patched

I have this shirt.

 I love this shirt. It's a shirt I secretly confiscated from

my dad's closet when I was in high school. I wore it to 

"do my makeup" before shows in those days. 

These days, my love has grown stronger and I would wear it 

every day. 

Every. Day. 

You think I'm joking. 

 It used to be flannel. The lovely, robust Cherokee flannel

of the mid 1990s. But the robustness of said flannel

is not meant to last nearly twenty years, being worn by a girl 

who stole it from her sweet father. Now it is the kind 

of shirt a person would write about in novels and country songs: 

so old and perfectly worn in with all sorts of sentimental value.

 The problem with country song and novel old shirts is that they are old 

and perfectly warn and perhaps nearly thread bare, but they don't actually get

holes in them. Unless it's a Rosamunde Pilcher novel. 

Then there are all sorts of "interesting patches and darns."

So my beloved shirt is a Rosamunde Pilcher shirt.

A Rosamunde Pilcher shirt, people.

Scottish countryside, kaftans, charming tweed, intrigue, long walks and true love.

Wouldn't you create all sorts of interesting darns and patches 

to save a shirt like that? 

I would. 

two thousand fourteen

It is a new year. Full of that squeaky clean, eat salad-get organized-be brave-workout smarter-finally grow up and embrace your inner child  vibe that only January can really bring. I think it has to do with how austere everything looks in its winter garb (whether that's dead grass or snow for where you live) sans twinkle lights. So naturally, it is a time of year full of hope and possibility and goal setting. Naturally I have a few things on my mind that lend themselves to this change-your-attitude-change-your-life time of year.
    Among the things floating around my brain sphere are moccasins. Yes, moccasins. Not just any moccasins.

(Minnetonka suede ankle boot)
I'm not necessarily labeling these as just any moccasin,
because I actually like these a whole ton lot.
I just figured we could all use a visual break at this moment in the post.

I want me some squaw boots (I'm not sure if that's pc or not, but that's what the boots are called. I have resolved to call a spade a spade this year. This is an instance.) The problem is this: I have feet that match my height. Above average. So I cannot wear the utterly and devastatingly perfect pair my mom has from days gone by. As a result, I am left to fend for myself in many ways. I have been in search of these illusive boots for the better part of 6 years (I know, in the scheme of things this is a relatively short amount of time. . .but in this case it means that I've been actively or inactively thinking about these sorts of boots since I was a teenager. Counts for something in some scheme of things).
      The big problemo is that I have this thing about fringe. I've been sort of anti-fringe for myself for most of my life. No sooner do you google "squaw boot" or "moccasin" then you are bombarded with buckets of the stuff, not to mention beading that borderlines on aesthetically offensive. By that I mean personally aesthetically offensive. Calling a spade a spade: I don't really like it.
      Here's the crux. My 26th year may just be the year I go moccasin. I mean I got the coolest African grass bag for Christmas that I'm in L-O-V-E with (I mean I could wax philosophical about how incredible this bag is for both sentimental and artistic cum fashion reasons. . .but I digress). I believe this bag launches me into the just boho, just world travelled, just don't-fence-me-into-any-specific-style-I-do-what-I-want enough sphere  to perhaps warrant the buying of said longed for boots. Beading remains a problem. On this I will not bend. No beading for me. Unless the beading changes the way I looked at the world for the better. Otherwise, no beading.
        But fringe gives me pause. Does my African grass bag give me enough je ne sais quoi to handle or warm up to fringe. In this time of resolutions being broadcast via blogs and facebook posts everywhere, I would like to join with this: I resolve to maybe just give fringe a chance. A little fringe. Let's not go crazy. They say the most successful resolutions, whether declared on the webs or not, are realistic. This is realistic for me. The other realistic thing is to admit that I will most likely not give into fringe on anything but these boots I'm after. By most likely I also mean never ever. I pause about fringe because of these:

Minnetonka soft soled back zipper boot
aka: maybe we could be friends. for a long, long time

These maybe old news to everyone (hopefully a little bit so because this would make them more authentic feeling to me). But as I was stalking the Minnetonka website, as I am prone to do from time to time, they were a bit like a new-year-new-you revelation to me. It's a tasteful amount of fringe, is it not?  I'm leaning towards yes. But then those suede ankle boots are saying things to me. Those things could include: "go to the gym for a month and I could be your Valentine's Day gift to yourself".  And who can resist that, with or without the resolution?