Dress Up Dublin

Whirly. Liberating. Happy. Smiley. Uplifting. And did I mention happy already? This is what my time has been since the last post. Yeah, I made the trip to Dublin, of which more to follow, but I've had so much warmth and joy in my life of late. And it makes me smile. Constantly. Like an idiot. Don't mind though. If this is what an idiot feels like, just write me down as one. I feel like hugging everyone, and singing, and dancing. And I pretty much do all of that. And did I mention smiling already? Ok, ok, don't scream yeat, let's get back to Dublin...

My days in Dublin indeed also flew by in a whirl of vintage shopping. Like I said in the previous post, my friend there has gotten bit by the vintage bug and needed some 'personal shopping' advice, gladly provided by me. I love going through racks and racks of clothing and accessories in vintage boutiques, thrift stores and flea-markets, most of the time the stuff that I find just doesn't suit me because of my puzzling measurements, but since my friend is of a more vintage-friendly build, I was alltogether too happy to oblige. We started by going through the charity shops in the Temple Bar area, and I have to say that the variety there was surprisingly good, thought obviously, at the times, overpriced. If the shop has a separate section labelled with a huge sign saying 'vintage' you just know you're going to end up paying more. Even so, twenty euros for a dress is hardly too much. 

Sorry about the head-chop...

My darling friend

deemed herself not bloggable

facewise due obviously to

my crappy photography.

The dress is lovely, as is her face, by the way. You listening to me, Darling?? There was one button missing on top, which she was going to fix by transferring the middle on from the bottom. The buttons and the white ruffle are actually black-on-white minuscule polkadots. And the sort of Mod - mini look suits my leggier-than-should-be-legal friend perfectly.

Retro can be found

at George's Street Arcade.

And of course, we had to pop in at that one, Retro, since my friend was interested in finding the perfect pencil skirt. Which she did in fact find, only not from there but from another shop place altogether. But back to that later, at Retro there were indeed some unbelievably nice dresses and yes, pencil skirts, but frankly, almost 70euros for a pencil skirt is waaaaay too much. And yes, the dresses, Pinup Girl Clothing, Vivienne of Holloway et al, yes, lovely, but I can not afford, nor would I part with that kind of money even if I could, for a dress. To pay around 160e for a bengaline dress with, I hate to say this, not too exquisite sewing, this I can not do. The designs are fantastic, and really, really flattering to a curvy figure though. The sizes go up to there, so I'm sure anyone could be able to find a dress suited to their needs there. The fact that I balk from buying one myself probably stems simply from the fact that I've gotten so used to making my own dresses that the idea of actually spending some serious money on one needs some serious getting used to it. And as to the craftmaship, just blame it on Claire Shaeffer... But really, if you need a repro dress and don't mind parting with the money for it, this is the place to go.

Harlequin, at 

13 Castle Market

I had read a lot about the above mentioned vintage store, and it did in fact live up to its reputation. Of course, that would be the Harlequin. Two floors of well chosen merchandise, friendly and helpful staff, and oh yes, everything on the top floor reduced to half price. I do believe this is where my friend made one of her best purchases, the moddish mini-dress in the above picture. Not being a mini skirt kind of person myself it is lovely to see someone rocking that style so completely. I've sometimes come across people thinking about vintage dressing, and imagining it being solely about circle skirts and petticoats, swingy dresses and pencil skirts, but really, if you begin with the 20's, no, why not go all the way to the Victoriana, and travel up to the 80's, then let me ask you what type and style of clothing will you NOT come across with?


Not fashionable? Not trendy? Who cares, and besides, actually, I do believe they just might be that, at least considering the price developments during the past couple of decades. But back to Harlequin, definitely worth the trip. Though I had heard some complaints about it being pricey, I still think its well worth a visit. While my friend was trying on her choices, I found a couple of genuine 1940's dresses there on the evening dress rack. One with fantastic open point appliques, and since they were both way too tiny for me to actually consider trying on, I spent some quality time going through the seams, buttons, looped buttonholes and methods of hemming. Lord those women knew how to make a dress!

Perk Up Vintage can be

found at The Loft

but click on the link to their

online shop above.

