Halloween couldn’t be a more befitting time to release my inhibitions if I ever plan on getting into that Red Hat Society. I need to learn how to not care what other people think of me because right now, as it is, I’m what’s commonly referred to as a “party pooper.” Someone who never joins in on the fun and refuses to welcome her foolish side. I’m sorry, but that is not the Red Hatters motto! Apparently the ‘reserved’ twin in my Gemini self doesn’t seem to want to take a step back. So I have decided that starting today, All Hallows Eve, I will venture out into the world with the beginning of my new transition. No more reserved, all work and no play attitude because these should be the fun years of my life! So it’s off to work I go and I think I’ll start with my eyes.
Betsy McCall was a paper doll. She came printed on the pages of the McCalls magazine, a magazine for American women, which ran from 1951 through 1995. In this magazine there was also a story of Betsy’s latest adventures and the people who played an important role in her life. And even if you don’t remember Betsy, or maybe you weren’t born yet, I still do. It was implied that Betsy lived in New York City because that is where many of her adventures took place, although later on in life she moved to Santa Barbara, California. Every month when the latest issue came out, my older sister, Brenda and I would fuss over whose turn it was to get her. Once that decision was established, my mother would snip Betsy out along with her latest wardrobe, tuck all of it neatly inside an envelope and then write our name on the front. Unknowingly, Betsy was also an eco girl. She didn’t light up or require batteries and her wardrobe was biodegradable. The only thing she did was strike a pose and model her wardrobe but we loved her regardless. She gave us a chance to use our imagination.
On Friday I picked up my five year old grandson at daycare. After buckling him into his car seat I looked over my shoulder and asked him what he learned in preschool today. Rylan replied, “The letter ‘F.’ ‘F’ is for fireman. ‘F’ is for friend. ‘F’ is for frog.” Then he paused for a moment and said, “Grandma, what else is ‘F’ for?” I replied with a wink, ” ‘F’ is for fart…” This is the look he gave me.
Have you ever wondered what becomes of old magazines once they leave the newsstand? A few days ago while I was at work, I watched the news vendor putting out the new issues of magazines and placing the old ones in a shopping cart. I asked him what he does with the old issues and he said that the old covers will be ripped off and sent back to the company to receive credit. The magazines are then shipped to Minneapolis to be mulched into housing insulation. Sure beats the sand and horse tail hair that came sliding out of my walls during a housing renovation years ago. I thought it was sort of crime scene! I never knew I could scream so loud! And who would use those two things as insulation anyway? That’s just downright nasty. I would much rather have my walls stuffed with Vogues. Does anyone else have something unusual to add?
In the fashion industry where every garment or accessory has a label listing what it’s made of, do you feel it’s necessary to mention that anything upcycled used to be something else? Would it help or hinder? I’ve seen handbags made from airline seatbelts and dresses made from abandoned tablecloths. I, myself, make earrings from soda cans, pop tabs and paper. I’ve even seen ladies panties made from old tee shirts! So if an upcycled store (and there are quite a few) displayed every piece in their shop with the same regard as an upscale department store, would someone who isn’t into upcycling still buy? How much of a role does ambiance play?
When I find an article of clothing that I really like, I will love it and wear it until it rots and falls off. Now, I’m not saying that I wear the same thing day after day. I’m just saying that if I want to wear any of those three pairs of yoga pants that I bought at Old Navy twelve years ago, I will. Okay, I’ll admit that it might be the last time because they really are on their last leg. But how would I feel if I were a Hollywood movie star who found an article of clothing that she really liked, but because it was considered taboo,I wouldn’t be able to wear that thing twice? Damn those paparazzi! Maybe Hollywood stars should venture out in public armed with a camera and snap photos of the paparazzi snapping photos of them. Then we’ll see who wears the same thing twice and who picks their nose while they’re waiting for a sighting. Afterwards, these stars could take their gallery of photos and publish them in a newsletter titled: Stars Who Fire Back. Just a thought. So the gist of this paragraph concludes that if I were a movie star I would break every fashion taboo there was merely out of spite. I would wear my favorite outfit two days in a row (she spent the night elsewhere). I would bravely run errands wearing little or no makeup (she’s letting herself go). And I would walk proudly carrying my purse that was knit from plastic. After all, it’s a designer bag. Then the tabloids could write that I’m sporting fashion from refuse. It must be exhausting being a public figure whose every fashion faux pas is scrutinized, analyzed and picked apart until it bleeds. I’m exhausted just writing about it! But that’s okay. For now, I’m happy living in Montana where comfort overrules fashion. It has to if you want to survive.
Apparently upcyclists have a lot in common with raccoons. When they spot a shiny object, they will go to great lengths and getting it, and keeping it. A long time ago, one of my teachers told me that the way to trap a raccoon is to put a shiny object in a container with a small opening. When the raccoon reaches in to retrieve the shiny object, it’s fist won’t fit out the hole. Come hell or high water it won’t let go and so I guess it just stays there forever! It’s just one of those intriguing little facts of nature that I found to be worth remembering. It runs perpendicular with the way kangaroos can balance themselves on their tails in order to use both feet to kick their opponent. They are able to suck in their balls in order to avoid a major kick in the nuts. Now that’s what I call efficient! Anyway, I spotted my shiny object in the middle of the street at the crack of dawn. I saw it’s reflection from the streetlight as I was coming back from my morning coffee run. I picked it up and saw that it was a Pepsi can, which to me, was still not worth letting go of. I’m keeping it. I think I’ll make a soda can ashtray/dish.