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Posts Tagged ‘woven leather button’


It has been bitterly cold these days, and although I realize that this is normal for winter, I can’t help but shiver grumpily. Even Lulu and Francy have taken to avoiding the chilly slate kitchen tiles if at all possible, however they must traverse this culinary Siberia in order to eat their meals. This has caused much feline dissent, but despite avid lobbying, I have thus far refused to set them a place at the dining room table. I have set the table for one, and they are glowering at me and my warmth from the doorway as I cut into my Arepa-style black bean cakes topped with delicately oozing poached egg. I’m wearing a plethora of tweed consisting of an olive green and brown tweed Norfolk jacket with woven leather buttons, a waistcoat in shades of tweedy toast, plus-fours in olive tweed, thick woolen argyle stockings, and purple suede monk’s shoes. Lulu and Francy eye my warmth disdainfully as they wash the fur between their toes.
“Sag mir, wo die Blumen sind,
wo sind sie geblieben?
Sag mir, wo die Blumen sind,
was ist geschehn?
Sag mir, wo die Blumen sind,
Maumldchen pfluuml;ckten sie geschwind.
Wann wird man je verstehn,
wann wird man je verstehn?”

(By P. Seeger)

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I need a break from excessive cakery, so am virtuously tackling my stack of mending while listening to Jonathan Richman. First up are a wooly heap of brown and grey moth-colored tweed jackets whose sleeves need shortening. I’m a sucker for the tawdry professorial look of tweed jackets with woven leather buttons and suede elbow patches, paired with jeans, a ribbed, slightly stretched-out black turtleneck sweater, violet dandified socks and scuffed brogues. In lieu of sweet birthday cake, you have baked me a platter of spicy broccoli cupcakes, with a wee green broccoli tree bisecting each cake. I am grateful for health, broccoli and well-fitted tweed jackets.
“Alright
I’m in love with modern moonlight
128 when it’s dark outside
I’m in love with Massachusetts
I’m in love with the radio on
It helps me from being alone late at night
It helps me from being lonely late at night
I don’t feel so bad now in the car
Don’t feel so alone, got the radio on
Like the roadrunner
That’s right”

(By J. Richman)

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I’m walking home from a leisurely excursion to the library and the farmer’s market with a full knapsack of books, CDs, garlic, broccoli, and kale. Fall is approaching, and I’m feeling the need to coddle myself with garlic-laden pasta, musicals, and late nights reading Howard Zinn’s A People’s History of the United States and Les Misérables by Victor Hugo while nestled under piles of worn hand-made quilts. Leaves crackle under my boots and crows squawk ceaselessly as I pass folks rushing to catch the symphony matinee. Once home, I hang up my vintage rust-colored suede and knit cardigan sweater with camel-colored woven leather buttons, set my red teakettle on to boil, put away vegetables, and start peeling the garlic for dinner.
“It’s a long, long lane that has no turning
And it’s a fire that always keeps on burning
Mister devil down below
Pitchfork in his hand
And that’s where you are going to go
Do you understand?
Devil’s gonna git you
Devil’s gonna git you
Oh, the devil’s gonna git you
Man, just as sure as you’s born”

(By Porter Grainger, and sung by the indomitable Bessie Smith, 1928)

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I have succeeded in growing a stunning avocado plant from just a slimy pit, shortening the sleeves of a lined vintage caramel and black hounds-tooth jacket (including moving the placket and re-sewing the lovely oxblood woven leather buttons), cooking luscious and sticky baklava from scratch, and getting my sometimes elegant prose published in sundry minor publications…..yet the waltz of friendship sometimes escapes me; my words and feelings stumble as we talk, and I curse my two left feet. My most recent fortune read, “Your loyalties are clear when it comes to friends”, which leaves me I’m wondering if fate knows something that I don’t, because my loyalties feel muddily unclear right now.
“I,
I can fly like a bird in the sky
I can buy anything that money can buy
Oh I,
Can turn a river into a raging flood
I can live forever if I so decide
Ain’t happy am I with all the powers that I possess,
Oh, you’re the key, ’cause
I can’t get next to you, babe
Can’t get next to you.”

(By N. Whitfield and B. Strong)

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