No matter how happy it makes me when bloggy friends post about their daily happenings, I sometimes feel a little silly posting about my own. Woman Wed To Beast scratches onto a rotten log with a stick: day 203. Went to the beach AGAIN, wore a yellow skirt. (Looks btw, like the garden post was my 200th-how appropriate.)
Don't get me wrong, I don't think my life is horribly boring. I know it's not, and I certainly don't do things to make it more "blog worthy", but periodically I realise that I do pretty much the same things all the time. I bake bread, I garden, I read, wear prairie dresses and other improbable things, I watch movies, go to dances (from which I rarely take picures), hang out with friends (of whom I rarely take pictures), row in the bay with my honey, I make stuff, take gratuitous pictures of my cat, fawn over other blogs, walk in the woods, pick mushrooms, watch birds, think about feminist things, rock out...
So periodically, when I take yet another picture of what I wear, I wonder what interesting context I could possibly put it in. I wonder how much longer I, or anyone will be entertained by this? Do you really care that this is something I wouldn't normally wear? Two formal things (a yellow pencil skirt, some decidedly preppy mocs) together, mixed with a quite figure hugging style that emphasizes the dreaded belly-zone (I'm being super-ironic and self-referential here;).
Or the fact that once I tossed it together around the awesome 60s floral belt Sadie gave me, I liked it because it reminds me of something a shop-girl in a groovy boutique might have worn in the mid-60s, right before this American culture (and in its wake most other Western cultures) imploded in a rain of flowers and armies demonstrators. That I picture her carrying a copy of Howl And Other Poems in her satchel and that once she actually gets turned on and tuned in she will shed the last remnants of her bourgeois upbringing, drop acid and dance barefoot all night in an Indian kaftan.
Perhaps these descriptions, or the outfits themselves or posting them, seem a little ridiculous, (more than?) a little self-absorbed. These are, after all, only clothes we're talking about.
But what I've discovered is that I care. I really do.
Because as a woman, clothes are something I wear everyday like my armor in a battle to win my own image back from popular culture, back from the over-sexed hysterical hordes and demon-headed hipsters back from "someone else's idea". Because I was brought up by a feminist to believe that personal is the political and frankly, there are very few things more personal than what you wear on your body every day.
And so I am reminded that I keep this log of all of my unhappenings (as well as sometime Happenings. I really don't think my life is that boring at all.), my days of nothing but beach and yellow skirt, because it reminds me that even on those days I'm inspired.
That the world is complex and magical and mysterious and full of connotations and invisible forces of culture and nature and nurture and sisterhood.
That even on the drabbest days I can be creative with as little as a 60s belt, a yellow skirt and a tripod.
Won't you join her in flight?