Posts Tagged ‘black button’

You are having your infamous seasonal potluck, and the theme is “raisins”. We have all been painstakingly assigned categories; there is very little better in life than to receive a gilded envelope with a piece of deckled edged handmade paper inside of it, printed in India ink with the three letter word, “PIE”. I have made my Aunt Edmonia’s sour cream raisin pie in a vintage red pottery pie plate. I’ve ground fresh nutmeg on top of the luscious Southern delicacy prior to baking it, and the custard is a rich brown. I fasten the etched black horn buttons my brown and grey herringbone wool coat, wind my hand-knit brown scarf twice around my neck, search for my brown kidskin gloves, and then shoo Francy from her improvised nest and grab my helmet. I am now ready to ride my scooter across town to your place for the mid-winter festivities.
“If you want a lover
I’ll do anything you ask me to
And if you want another kind of love
I’ll wear a mask for you
If you want a partner
Take my hand
Or if you want to strike me down in anger
Here I stand
I’m your man”

(by L. Cohen)


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It was 5 pm in Amsterdam, and the sun was quickly descending. The dusky violet of twilight wrapped around the sturdy metal chairs by the outside mural at La Tertulia, and I fiddled with my phone. We were planning on meeting for tea; every time I received a text, my heart jumped in anticipation of a message from you. I poured another cup of English Breakfast tea, sweetened it with two spoonfuls of demerara sugar, took a nibble of Salted Caramel Apple Pie and refastened the marbled grey and black buttons of my vintage tuxedo jacket. American Music Club played in the background, with Mark’s voice crooning delicately. I dislike waiting, but I adore anticipation.
“An empty heart is like an empty house
Filled with old ghosts and little else
And secrets that everyone but me knows
That without love nothing grows”

(By M. Eitzel)

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Billows of silvery fog are wafting over Twin Peaks, brings a dank fall chill to the evening air. The moon is but a sliver the size of the smallest fingernail, casting a thin light upon me as I walk towards the café. I’m not pensive tonight, merely scatterbrained. Although I’m dressed warmly in a black wool Breton fishermen’s sweater with four flat, black leather buttons along the left shoulder, mustard corduroy jeans, a worn black leather jacket, a black and cream knit bandanna scarf with corner tassels, and Kelly green desert boots, I’m still cold. Once I get to the café, I order a pot of hot English breakfast tea and a slice of creamy nettle quiche. The café violinist is playing a Paul Anka number, the windows are steamy, and I begin to feel myself unwind.
“Havin’ my baby
What a lovely way of sayin’
How much you love me
Havin’ my baby
What a lovely way of sayin’
What you’re thinkin’ of me
I can see it, face is glowin’
I can see in your eyes
I’m happy you know it”

(By P. Anka)

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My mantra for this week is “no more cake!”…repeated as needed. I am willing to concede to pumpkin cheesecake with a gingersnap pecan crust, as it is packed that most delicate of proteins, cream cheese. I have decided to visit the park, and sprinkle slices of cheesecake along the pathway from the fall mums to the fading roses. Channeling a persona somewhere between the Pied Piper and Hansel and Gretel, I take off with my wicker hamper of creamy cheesecake. Who can resist a sly seducer in a black suede cloak with black horn toggle buttons, Kelly green elfin shoes, and an armful of goodies?
We’re off to see the Wizard
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
We hear he is a Whiz of a Wiz
If ever a Wiz there was
If ever, oh ever, a Wiz there was
The Wizard of Oz is one because
Because, because, because, because, because
Because of the wonderful things he does
We’re off to see the wizard
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz!”

(By H. Arlen)

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It is 10 pm, and I’m taking a hot, sandalwood-scented bath while watching Guys and Dolls. I’m not sure if there is anything finer than wafting in a deluge of bubbles, while singing along with roust-about Nicely-Nicely Johnson and eating a hugely decadent slice of coconut and pecan laced German chocolate cake. Francy and Lulu have scampered to the kitchen to get away from the mad bathroom ruckus. The movie is almost over, so I pull the plug, dry off, and get dressed for a little stroll around the neighborhood. I’m wearing black 501s, my favorite green Docs with black and fuchsia stripped socks, a black ribbed wool turtleneck sweater, and a black suede wide-lapelled waistcoat fastened with black and rhinestone sparkling buttons. I figure the buttons will help me stand out in the dark.
“I dreamed last night I got on the boat to heaven
And by some chance I had brought my dice along
And there I stood
And I hollered “Someone fade me”
But the passengers, they knew right from wrong.
For the people all said sit down, sit down, you’re rockin’ the boat
People all said sit down
Sit down you’re rockin’ the boat.
And the devil will drag you under
By the sharp lapel of your checkered coat,
Sit down, sit down, sit down, sit down,
Sit down you’re rockin’ the boat.”

(By F. Loesser)

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I’ve been feeling like the world’s most boring slacker, my brain as flaccid and interesting as a cold, wet noodle. In my quest for self-betterment, I have enrolled in the Fortune Flag Book making course at the San Francisco Center for the Book. It is 2 am and I’m sifting through my collection of fortunes; my favorite is “You are prefect in every way”, and although I believe they meant “perfect”, I’m not buying it. I toss the less flattering fortunes to the cats, and then disrobe, leaving my navy and wine Liberty paisley pajamas with black etched horn buttons hung over my cherry bedpost. Bubble-baths and hot scones split with melting butter often cure melancholy, and I’m hoping they will do their magic tonight.
“Every cloud must have a silver lining
Wait until the sun shines through
Smile my honey dear, while I kiss away each tear
Or else I shall be melancholy too!”

(By E. Burnett and G. Norton)

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Stepping into the deepest blue starry German night, I discover that it is chillier than I anticipated, so I run upstairs to fetch a hat. Grabbing my burnt umber felt pork pie hat with its square black horn button accent, I saunter down the street looking for an inviting place to eat. The streets are lined with trees and the sidewalks are cobblestoned. Even with a light drizzle shining mistily through the streetlights, there are flocks of people chattering and walking arm in arm. I pass Kaffeehaus after Kaffeehaus before finding the green-doored restaurant Zum Güldenen Schaf. Once inside I order shrimp in spicy garlic-olive oil sauce, lamb steak with goat cheese au gratin, and ratatouille and waffle potatoes. It is the beautiful night…perfect for Kurt Weill and “Seeräuber Jenny”.
“Meine Herren, heute sehen Sie mich Gläser abwaschen
Und ich mache das Bett für jeden.
Und Sie geben mir einen Penny und ich bedanke mich schnell
Und Sie sehen meine Lumpen und dies lumpige Hotel
Und Sie wissen nicht, mit wem Sie reden.
Und Sie wissen nicht, mit wem Sie reden.
Aber eines Abends wird ein Geschrei sein am Hafen
Und man fragt: Was ist das für ein Geschrei?
Und man wird mich lächeln sehn bei meinen Gläsern
Und man sagt: Was lächelt die dabei?”

(Words by Bertolt Brecht and music by Kurt Weill)

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