Dita Parker

Monday, August 8, 2011

How soon is now

For a lady who really likes her footwear, I'd rather not wear any. But sometimes one must, so I put on my fanciest flip-flops, and no, that is not a contradiction in terms, these are as bling as they come, and hauled Hubby and the fruits of our love and lust into town to soak up the city in the summer. Holy Moses on a motorbike! No, I didn't see Moses on a motorbike. Believe me, I'd have pictures.

What a transformation. A metamorphosis. One hardly recognized those streets. One hardly could make out the streets, they were jam-packed. The ladies were looking quite lovely and the gents mighty fine; buskers on every corner; cars vintage and voguish cruising the streets just for show; tourists from all over the world; fresh foodstuff sold and eaten in the parks and market squares.

Summer is the most inspiring and least productive time of the year here at the den; laid-back and freewheeling. But it's a Janus-faced affair, a race against clock and calendar when you do your damnedest to concentrate on concentrating in the moment, the sights and scents and sounds and sensations of summer because they will be gone soon, way too soon. It's also Christmastime spread out over some two and a half months with visitors coming and going and with our family meeting up with friends and relatives for picnics or barbecues or a day at the beach.

It's a blast, and it's another day away from the office and another night spent playing catch-up. I've learned to adjust, I've had to, to take on only projects I can live and work with with a clear conscience. That means less time for everything work-related for a few weeks, but there's no playing catch-up with the seasons. I can preserve food all summer long but I can't bottle a summer day, as lovely as that would be. And what a first world problem, making less money but still making ends meet while actually enjoying yourself, so this ain't a complaint, dearest denizens, merely an observation.

Mother Nature has been very generous this year. The warmth, or heat, coupled with the occasional thunderstorm of diluvial proportions, has helped produce a heap of tomatoes, potatoes, cucumbers, lettuces, onions, red peppers, chili peppers, and herbs galore. The raspberries are huge, there are gooseberries and blueberries aplenty, there will be plums and apples in abundance, we got out first grapes this year, and Hubby managed to grow watermelons. Watermelons, in these latitudes. [The higher the latitude, the starker and faster the effects of global warming. Wake up and come smell our citrullus lanatus arcticus if still in doubt.] I've asked for mangoes, limes and avocados while he's at it.

What I haven't stocked up on is fall/winter fashion. Look. I can look at the spring/summer collections in November. No problem. I cannot and never will grant winter apparel a glance or a thought before my fingers and toes start going numb, okay? I'll have to settle for leftovers when I finally get around to dragging my freezing tush into the stores to at least consider having a look at something, you say? See my concern. *stares at the screen, expression never changing* I solved that problem long ago. I buy items that fit my body type, coloring and personal taste whenever something suitable comes along. That means clothes that don't scream 'latest fashion' but therein lies the catch: pieces that don't scream the exact month and week I picked it up. Won't touch the latest stuff unless they're timeless enough to tempt me, meaning meeting the prerequisites mentioned above. Fitting, stylish and ageless? Sold.

Oh but I'm raring to go, my mind and notebook filled with ideas to look and dig into, questions to be answered and answers to be questioned. But we'll have to talk about those some other time. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go chop some firewood. Winter is coming.

P.S. Receivers at the ready, folks, for the Cave Chaos launch, take two, on New Dissident Radio, from 4 to 5 pm (EST).

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