan to get married so I was surprised by how making this fact public made me feel. I thought it would be no big deal, but I was very excited, nervous, and even shy. I wasn't expecting that at all.

I could now take this space to intellectually ruminate on all sorts of things I thought about that day: marriage, engagement, culture, heteronormativity, the role of marriage in the mainstream... blah blah blah. No doubt, in future posts, I will do just that.

But, for now, that's not the important thing. The important thing is that I'm very very fond of Beau. 

Even after two years, I can't believe my good fortune in having found him. It still feels like a fairy tale: too good to be true. I love him more and more as time goes on: his tenderness, his intellect, his silliness, his questing nature, his handsome face and tall frame... 

In short, I'm in love with the man, so I want to marry him. It's pretty simple, really.

And he's pretty darned fond of me too! Lucky me!

We're a very good fit. We work well together.

We're both brainiacs, we're both very sensitive, we're both introverts...

... we're both kind of geeky and never really fit in, nor had any particular desire to do so.

We both have similar leftie ethics and do our best to live lives of integrity.  Our lifestyles match. Our beliefs match.

We match.

So we're getting married.

It's as simple and astounding as that.

Style as Therapy: Looking Fabulous in Adversity

So I showed up at one of my city's largest and busiest medical buildings today -- exactly one week to the minute too early for my appointment. It's not easy for me to get around with my disability and I'd come all the way across town for nothing. What a drag.

As I sat in the lobby, wondering how to redeem the trip, I saw this beautifully dressed woman sitting across from me. I decided to be brave and ask if I could take photographs of her for Sublime Mercies. Once she was assured that I was not going to blast her with scam email, she happily complied.

But she was confused. "I'm not beautiful," she said. I assured her that she was. I brought a smile to her face and, when I learned more about her story, I was really glad I did.

One of my pet peeves is when young people look at elderly women and say things like, "She must have been beautiful once." Once? Once? How about right now? How about, "She is beautiful," here, now, in this blasted medical building waiting for a blasted medical appointment.

She warmed up to me quickly and told me about herself. She came here from Barbados in 1964 and still has a quite noticeable, musical accent. 

She was used to doing advanced office work when she moved to Canada and found herself using some of the very first computers for her job. I wish I'd asked her how large they were but I wouldn't be surprised if they'd filled a room

She is now divorced and hasn't married again. She tried dating, she said, but she didn't like going to bars. 

But her appreciation of a beautiful man has not dissipated. She showed me her family photos in her wallet. Nestled amongst them was a photo of George Clooney, a young George Clooney. "He's my favourite," she said. Mine too.

What impressed me most about this beautiful woman was that she had put this much time into her appearance even though she's enduring chemotherapy! She had breast cancer fourteen years ago and beat it, but now it's back, in her lung and in her liver, and she was here for an appointment with her oncologist. The worst of the chemotherapy, she says, is the exhaustion.

Yet this didn't stop her from looking fabulous. Nobody would blame her if she didn't, but, for some of us, it somehow helps with the pain. I think there's a kind of hope and bravery in having the pride and self-love to look wonderful even in one's struggles. It's something I try to do, despite my chronic pain and disability. And I could see it was important to her too.

She was impeccably dressed, from the tips of her fingers to the tips of her toes. When I complimented her manicure she told me "Oh everybody likes that."

That wonderful emerald ring? "I bought this as a present to myself," she told me. Ah, she and I are kindred spirits! As for the crucifix, well, she's not Catholic, but she bought it in Rome, another present to herself. Again: kindred spirit. I didn't get the story on her opal ring.

I also love her shoes, probably because I'm always on the lookout for shoes that I can wear without hurting my back. I might even be able to wear these ones! 

I'd stopped taking photos for a bit and was just chatting for a while, when I decided I just had to have a photo of her earring as well.

"I feel like a movie star," she exclaimed.

 

Well good. She deserves it.

(I'm linking this lovely lady up with The Citizen Rosebud's Shoe Shine and Seeker's Tres Chic Style Bits.)

Degas' Little Dancer, the Haughty Chin Thrust, and Perfection in Imperfection

This was a really fun outfit, built around the skirt, a vintage gift from my good friend, Alex. I love the bright jewel tones which might be green, or blue, or turquoise, or teal, or... What do you think?

I was going for a bit of ballerina chic, with the tulle-like fluff of the skirt, the nipped waist, and the plain, fitted, knit top. Thus, a refined updo seemed essential. 