Monday, we were intending on taking a peek at The Loft Market on the top floor of the Powerscourt Townhouse, but unfortunately found it has limited opening times of Friday, Saturday and Sunday. However, should those times suit you, do drop by. Besides the both new and vintage clothing and accessories, you can also find Aliquo Jewellery there, which I find absolutely lovely. They also have an online shop, click on the link to get there. I have my sights on the Tori Necklace...

Beautiful.

On the second floor of the Powerscourt there are also some really nice shops selling genuine vintage jewellery, though for these pieces, be prepared to pay. A lot. And yes, I did see my marcasite brooch there. And there it stayed. Maybe next time. Sigh.

On the 2nd Sunday of each month, there's a thing called The Mingle Market held at the Dublin Co-op building at Newmarket Sq, that is actually supposed to be a fancy costume market, but as far as I could tell there was exactly one stall selling costumes as such. All the other stalls were selling vintage wares, handmade jewellery and other curiosities, organic produce, pastries and such. Fantastic. For me, the market yielded a pair of black bow-topped, open-toe wedges, a story book about Irish fairies by a small independent publishing company from the west of Ireland, and a cupcake. Yes, just one. Red Velvet, with cream cheese frosting, red candy hearts and a waffle stick. And yes sir, it was indeed lovely. And while we were sitting in the cafe, me munching away happily on my cupcake and sipping a giant cup of steaming hot black coffee there was actually a live band performing for the minglers. And now, please forgive me for my, again, crappy photography, but here goes...

They're called Truly DiVine 

and Her Indulgents

and I for one wouldn't mind

hearing some more. 

Sensual. Smooth. Sassy.

Lovely.

I still have cakes, burlesque and all sorts of thingies to write about, but am going to keep this post on the topic of vintage and vintagey shopping, so a couple of more dropworthy places still to go... Do not miss Lucy's Lounge. This was my favourite. By far. Suitably shabby, fantastic merchandise, just plain easy-going atmosphere, and a delightful proprietor to boot. Do Not Miss. I found myself two little precious thingybobbies there...

First, this feathery ring, which you can purchase also at True Birds Vintage Inspired Jewellery online shop.

'' Feathers symbolise the ability to take flight,

either spiritually,

emotionally or creatively.''

Suits me fine.

And then this one...

Which you can also find on 

Etsy by

Rose And Raven

Yeah, I seem to have a thing for birdies and feathers and trees these days. Go figure. And now I'm going to hop and skip to the kitchen for some munchies, and then I'm going to go back to my stupid smiling and begin writing a letter. Yes. A Real Letter. On paper. With a pen. Woohoo. So all you lovely people out there, smile stupidly, dance like your life depends on it and sing though you can't carry a single note. I will. Bliss.

Things That Make Me Happy

What's with the summer picture, you might very well ask. But let me ask you this. Do you ever think to yourself one moment or another, ' This, right here, this feeling that I have right now, this I want to remember' ? And do you, remember? Last summer, I was driving home with the Daughter from an evening spent at the beach, riverside. The air sat heavy, the car windows open, I could smell barbecues, wood heating saunas. See the lush green of the grass, the birch tree leaves. On the back seat the Daughter was sitting quietly, her cheeks flushed, her hair in wet tangles. Little Happy Miracle wrapped in a huge fluffy towel. Barefoot. Legs still covered in sand. Not minding at all. Summer. Me in the front seat, left arm hanging out of the window. Barefoot. Still in my bathing suit, with just a thin, gauzy linen tunic thrown over it. Not caring one whit if somebody thought my legs were too thick, my calves too white. The feeling of the warmth of the sun erasing anything but that single moment from my mind. The road in front of us. The happiness between us. On our way to home. And I thought, ' This, right here, this I want to remember'. And today, just now, I did. I can hear the wind howling outside, it's cold, it's dark, and this is what I remembered. Somebody said that we don't remember days, we remember moments. Indeed.

The Daughter's Feet. 

Sun. Water. 

