Alright, I almost never (actually never?) blog on fashion. There are about a million fashion related blogs you could frequent if that was your milieu…but if you are on this blog, clearly you are interested in words. Case in point—-I just used milieu in a sentence. And you understood me. So clearly fashion is a bit off topic. Let’s chalk this up to a characterization discussion. When you create characters you must furnish them completely, inside and out. This does include what they wear. Ok, enough justification? Good. So, there is no better place (besides perhaps the mall) to watch fashion come to life than the halls of a high school. Now, don’t get me wrong…I love my students, truly…but there are times when I just have to chuckle at their attire. This is particularly funny considering all my students wear uniforms, so in order to show individuality they seem to be getting pretty creative.
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I had the strangest experience yesterday. I was in a restaurant, one of those 'not fast food but not sit down and be waited on' types that are popular now (and wonderful, as far as I am concerned). As I headed to the drink machine to fill up my cup, I spied a group of retirement aged ladies talking quietly. They were happy and relaxed. But, that wasn't the most interesting thing about them. They were also all either knitting or cross-stitching. I had stumbled upon some needle-arts club of sorts out for their weekly Saturday conclave. I was drawn to them bodily, and I fairly floated over, unfilled cup in hand, and went from woman to woman looking over their shoulders examining and commenting on their work. I even asked the woman knitting if I could touch her project so my fingers could confirm the softness of the yarn that my eyes anticipated. They were pleasant--probably pleased that someone had taken an interest in their endeavors. Perhaps they were even surprised that someone my age cared (these skills are a dying breed among my peers I have noticed). But for me, something more profound had happened. Something unlooked for and something unexpected. A pin prick. Let me explain... I have been thinking a lot lately about the people that pass through our lives—those that stay and make themselves comfortable for a while, certainly, but even those that are the experience of only an afternoon, or perhaps even a few moments. How is it that a conversation that I had with an old woman in a grocery store ten years ago, or a twenty-year-old guy at the table next to me at Starbucks last fall, can have such impact all these months and years later? As for the people who enter our lives and stay for a time…how can we not expect to be changed by them? How can we cope with the imprint they make in our minds and hearts when they are gone? I have had many people in my life recently who have been ripped from me. Sometimes I have been glad to see them go, and yet at the same time they have left a gaping wound. Others I have wanted to cling to, and their absence is too painful for conscious contemplation. Most of the time I find myself so focused on the task at hand, usually grading essays, that I don’t look up and ‘smell the roses’. I guess the people in my life who love me have begun to notice this and take issue with it—-and it was that stance which led to a truly lovely day, thanks to the kindness and planning of my 22-year-old adopted son. He took us to The Huntington Library, Art Collections, and Botanical Gardens. (huntington.org) |
Wendy Picard GorhamWendy lives and works in the midst of words everyday--English teacher by profession, and writer by passion! Archives
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