Jacket: London Fog; Clutch, hair comb, and brooch: vintage; Skirt and earrings: vintage gifts from a friend; Bracelet: a gift from Beau; Belt: boutique; Ring: Effy; Top: Reitmans; Shoes: Ecco

The event was very casual, just a pub dinner with one of Beau's old friends, but I felt like dressing up anyway.

Any excuse will do.

To go with my ballerina theme and my matchy-matchy look, I almost wore these little, thrifted shoes, but I thought that might be too costumey so I went with black, flat, mary-janes instead. I'll wear the teal shoes with the dress another time.

Before I left for the evening, I noticed that one of my lamps wonderfully complemented my outfit so I decided to photograph it. I really love the shadows it casts. This photo doesn't even do the shadows justice. They are really quite magical.

It may have been the red in my drapes, candle holders, and 1930s chair that inspired my choice of a red clutch. I just thought that there needed to be a little break from all that green, or blue, or turquoise, or whatever it is.

In the future, I'm not sure I'd wear this belted raincoat with this puffy skirt underneath it. It does create the effect of a rather large behind.

That's okay, though. Who said large behinds are a bad thing? And, besides, it's not all about perfection. 

If it were, I would have paid about $1,500,000 for this real Tiffany lamp, instead of $100 for the knockoff I found on Craigslist.

I like artistic allusions in my life, even if I can't afford the real deal.

With this outfit, for example, I thought first and foremost of Degas' famous little dancer, so I posed accordingly -- matronly figure and terrible back injury notwithstanding. 

I was lucky enough to see this little dancer at the Metropolitan Museum of Art when I lived in New York. My fitted top and layered skirt reminded me of hers. Even her awkwardness is a bit reflective of my own.

I can swear that I did not think of Carrie Bradshaw from Sex in the City when I put this outfit together, but I did think of her much later when I was finding images to add to my post. 

I do remember that I thought of Degas' dancer when I first saw her in the green outfit on the right, and I'll bet its designer did too. It's too obvious a reference to have been accidental, isn't it?

It's true that I haven't the gamine figure of the fourteen year old, little dancer. I have the body of a full grown woman.

In fact, so do the adult ballerinas that Degas was so fond of painting.

They weren't generally thin. They weren't even often all that graceful or elegant. 

Degas was particularly interested in voyeuristic painting of the awkward moments of a woman's physicality.

And these are moments we all have, no matter how hard we try.

So it's not about perfection. It's about enjoyment and letting our enjoyment of beauty make us beautiful too.

Any women who likes the fripperies of femininity will have her moments enjoying the charms of the poufy skirt. Here, Grace Kelly enjoys her ballet inspired dress in the great movie, Rear Window.

And tell me this model isn't loving this tulle froth. (I'd love it if you could also tell me where her legs are.)

Besides, in the 1950s, when there was spate of ballerina inspired fashion, thin was not in. 

Indeed, many outfits actually required that the hips be padded to accentuate rather than conceal female curves.

(I've seen this image before and oh! I so want to see those brooches close up! Don't you?)

So, Degas was an inspiration, and 50s fashion was another inspiration.

And with 50s fashion models, at least one thing is inescapable: the haughty chin thrust.

Here it is used to showcase the matchy-matchy brooch and earrings, also staples of 50s style.

I tried my best to mimic that chin jut. Here, I do it to show off the lovely bracelet Beau gave me for Valentine's day last year, and the vintage, screw-back earrings that Alex gave me when she gave me the skirt.

That chin thrust is hard to perfect. 

(Do also note here the strong influence of 1920s fashion on this much later outfit.)

I tried.

And I tried. I didn't perfect it but it was fun, and I can see that it really can compliment the bone structure in one's face. These poses are invented for reasons.

Also take note of the stone work behind me. Knowing that I was going for a 50s look, I deliberately posed in front of it.

I had the ubiquitous, 50s and early 60s, stonework fireplace in mind when I chose where to pose. 

As I said, I like my allusions.

 

Now let me be perfectly clear (to borrow a phrase from every politician alive today), the chin jut was not reserved merely for those who were sitting or resting their chins on their palms.

It could be used whilst standing too!

There seemed also to be no such thing as too much costume jewelry.

So I made sure I directed Beau to photograph mine too. Okay, I always do that, but this time I'm showing myself doing it.

I got this D'Orlan brooch for a few dollars at a charity store. I thought its elegant little swoop went well with my theme.

And so, haughty chin thrust still a work in progress...

I blow you little kisses and bid you adieu.

Also: KITTY!!!

(I'm linking this up with Tres Chic Bits, Visible Mondays on Not Dead Yet, Spy Girl's 52-Pick-Me-Up, and Shoe Shine on The Citizen Rosebud.)