Today, I went ice-skating. I know, you might also very well ask if I have, finally, gone officially insane. Not so though, I only skated for about a quarter of an hour and changed into my trekking boots as soon as my ankles started crying. And they seem to be fine now. So maybe I'll take another spin tomorrow. Not that I will be jumping and pirouetting any time soon, but it was a fantastic feeling to be able to move your body, to at least attempt to make it follow your commands to create those beautiful curves and spirals on the ice. And this was followed by some playground time with the Daughter, until my suggestion of some hot chocolate and marshmallows was answered with a resounding ' Yes Mommy!' continued with 'And then we sit on the sofa, and we take your blankie and you get one end and I get another and we eat cookies and watch whatever I want to watch'. Fine by me, darling. Which is exactly what we did.

Heart from my Heart,

you are.

We took a 'home day' today, both for her, from her kindergarten, and for me, from whatever I was supposed to be doing today. Started the day lazing around in bed. Playing ants. My fingers being the ants and her hands being a catapult that threw the ants into space only to land in a tickling mass on her belly. Loooots of tickling and laughter. Watching old Peter Pan and Tinkerbell film. And she says '' I want to bake, Mommy'. Which is what we did. Sugar cookies in the shape of hearts and flowers, raspberry jam in the middle. Spaghetti for lunch. Eaten on the sofa. Oooh, we were such two lazy little mice. Made a huge princess and castle puzzle on the floor of her room, on top of which she decided to dance because according to her that put her dancing in the castle itself. 

Now she is sleeping. Two duvets. Two dolls. Numerous pillows that she spreads all over the bed. A stack of children's books on her nightstand and a ladybug nightlight glowing dimly next to her bed. When she wakes up, she will grab the ladybug, and it will light her way as a torch for her to come to my room and climb in my bed, asking me if it is already morning. She is my miracle. She is the single most precious, most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me and I am so proud to be able to call myself her Mom. 

You Will Find Your Way.

I am still very tired. Next week, I'm heading to Dublin, Ireland, for the Valentines. For a decidedly un-Valentine Valentine though it shall be. Two old-time Girlies sifting through the vintage wares of the city, in search of the perfect pin-up dress for my Friend, with an occasional cake cafe thrown in. For me, books. And more books. And if a lovely marcasite brooch should happen to find its way to my vicinity, well, welcome home, little one. 

The Cake Cafe

And this is something I've been wanting to do a long time...

Things That Make Me Happy

Dragonflies

Hands

Water

Books

Children's Laughter

Roses

Blankets

Dimples

Smelly Cheese

Candles

Fountain Pens

Black Coffee

Embroidery

Poetry

Old Lace

Linen

Lemons

Trees

Dancing

Walking Barefoot

...even in Puddles

Daisies

Brushed Silk

Fresh Bread

Handwritten Letters

Friends

Family
Music

Live A Life, Not Win A Fight

You know how we're supposed to take stock of the year gone by at the beginning of the new one? To make promises for a better, brighter year. Resolutions. Well, yesterday I realised that the January is almost past. The sun is out. I read the blogs of people from more temperate climates and see them posting pictures of the first little plants braving the frosty earth. And I remember, from my days in Portugal, how the spring, for me, seemed to come with the beginning of February. So, I'd like to think that despite the freezing temperatures and snow and more snow, the spring is on its way. Come on, now, the flower shop at the nearby supermarket has brought out its seed shelf! But what I'm getting at is this, I have not made a single resolution for this brand new year. Haven't yet even so much as stopped to think back to the year we just left , to reflect on it all that much. Until yesterday.

There's a song by a British band The Editors called When Anger Shows. 

''It pulls you to the ground like soaking wet gloves

The change in your face when anger shows.''

For the past couple of weeks, I've been battling with not only growing exhaustion and the ever present fear of what that might entail, but also with feelings of anger. And that's not ok. That's not '' yeah ok but well it's all good it's all feelings, you know''. Anger is not good. It breeds hate, hatred. Bitterness and cruelty. It's like some slimy monster that starts its life as a small black spot at the center of your soul only  to grow little by little every time you feed it by giving your feelings of hatred permission to take over your mind. And before you realise, your smile is gone. Your eyes have become opaque to the beauty of everything around you. The anger has spread its tentacles to every part of your being, and even your body starts to speak a new langue. A language of defense and attack. 

