Come on home girl, he said with a smile

"...you don't have to love me but let's get hight awhile." Is how the rest of that lyric goes, by the

wicked 70s Seattle band Heart. The song, of course, is from the soundtrack of the mythical movie Virgin Suicides. It's called 'Magic Man', and if I was ever a stripper, that would be the score to my dance number. Not that I would be. But hypothetically.

These girls had f***ing awesome style by the way.

This is the first 'prairie revival'-dress I ever bought. It was long, and beautiful, and totally not in fashion. Everyone thought I was bonkers. I justified the purchase by telling people that if I ever got married I would get married in the dress. Not that I ever would. But hypothetically. This, by the way, was in 2002.

I used to call it my 'Virgin Suicides Dress', because that was the closest reference point at the time. It's odd how much we forget about the fashions and attitudes of the past. See, back in 2002, not only were pretty floral dresses not run of the mill, no one even wore dresses. It seemed at the time that anything that wasn't boxer boots, jeans, printed Ts and mohawk cuts, had to be justified by Sofia Coppola. How quickly things can change. Prettiness is all the rage now, to the point where it's getting to be a little sickening.

(I might however still be a little bonkers. Obviously no sane person would post a picture of Kirsten Dunst in the same context as herself.)

As a firm believer in synchronicity, just as I was thinking of this seminal movie, and its creator yesterday I thrifted something at the Dump that I was delighted with: A messenger bag! I've looking for one since I went to Portland where they're quite ubiquitous, due to the bike culture.

I haven't had one in years, about since I was a bike messenger, and I think I was ready to embrace one again. Well there, under a stack of ugly faux-leather bags and canvas suitcases it was; a perfect blue bag, reversible with suede on one side, and no discernable flaws, safe for some torn lining and a wee, mendable hole. Sweet, right?

I got that lovely green 70s cardi too, and headed on to a photoshoot (cringe. more about that later.) and some coffees with friends. But what does all this have to do with Sofia Coppola?

Well imagine my surprise when, upon getting home and cleaning it, I discovered it was made by a certain Sofia Inspired mid 2000s-glory designer.

That's pretty good. Doesn't make me love it anymore though, 'cos I already loved it heaps.

I'm off to my little plot of land, in the garden of Eden. Don't forget about my wee giveaway below. See you soon.

PS. Am I the only one who the first riff reminds of Big Mouth Strikes Again?

Sunshine...on my window

Whew. It's been some week. I must have worked some fifty hours already, and I'm going to work in a little bit. Cutting greens and making juices, however seems like a relaxing brake from the intensely brainy-fied occupations of late, but more about that later.

The weather has been sunny and rainy in turns, but I have mostly gotten to observe it through the window. I did sneak out once, to test my new camera and go to the beach. I got this beautiful, basic Gunne at Barter Fair for a dime and a song, and I already know it's going to be a summer staple.

I'm not the only one who's been wearing Gunnies. Bridget and Bonnie sure look beautiful (and the boys don't fare so bad either ;)

The new camera is awesome as far as I can tell. We ended up getting a Canon Powershot just like Missa's and I think it's going to be really fun to use. Oh and remember that poster contest I was talking about a while back? Well guess who won!?!?!?

That's right! C's poster came in first. The officials say it was something of a landslide victory. So in honor of my hubby's winning 60s sensibilities, I announce a give-away of said poster for the Island farmers' market. Leave a comment and in a few days, I'll pick out the recipient and then you can hang this funky lamb in your yurt, cabin, or apartment. (Hopefully copies of the poster will come out of the printers soon.)

Off to work I go.

Mythical creatures,

poems, architypes and fairy-tales are what I'm knee deep in currently...but when I return, you will see a picture of me! And many other assorted and interesting things.

My new camera has arrived. Right now tho, I'm reading Russian fairytales,

the Kalevala (Which warrants an entire post of its own.),

and other assorted myths and texts...

How about you?

