One year, I did a picture-a-day project and I liked it. I finished my personal commitment and stopped. I want to do that again.
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Esme stole my seat. I was not gone 10 minutes. -
Mostly, it’s Pete’s butt.
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I knew that 18th and 19th century women wore separate pockets under their skirts. I have a friend who is an anthropologist and she does 18th c. historical reenactments and I have seen her embroidered pockets.
I have been wondering lately how we got out of the habit of those oh-so-helpful accoutrements. Especially as I hear my friends reply to clothing compliments with “Thanks! It has pockets!”
I bought some new, linen, work pants at Old Navy recently and was delighted to realize there are pockets deep enough to hold my phone without it falling out on the floor when I need to stoop down for something. I wear a Japanese style apron when I do yard work simply to give myself big pockets. Pockets are useful. Frankly, pockets rock.
I found this article and this other article that I find believable. There are others. But, they are pretty politicized and I don’t really buy it. I find “That just isn’t cute.” to be more believable.
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From a conversation with my cousins and sisters on our beach weekend:
Strawberries (1968)
There were never strawberries
like the ones we had
that sultry afternoon
sitting on the step
of the open french window
facing each other
your knees held in mine
the blue plates in our laps
the strawberries glistening
in the hot sunlight
we dipped them in sugar
looking at each other
not hurrying the feast
for one to come
the empty plates
laid on the stone together
with the two forks crossed
and I bent towards you
sweet in that air
in my arms
abandoned like a child
from your eager mouth
the taste of strawberries
in my memory
lean back again
let me love youlet the sun beat
on our forgetfulness
one hour of all
the heat intense
and summer lightning
on the Kilpatrick hillslet the storm wash the plates
Poem © Edwin Morgan, Gnomes, Carcanet Press Limited, 1968
I am the Audience 