Gandhi certainly had a point there.

I've heard this term of 'embracing anger' being used in context of glorifying it. In making it something to cherish, something to keep alive. I have seen, I know, what it can do. How it destroys the people who are angry, who hate, just as much as it does the lives of those it touches by proxy. Anger is addictive. You can get seriously hung up on the adrenaline rush. But in the end, it will, one way or another, burn you out. Without an exception. Now, there's anger and there's anger. What I'm talking abut here is not the 'damn-this-sock-not-another-hole-again-I-hate-my-life' sort of thing. I'm talking about the bona fide cold kind of hate, grown out of anger, and capable of terrible things. So, yes, embrace anger. Embrace it to death. Kiss it until it can no longer breath its poisonous fumes. Kiss it like my Daughter says, '' million trillion zillion times and infinite amount too'' when she wants me to cover her little face in little butterfly kisses. 

And frankly, I was not a little lost with these feelings of mine, not knowing how to deal, because you simply can not just brush something under the carpet and pretend its not there. What it will do is keep growing in hiding until there's a huge elephant right there in your room, a hulking mass under the carpet that you have to tiptoe around in fear of waking it. Also, in the past few weeks, some friends of mine have been going through a patch of seriously sad and upsetting stuff in their lives, and having to deal with that, no, make that being priviledged to be there to help what little I could, has made my getting rid of these feelings that much tougher. Sometimes, the extent to which us humans are capable of hurting each others just seems too damn much. Then, last night, I got an e-mail from a friend. And while it wasn't anything special as such, no marriages, babies, what you might expect, something in that letter just quite simply brought back to me the feeling of warmth, of calm in the middle of the storm. 

Friends. Love you.

So this morning, you know what I did? I danced while doing the ironing. Sung while doing the laundry. Hummed while pricking my finger on a needle trying to fix a ripped off ribbon on a vintage pillowcase. And saw the sun. Don't get caught up in the negativity. Let it shine. Peace.

And just in case somebody now thinks I am advocating endless turning of the other cheek, of allowing people to walk all over you, trust me, I'm not. There is a book by a Swedish psychologist,  Anna Kåver, called '' At Leva Ett Liv, Inte Vinna Ett Krig'' which, I'm afraid, has not been translated into English but basically means '' To Live A Life, Not Win A Fight''. She talks about seeing both your outer and inner reality, and accepting it. This acceptance does not mean stopping working towards changing the things in your life that need changing, it means stopping the fight against yourself and of life itself. According to her, there is an inherent paradox in this kind of acceptance, you can accept your situation as is and still continue to actively work and live according to your own values and objectives. 

Accepting reality, both in- and outside of yourself does not mean approving of it, but rather  it is a starting point for true change, for freedom. And living a life of constant mental fight is anything but freedom. Just ask any of the chronic PTSD sufferers around the globe. And yes, I know, I am obviously talking here from the relative perspective of the privileged westener. To those having to deal with the daily struggle of hunger, of war, these musings would obviously sound like what, to them, they undoubtedly are, ridiculous warblings, but we can, each of us, only truly see from our own subjective view and to each of us, there is only truly our own reality. And if us 'privileged westeners' weren't so hell bent on being angry with ourselves and everything round us, so busy with hating, of being bitter enough to think nothing can ever change, maybe there would be less hunger, less wars. Yeah, I wear my heart on my sleeve alright.

This year, I've learned the value of true friendship. I've learned that distance, being it geographical or that of time has little significance if there is true kinship of humans. I've learned to appreciate and respect who I am, and what my values in life are, so much more. I've had people enter my life, old acquaintances and new. And had some leave, old and new. There has been new life, babies born. And life that ended too soon, too abruptly. Leaving sorrow and the endless yearning of a child for its mother in its wake. I can still feel the tears coming when I think of that. I've made some very tough decisions, which, like dropping a stone to water, have caused ripples that will still take a long time to settle. All in all, it's been a year full of life. And you know what, I realised just a few days ago hearing someone complain about boredom, that I can not even remember when was the last time I felt that. So, quite likely, it's also been an entire year without ever having felt bored. Now there's a feat.

