Autumn Impressions

I celebrated Autumn's arrival with a sweet group of ladies at a lovely tea party. Our hostess put so much thought and care into every detail, we felt truly special.  Amid laughter and the clinking of porcelain cups on saucers, we welcomed the changing season in style.  Those moments, those memories, are what keep us warm through the coldest winter days.

Outfit Info:  Impressionist Dress from Selkie, Shoes from B.A.I.T., Necklace is vintage Avon

Christmas Wishes

Merry, merry Christmas on this happiest of holidays!  I hope that you are warm and safe and surrounded by the very greatest gifts of all--people you love and who love you in return.

Outfit Info:  Selkie Dress from 2024 Holiday collection.

Pink Porcelain

"sometimes just getting up and carrying on is brave and magnificent." 

"One of our greatest freedoms is how we react to things."

"When have you been at your strongest?" asked the boy.  "When I have dared to show my weakness. Asking for help isn't giving up," said the horse. "It's refusing to give up." from The boy, the mole, the fox, and the horse by Charlie Mackesy

As the holidays approach, I know that this can be one of the most difficult times of year for many.  I've had this post written for years, but now seems like the ideal time to post it. 

    I always hated asking for help. Hate isn't really a strong enough word. I felt a physical revulsion to asking for help. Why? Well, for one thing I was a perfectionist who hated to admit that things weren't perfect, hated to admit that I was weak or had failed. But it goes beyond that.  

Asking for help means being vulnerable enough with someone to expose your weakness to them and then stand there, naked, while they consider whether or not you're worth their time and help. It means not only showing that your weakness, admitting failure, but also in the midst of all that, facing rejection. I could deal with the failure. I could deal with the weakness. It was the vulnerability and even more so, it was the utter rejection in a time of greatest need by someone who claimed to love me or be a true friend that I could not accept. If I was rejected once, even on or perhaps especially on small help, I would never ask again. If I was rejected on really big help, I found I could no longer look at those people, let alone feel kindly toward them. And, please bear in mind that on the rare occasion that I did ask for help, the answer was nearly always No.  

And, so rather than dislike and mistrust a growing number of people, I stopped asking for help. Can't get rejected if you never ask.  It was only years and years into my adult life that I found myself in such a state of utter brokenness that I cried out, begged for someone, anyone to help me, and kept begging until someone did. Even in that awful time, I got a lot of rejections, but it didn't matter anymore; I'd already experienced the worst, what was a little more? I didn't just have to face rejection, I had to keep facing it. It sounds like it would be the hardest thing to do, but it wasn't. At the end of myself, at the end of my delusion of perfection, it was either face up or give up.  

There were a very few who came to help and they made all the difference. Asking for help, isn't giving up, it's refusing to give up. Asking for help means that you are saying, I will keep going, keep fighting, keep asking no matter what it takes. So, keep going, keep fighting, keep asking for help until you get it. As for me, I'm no longer a perfectionist. Not interested in pretending. Not interested in trying. Far more likely to ask for help if I need it and shrug off rejection when I face it.  And far happier because of it.

Outfit info:  Selkie pink porcelain Renaissance dress--thrifted 

The Monarchy

I've been watching The Crown.  I find myself simultaneously engrossed in the story and repulsed by the characters.  It's not the spoilt rich people in another country continually squabbling over their piddly-ass problems that keeps me coming back.  "Oh, mummy, I want to marry this  handsome blue-blood, not that one."  "Oh, dahling, we must keep up appearances for the peasantry, even though it is sooooo hard."  Blech; but I keep watching, because: the acting is great, the casting is great, and over all, I'm completely in love with the character of Queen Elizabeth II.  She is truly admirable.  

In spite of being surrounded by a family who does not seem to understand the role of a monarch as a servant and a leader, she finds herself alone in maintaining her integrity and poise and answering a call to service.  I suppose we all feel that way at times, as though we're the only sane one in a world full of fools and madness.  Personally I wish I had half the poise and dignity of Elizabeth II; perhaps if I did I could handle it all in a more queenly manner, but alas, such qualities are rare gems indeed.

What I lack in regal qualities however, I certainly make up for in beautiful dresses.  It's hardly a substitute, but we work with what we have.  I picked up this beautiful Monarch Foxglove Selkie dress as a sample last year, but didn't make it out in time to photograph it in the fall colors.  I suppose the deep rich rust color of the dead of winter will have to suffice in lieu of autum's golden hues.

Color Corrections

Remember that snow I mentioned in my last post?  Well, that was just the beginning.  But, I won't bore you with a lot of snow talk today; let's talk new hair color instead. 
Two and a half years ago, I stopped heat styling my hair to attempt to correct some of the serious damage that had been done.  Not seeing the dramatic results I had hoped for, I also stopped coloring my hair 18 months ago. I am not the most patient person, and this was truly a test, but I was determined to have healthier hair, so I gritted my teeth and put up with the process.  After a year and a half, my hair was softer but no less frizzy and much, much grayer than I realized.  I'm not opposed to gray hair, especially when it turns a witchy silvery white.  I'm also not opposed to aging naturally, in spite of the fact that it doesn't seem like there are any shining examples of it to follow.  It seems like everyone I know is either getting over loaded with fillers, botox, and God knows what else, or else has completely given up on their appearance altogether by buzzing their hair off and climbing into a track suit to wither and die; there's no middle ground!

My gray hair wasn't really pretty.  At all.  I kept hoping and waiting but when it was all grown in, I had to admit it made me look rather pale, and in my opinion, it made me look much older than I am ready to look.  So, after much debate, I enlisted the help of my new hair stylist, who is very talented indeed, and didn't charge me an arm and a leg to color my hair.  She assured me that what she was using would be far less harsh on my hair than box dye, and in order to give us the maximum time between visits (for the sake of my scalp health), I opted to keep my white streak in the front as it would be impossible to go eight weeks without some serious roots showing.  My stylist also has been working with me on reshaping my bangs.  They've gotten way too thick over the years and it was time for a change.

I immediately loved the cut!  I loved the color too, however, the first night after getting the color, I lay awake for hours, wondering if I had made a mistake and would have to start over on the painstakingly slow regrowth process.  The next morning, I did my makeup and put on something I loved but was starting to feel "too old" to wear everytime I saw my very gray-haired self in it.  This time, it felt right, because this bit of color, to me feels like the perfect middle ground.  No injections and no intentions of getting any, but also not giving up.  I'm not trying to look 25, just a more polished version of my actual age, which is 43 in case you're wondering, and I am very pleased with the results.

Photo bombed by the ninja cat!

Outfit Info:  Foxglove dress in Ornament print from Selkie, Kate Spade Strawberry Earrings and Necklace