How I Suffer From the Heat, and From Chilblains on My Feet

I feel no guilt whatsoever wearing this pheasant hat. After all the berries and grapes they made off with on the farm over the years, they deserved it. No, I didn't make the hat myself-mostly I'd just chase them from the yard threatening to pluck them. Perhaps an unlucky pheasant crossed the local milliner and this is the result-it appears to be a homemade hat. I'll never know, but I can well imagine!

 A little sparse on top (I can relate!) but still quite wearable.

It seems I rarely wear head-to-toe vintage anymore, and certainly not from the 1940's and 50's. It can look like a costume, but that's never bothered me (every day is a fancy dress party in my world) so I'm going to make a point of doing more "era correct" outfits, just for fun. Not every day, but more often than I have been. 

I learned something interesting today when the tag fell out of my perfect-fitting yellow glove. I wear a size 7 1/2 glove. Fascinating-I never knew my glove size. I imagine that's crucial information like knowing your telephone number (I still haven't memorised the land line because I never call it. Three YEARS and I still have to ask Danny what our number is), blood type, and which drugstore stocks Revlon Love That Red lipstick. Knowledge is power. 

Big hands I know you're the one.

Fine. I've never been dainty.

I've owned this dress for about fifteen years, and I've never liked it. The proportions are for a much taller woman, yet I've never bothered shortening the hem, or doing something with the sleeves. It isn't flattering alone, but it works so well with a shorter swing jacket that I've kept it. I've come to think of it almost like a polo neck-perfect for layering, but not much to look at alone. The shop where I purchased it in Lincoln is long-gone, but I remember buying it on impulse because I admired the buttons. I still do. 

 This blue and green brooch belonged to my mother. I don't recall her ever wearing it, and it really isn't her style at all (she preferred big modernist- type pieces) so I have to wonder if it was a gift. I don't wear it as much as I used to, but I thought it would be nice to at least feature it once on the blog.

 And THAT my friends, is how you do a button! It must be four inches across.

Outfit Particulars:

1950's dress-defunct vintage shop in Lincoln, Nebraska

Late 40's/early 50's jacket-Hand-Me-Ups

Belt-Goodwill

Vintage Gaymode handbag-Goodwill

Vintage gloves-Hand-Me-Ups

Necklace-Hand-Me-Ups

Vintage earrings-An antique store in Wisconsin years ago

Silver brooch-Hand-Me-Ups

Green and blue brooch-Mum

Vintage pheasant hat-Hand-Me-Ups

Fragrance-Vintage formulation Mitsouko

Lippy-Revlon Love That Red

Know what I did yesterday? Besides breaking my left toe (Sigh, I really did-banged it on the door trying to avoid tripping over a hatbox) . I stopped at Fairy Tail (that's how they spell it) costumes in the abandoned mall on Dodge Street and went nuts with their vintage at 75% off. You would have too. If you can get to Omaha (and I do think it is worth a trip in from Des Moines or Sioux City) DO IT! But hurry, because I might go back later this week to grab what's left. I came home with a couple of 40's jackets, a 50's coat, a 40's cold rayon dress, more psychedelia than you can imagine and still had money to buy the week's groceries. Some of the pieces need repairs, but that's true of vintage that costs much more. If you do make the trip into Omaha, drop me an email and we can meet-up if you like. 

The best purchase was a pair of gold lurex shorts which I plan to wear with my swimsuit and gold lame coat at the hotel pool. They do a cocktail hour in the evening, though no one really dresses for it (lots of blinged-out jeans and fleece tops) so perhaps I ought to save the ensemble for that. Last year I wore a paisley caftan. I suppose this means I should be on the lookout for a gold swimsuit for next year.

 The "wintry mix" has started falling (that's freezing rain, sleet, and snow) so I'm off to watch the cars struggling up the hill. If I were twenty  thirty  forty years younger I could make a good chunk of change pushing stuck cars off ice. Not for me now, I suppose-not when I can break a toe on a closet door. I'm sparing you the pictures because chilblains and a broken toe are probably too much sharing for a blog. As I was cradling my maimed foot last evening I mentioned between tears to Mr. ETB that I generally don't have issues with aging, and I'm not keen to try and look younger-but nothing drives home the joys of aging like looking down at a toe broken by what in my youth would have been, at worse, a stub. The little things get me much worse than living with chronic illness, and things that ought to upset me more than they do. It would have been depressing, until I remembered I have some really nice comfort shoes. And newly acquired vintage to wear.   

See you on the flip side.