These are a few of my favourite things

Keep it simple

So in reading my friend Sue's blog* the other day I came across something that piqued my curiosity. It's called the 'Sixperiment' and it's become a bit of a phenomenon apparently, according to the NY Times. Seems the idea behind this little exercise is to select 6 items of clothing from your wardrobe and commit to wearing them—and only them—for the period of one month. Outerwear, shoes, underwear and accessories don't count. You have free reign with these. Apparently, the motivation to participate in the Sixperiment is a desire to streamline, simplify, and pare down—all admirable goals. In this instance, these efforts are directed at one's closet and, by extension, one's wallet, the planet, etc.

I'm not what you would call a fashionista nor am I a shopaholic. But I do like clothes as I believe I've admitted here before. I enjoy getting dressed in the morning and aspire to looking—let's see if I can capture this accurately—well put-together but not too well put-together, reasonably current, maybe even a little groovy. Variety helps me to achieve this effect. And yet this idea of a limited wardrobe appealed to me, so I have decided to give it a whirl. I think it might actually be fun. And creative. Sort of. Anyway, it makes me feel good. 

So last night I spent about an hour figuring out what these six pieces would be. I finally decided on a pair of dark wash skinny jeans, a long-sleeved scoop neck black T, a white shirt (you know, with a collar), a charcoal grey cardigan, black stretchy stove-pipe pants (City Fit from J.Crew) and a black skirt. So, that translates to three tops and three bottoms (for those of you scoring along at home). I wanted to add something with a bit of colour (it's all rather black-on-black-on-grey-on-black-on-white-on-black-on-grey) but nothing seemed quite right and somehow the idea of going out and buying a new item to complete the 'Sixperiment' seemed outrageous so black, white and grey it is. 

I'm off. It's day one. And I promise not to post my wardrobe everyday (how horribly dull), but here's how it went this morning. White shirt and black pants. Added black ankle boots with a heel and a grey and black slouchy sweater (as outerwear) to make the ensemble a little more city chic and little less "May I take your order?" 

Twenty-nine days to go, and my imagination is alive with the possibilities.

Wish me luck.  

*Sue's blog is called repletelife and you can get to it by clicking on the link in my Noteworthy list. I suggest you take a look. She's a great read. 

 

Breakfast at Tiffany’s

Today, happiness took the form of a little blue box containing a shiny bauble.

* Photo courtesy of my benefactor.

Study hall

So I’ve gone back to school. Things are going to be a little hectic around here, I mused tonight, stirring the pasta sauce with my left hand, a Freud textbook in my right. I stop to underline a particularly interesting passage and pause to look around the kitchen. I sigh. There’s a little collection of paper towel on the floor, a weak attempt to mop up a river of water that has run off the counter following an incident involving our lunatic cat and a vase of sunflowers. My gaze continues down the hall, where it lands grimly on the vacuum cleaner, which has taken up what appears to be a permanent post somewhere between the front hall and the living room. Another sigh. 

Classes started last Saturday, and as I took a chair in the front row (on the far left of the speaker), I laughed to myself. I am a mature student.  This was the descriptor given (by whom?) to the middle aged men and women who eagerly joined our university lectures, presumably to obtain a long sought-after degree. The hailed from all walks of life: empty nesters, stay-at-home moms with school aged children, bored accountants searching for inspiration from Blake. I have such a clear image of these ‘adults’, so keen were they, outspoken, so full of questions, having read the required material thoroughly, critically, and fairly bursting with intellectual curiosity. None of the apathy and indifference of the spotty, bleary-eyed twenty-somethings who slouched in the chairs beside them, winking and passing notes. They were keeners, the mature students, the kinds who always had an extra pen and highlighter carefully arranged on their desks. Ugh. How I judged them—when I cared to think about it—and how ironic that now, some twenty-plus years later, I am one of them.

Studies have shown that many if not most of us will have more than one career in our lifetimes. The notion of corporate loyalty is a thing of the past, technology has put an ever-changing face on opportunities, skills sets are constantly evolving and 40 is the new 30 and all that. What interested me at twenty falls a little short at 40+. It sounds so cliched and so, well, typical. But there it is. I am reduced to a statistic.

So off I go to the virtual bookstore, searching for the best textbook deals. I stock up on lined paper, pens and binders. I get a bookbag that is fashionably practical. I take my front-row seat in class. I read the assigned material; I ask good questions. I underline significant passages and even do a little extra research on-line at night. I balance the reading and the studying with family life and I have a messy kitchen and dusty floors.

And if you need one, I just happen to have an extra pen in my bag.