in which i am ashamed, and then shameless
So, I've been having some really rather fantastic Goodwill luck lately (and maybe someday there will be pictures; I do, after all, finally have a tripod, only there's a bit missing so I sort of have to balance the camera on it, meaning that weird angles are out, except the...constant, unintentional ones, argh). I found a splendid floor-length formal dress to wear to Alessandra's wedding for five dollars, and it fits me like a dream. (It requires fire-engine red pumps, however, which I have yet to find. Also a lace shawl of similar shade would be nice, as I have an annoying and strangely shaped tanned patch near my left shoulder-blade on account of not getting my sunblock on properly the last day of Grey Fox when I was wearing a blouse with a keyhole cutaway in the back. WOE.)
Anyway, on Thursday there was a fifty percent off sale, and among the various & sundry items I collected was a truly superlative turquoise brocade blazer, which I took at first glance to be about five to ten years vintage, due to its pleasantly softened appearance -- you know how clothing gets sort of especially cosy after a few years, but not necessarily shabby. After I had brought it home and was hanging it up in the closet I caught sight of the tag. The brand? Mary-Kate and Ashley. Verily, I am ashamed. ASHAMED, I TELL YOU. But it is a truly fantastic blazer nonetheless (TURQUOISE. BROCADE. -- Since when do they make things this niftily quirky, anyway? The stuff at Wal-Mart is never of this calibre!) so I shall simply keep mum about it, and perhaps surreptitiously remove the tag? (Of course now I've told the entire internet about it...)
There was also a book-sale at the location of the old Goodwill (they got a new, significantly larger building in which they've combined the downtown Goodwill and the one that was at the mall until it was shut down), wherein I spent about half an hour trying to find some worthy literature amongst the seemingly endless dross of romance novels (and the occasional potboiler or self-help book). Eventually I came away with new-old copies of some of our staple cookbooks to take with me when I no longer live here, Chamber of Secrets, an E.L. Konigsberg, another book on psychology by Oliver Sacks, who wrote the fabulous Musicophilia, and -- Strunk & White's Elements of Style! I was delighted at that find, which...no-one else understood. Alack.
Tomorrow, our little church is having a sort of fair, with live music and free pony rides and food and craft vendors, which ought to be great fun. I am singing, which ought to be Very Scary. (There will probably be a fair amount of people, oh dear. I mean, hurrah. So far our previous community outreach attempts have fallen somewhat flatly.) Something will be a capella and other somethings will be Songs I Can Already Play With My Eyes Shut, to lower the terror factor and give me less a chance of fumbling haplessly as I often sometimes do on Sunday mornings when leading worship or playing after the sermon. Any of you local lot who take a notion to come are certainly welcome (Jonathan's already signed on). Remember, food! And -- pony rides! (And -- me! Ulp.)
Anyway, on Thursday there was a fifty percent off sale, and among the various & sundry items I collected was a truly superlative turquoise brocade blazer, which I took at first glance to be about five to ten years vintage, due to its pleasantly softened appearance -- you know how clothing gets sort of especially cosy after a few years, but not necessarily shabby. After I had brought it home and was hanging it up in the closet I caught sight of the tag. The brand? Mary-Kate and Ashley. Verily, I am ashamed. ASHAMED, I TELL YOU. But it is a truly fantastic blazer nonetheless (TURQUOISE. BROCADE. -- Since when do they make things this niftily quirky, anyway? The stuff at Wal-Mart is never of this calibre!) so I shall simply keep mum about it, and perhaps surreptitiously remove the tag? (Of course now I've told the entire internet about it...)
There was also a book-sale at the location of the old Goodwill (they got a new, significantly larger building in which they've combined the downtown Goodwill and the one that was at the mall until it was shut down), wherein I spent about half an hour trying to find some worthy literature amongst the seemingly endless dross of romance novels (and the occasional potboiler or self-help book). Eventually I came away with new-old copies of some of our staple cookbooks to take with me when I no longer live here, Chamber of Secrets, an E.L. Konigsberg, another book on psychology by Oliver Sacks, who wrote the fabulous Musicophilia, and -- Strunk & White's Elements of Style! I was delighted at that find, which...no-one else understood. Alack.
Tomorrow, our little church is having a sort of fair, with live music and free pony rides and food and craft vendors, which ought to be great fun. I am singing, which ought to be Very Scary. (There will probably be a fair amount of people, oh dear. I mean, hurrah. So far our previous community outreach attempts have fallen somewhat flatly.) Something will be a capella and other somethings will be Songs I Can Already Play With My Eyes Shut, to lower the terror factor and give me less a chance of fumbling haplessly as I often sometimes do on Sunday mornings when leading worship or playing after the sermon. Any of you local lot who take a notion to come are certainly welcome (Jonathan's already signed on). Remember, food! And -- pony rides! (And -- me! Ulp.)