I have a pair of shoes sitting on top of a chest of drawers in my bedroom. Recently bought online, vintage. High heels, round toes, ankle straps. Petrol blue suede with antique gold trims. Photo will have to wait as I am currently sans camera. I keep them there instead of sticking them in the closet because they remind me that sooner than I think the roads will be clear of ice and I can put these shoes on, my dancing shoes, and give them a swirl on the sidewalk outside. Never mind the people watching, who cares if they think I'm nuts. I'll just accept that as their reality, keep dancing, and who knows, maybe, eventually, somebody will join me. Feel free.

This Ice Will Melt Too

Ok. I just deleted an entire post. Wowzee. Haven't done that one before. But it was just too close. Too personal. And it led me to thinking about turning this blog into a private one. But I'm not there yet, I am seeing this becoming more and more like a diary for me, but until the day I really, really feel that I just have to write something immensely personal out here, I will just keep on doing what I'm doing. 
And I'm also wondering if I should be slightly worried about the fact that for the past couple of days I've been listening to the same album over and over and over again. I'm talking about Through Low Lights And Trees by Smoke Fairies. There's something simply mesmerising, almost hypnotising about this music and I seem to be unable to get enough of it. Maybe it just fits in with January. It's just plain too cold and plain too dark out here now. Just the other day my car froze and refused to move. And when my Mother was driving us around, she managed to back into a snowy ditch so deep that my friend's husband had to get a neighbor with a 4WD vehicle to get the damned car out. And sure, some people claim to have spotted the sun, but I remain sceptical. Today I was out with the Daughter in the afternoon around three, and I saw the moon up there in the sky. Polar night, they call it. Just blasted cold, dark and miserable is what I call it. 

This is pretty much as much light

as there ever is

these days.

At midday.

Except here, the river is 

completely frozen

through. 

You can drive your car on it.

If your car is still moving, that is.

Some days, can't remember 

when was the last

time, though,

the sun is

there...

...even if it only barely rises

 over the horizon.

So I keep telling myself that every day brings us closer to spring. Granted, it also brings me closer to something I would rather not think about right now, but sooner or later this ice will melt. The snow will make puddles for the Daughter to jump into. Icicles will drop from the eaves, and then eventually the first patches of green will start sprouting. And in April I will be one year older. One year wiser?  I wouldn't know, but time stops for no-one. Not even for January with all its power to freeze everything to the core. 

A while ago I saw a children's cartoon in which a mouse was wanting to trade places with the most powerful, the strongest thing there was. The thing that nothing and nobody could conquer. It wanted to be a cloud. No, the wind could blow it away. It wanted to be the wind. It wanted to be the sun. The moon. The earth. And it ended up being just itself, the mouse. Because nothing and nobody is invincible. There will always be something that will be stronger, more powerful than you are.  Maybe the mouse should have wanted to become time itself. It does not wait. It does not stop. And you never have as much as you think. It might be more, it might be less, but you can not know.

'' Through the coldest month

I held on to

a dying hope

that flickered in you.'

---

As the moon to the earth

Find a future 

I can believe.

There is a future

I can believe.''

Summer Fades by The Smoke Fairies

But until then, this is what I wear to go outside.

And this is our 'backyard' river.

Early afternoon.

But this is home. 

And it might not be all

fancy or glamorous,

but it's filled with

warmth and

things and 

people

with

soul.

And to end tonight with,
obviously,
The Smoke Fairies,
After The Rain.

Life Love Infinite Within You Always

Oh wow. It's been a rollercoaster of a christmas time and one seriously strange beginning of the brand new year.   And once again, I have found myself asking the same questions over and over again. Does it make you weak if you still, after having been proven time and again otherwise, refuse to believe that in order to survive, you have to turn your heart and soul into granite? Is it weak to cry over having your trust broken? Would you be a stronger woman, a stronger man, if you just didn't care? Would not caring make things that much more easier? And finally, what does it take to make one stop just giving a damn about love and just settling with 'this-will-do'?