To a tee

A while back C. and I watched seminal 70s movie Norma Rae . (Which hubby sold me on with the following statement: "You'll love it, it's about some crazy chick with clogs who talks union." (Full disclosure: I have a mad soft-spot for union movies).) While the film had not aged very well, it was a very interesting time capsule in terms of attitudes, styles and working class lives.

Okay who am I kidding? It was a pretty bad union-movie, BUT had a fenomenal wardrobe. Especially when it comes to a cute, soft, stripe-y 70s T-shirt, which was pretty much the title character's uniform.

Makes me kick myself for the few 70s T-s I left behind in Finland. Darn. Cotton garments were pretty ubiquitous there back in the day, mostly thanks to Marimekko. Too bad America went ahead and sold all those garment factories and Norma's job to China. We could be rolling in soft cotton, right now, ya'll. (And don't talk to me about American Aberration.)

I shall keep on searching for my dream T-but in the mean time you guys should check out Anne's perfect 70s T-ensamble. Norma would approve.

If I was something other than myself...

The lovely Anne did this meme in her blog, and since my camera won't be arriving for a few more days,

here's something you may not have known about me. Like that I would be a tool. In other news, I'm still swamped with work.

I've been constantly fatigued, and filled with a kind of sense of ennui for the past few weeks, but last night we had

a bonfire on the beach with some friends and a really yummy dinner under the stars, cheered me grately.

I also managed to fix one of my favorite dresses, that was tearing due to old age, and saw six seals swimming in our bay,

eye-balling the strange land-bound critters that we are.

If I was a month, I'd be September

If I was a day of the week, I'd be Sunday

If I was a time of day, I'd be 7AM

If I was a sea animal, I'd be a Seal

If I was a direction, I'd be East of the Moon, West of the Sun

If I was a piece of furniture, I'd be a bookshelf

If I was a liquid, I'd be sea water

If I was a gemstone, I'd be an amethyst

If I was a tree, I'd be a fir tree

If I was a tool, I'd be a sickle

If I was a flower, I'd be a bleeding heart

If I was a kind of weather, I'd be misty and rainy

If I was a musical instrument, I'd be a fiddle

If I was a color, I'd be blue

If I was an emotion, I'd be nostalgia

If I was a fruit, I'd be a plum

If I was a sound, I'd be birdsong

If I was an element, I'd be water

If I was a mammal, I'd be a rabbit

If I was a phase of the moon, I'd be waxing

If I was berry, I'd be blueberry

If I was a bird, I'd be a warbler

If I was a book, I'd be a grimoire

If I was story, I'd be the girl who married a bear

I'd like to tag anyone who's in the mood. And as a side note, I heartily suggest that if a good book or a walk in the woods doesn't shake your sense of ennui, there's always Dr. Horrible's Sing-along Blog, to consider. Happy Monday.

Long Hairs

When I was 17, I braided my hair, which back then ended right above my pubic bone, pulled straight, cut the braid off at my chin, and took it to a little wig shop with a sign in the window proclaiming "We buy hair!"

For the next 10 years my hair remained short. I tried the pixie, Amelie, and even, for about a year, the Sybil. When I finally began letting my hair grow, it took me years to start identifying myself as a long-haired girl. While I have always been somewhat indifferent to my own hair, long, or short, I have to admit that hair (or lack thereof) very much dictates the way we look, and how we see ourselves.

Personally, I find long hair slightly odd, even a little disgusting. Hair is, after all, in essence dead matter, save for the very root from which it grows. Growing it long can be like growing those odd olden-time-y Chinese nails; odd, impractical, and downright gross.

I come from a family that has a strand of long-haired women. My mother has always had straight, blond, improbably thick and long hair. Her grandmother was known for the copper red hair she could sit on. Once a month my mother and I would go to the hairdressers who would create intricate braid hairdos, something my mother still does.

When I was little people would always comment on my hair. Everyone loved brushing it and playing with it. Sometimes I felt my hair got more attention than I did, so when I moved out of home at 16, I gleefully left it to its own devices; neglecting all care and love. Something I still gleefully do.