I was going to say that I don't know, but I do know. Having your heart and soul being put through nine levels of hell in a one relatively short life-span, and still surviving with a heart that does more than just beat and a soul that refuses to give up, this is not weakness. And no Virgil here to guide us lesser mortals either. How fitting, though, that Dante made the ninth circle a place of ice, housing those guilty of treachery. Yeah. If you did not guess it already, this is not going to be one of those posts full of joy and pretty things. I'm already talking about Inferno here and I've only just started. Blimey.

William Blake - Dante's Inferno

And not caring? Sorry, can't do that. Call me a bleeding heart liberal if you wish, but can't do that. Not an option. You know, there was a time in my life when I thought that was indeed what I had to do, and by god did I do my best to get to that point of just not caring. And I failed. Miserably. So now I cry, I laugh, I walk into doors out of sheer happy absentmindedness. I love, I get angry, I stomp my foot and shout. I can walk up to pretty much anyone and not be intimidated by their money, their power, their possessions. Because these things do not matter. And don't get me wrong here, poverty is not pretty. There is nothing beautiful, nothing romantic about poverty, but above a certain line, making a living turns into greed, and there's nothing beautiful in that either. And besides, according to Dante, it would land us smack bang in the fourth circle of hell.

Now, I'm all for freedom of choice. We all have the right to choose the life we want to lead. To choose what it is we want to hold precious in our life. Is it kindness, generosity, love and honesty or something altogether more cold, more suited to this icy world of self-promotion and everything-for-sale mentality? It's spend more, right now, buy your way to happiness, that I see everywhere around me...

Yes, I have chosen never to be one of those people. I am aware of that. Simply by choosing moldy old literature as my specialty, by choosing academia instead of more commercial pursuits I have also chosen a way of life that will never give me the possibility of blind commercialism, but this was a one informed choice. This is what I want to do. This is what makes me happy. And I count myself lucky that I get to do what I love to do, for a living. Granted, it's not much of a living moneywise, but it is a living, and it is enough. And I do know what I am talking about. I did take the world of commerce for a spin there and believe you me, we were not a match made in career heaven. Me and books, me and writing, we are. 

Which reminds me, this morning I booked myself a lovely, tiny little loft in Brussels, Belgium, for my oncoming trip there in March. I will be attending a Brontë Society - weekend there, and am going to include some wandering-around-time into it as well. I mean, just look at these...

Pretty as a picture. That's Brugge, also in Belgium, and since I will be going to Belgium anyway, I could not possibly pass on an opportunity to see this beautiful little town. And so being it that besides books, I also love traveling, I really do consider myself lucky that I am able to do that as well. Granted, there are no luxury hotels, no fancy cars and gasp-at-the-bill trendy restaurants, but you know what, I am much happier in a rented little apartment like I managed to find for myself now. I have two feet that work most of the time, and getting 'lost' on foot is in my opinion one of the best ways of finding unexpected joys in any given place, and not that I don't like eating out, but I do believe that price and quality do not always go hand in hand in that respect either.

And being on the topic of traveling, I just now tore myself away from looking at tickets to Dublin. Been meaning to go there for a long time and what better time than now, seeing as I really need to air my brain out and I have an old friend living in there who will undoubtedly show me the 'merry old ireland'. And I get to take a peek at the Book of Kells, which has been tempting my imagination for a loooong time. Oh, and the Daughter has decided she wants to go to  Paris. Yes, my almost-four-years-old wants to go to Paris. With her Mommy, her Auntie and her Grandma. A girlie trip, she says. To museums, she says. To flea-markets. Wow. Can't imagine what next. Mommy I want to go to New York, maybe?

See, books and traveling, and what do you get, me, happy as a clam. I'm even smiling as I write now. From the ninth circle of hell to smiling about Paris, not bad, not bad at all. And the thing is, I do appreciate, I do value it when people do what makes them happy. What makes them content with their own life, whatever that may be. Me, I am what I am. I do what I do. And yes, I do believe in love. I do not believe in settling. I have loved in my life, and still love, and will never stop doing so. It is what makes us what we are. Just a few days ago I was asked on a date. Out of the blue. And I am mildly curiously searching myself for how I might be feeling about it. So far, not much, but who knows. But until then, love might not be all you need, but you know what, it is enough.