Hair may have been my pet childhood peeve, and not entirely interesting vanity detail, but its connotations in a larger cultural context are rather fascinating. From Samson, to Rapunzel, to the Sutherland sisters, long hair has been seen all at once, as the epitome of female beauty, a source of power, a tool to sway the outcome of events.

Cutting, or growing ones hair has at various times been seen as an act of rebellion, from frontiers men, to flapper girls, to 60s hippies. For the past hudred and fifty years the standard in Western culture has very much been short for men and long for women, making any variations on this theme extremely controversial and fascinating. Not that extreme expression of the standard couldn't also be controversial and fascinating.

Take the Sutherland sisters, for instance: the seven daughters of an itinerant preacher, all with freakishly long hair, earned their living for their entire adult lives, by performing in sideshows, and even the famous Barnum and Bailey's Greatest Show On Earth. The sisters, who's manes ranged from 3 to 7 feet (after one of the sisters, Naomi, died they had a substitute with hair reaching 9 feet in length) made more than three million dollars from performing, sitting in drugstore windows and department stores and selling their very own hair tonic.

The 1960s saw a turn to long, undone hair that had not been present in Western culture for almost a millennia. Long hair undone from its customary beehives, up-dos, braids, and buns, was just as provocative as the short page boy and bob cuts that the models of the day often sported. Even more provocative was the fact that many the long hairs were men, a first in more than century.

With the dawn of the next wave of folk musicians, back-to-the-landers and urban hippies being a prominent movement in the last few years, long, unkempt hair is definitely making a comeback. Its power and sway still remains a mystery, though. The appeal of a glossy mane seems to hark back to some atavistic instinct, who's meaning we have long since lost.

Aside from its cultural and societal associations, hairs purpose and meaning for the human animal is still unknown. From sun protection, to skull padding to protect our large, delicate brains, to remnant of something evolution deemed useless, but forgot to remove (Though it is this writer's opinion that such things do not exist. Remember the useless appendix?), biologists, paleontologists and other science dudes still haven't been able to narrow down the true function of hair.

What ever those maybe, the mystery of hair is a fascinating part of our everyday life. Hair has infiltrated languages garnering countless folk sayings from "not to hurt a hair on someone's head", to "make one's hair to stand on end", and " be in someone's hair".

Countless remedies have been invented for its rescue, from the Sutherland Sister's tonic, to baldness cures, to modern day conditioner's promising to make the dead matter attached to your head "alive with minerals", "60% more vibrant", and even "longer, thicker, silken to touch!".

Whatever one may think of hair, it has power, almost a life of its one, the way I thought when I was little.

For now I am happy to remain a long hair. In fact, I cant' remember a time I was more pleased with my tresses. Sutherland locks, here I come.

How about you?

If...

I had a camera (Speaking of which, if anyone has suggestions on a good point-and-shoot, do tell.) there would a picture of me, as well as a picture of rather menacing sky with the promise of hale and rain, and sunshine all within fifteen minutes, but since i don't I thought I'd entertain you'll with some inspiration.

If ever I was to go shopping for new clothes, instead of thrifting, I might visit these two Swedish designers, who's folk sensibilities definitely appeal to me.

e.

Gudrun Sjöden's Swedish folklore is beautiful and colorful, and she is, on occasion, known to sample some Frieda Kahlo, into the mix, which is just dandy by me. Ewa i walla, on the other hand, sticks to muted colors, with colorful accents, and much more earthier, imaginary country-girl looks.

This landscapes make me kind of homesick for beautiful, summery Scandahuvia. I don't know if I would actually fork out a couple of hundred for a dress, but perhaps investing in quality, and pieces you know you would love for years to come. I mean I'm still kind of kicking myself for not investing into a couple of Ivana Helsinki pieces I yarned for like five years ago.

Scandinavian style can be other things besides minimalism for sure.