My picture reminds me to dress warmly. The Today Show lamented there are no dresses with sleeves anymore, as all three hostesses sat there in January in summer dresses sans sleeves. I'll be wearing sleeves at my daughter's summer wedding, albeit short ones with a small flounce on each. But more urgently, I have a terrific need to dress warmly - it's been such a dry, cold and bitter winter so far. And for the first time, I am truly dressing for comfort and not just personal style. Leggings are the better part of my weekend garb with long wool tunics and short insulated boots - chunky wool socks notwithstanding. My detached fur infinity scarf has been employed even over my pajamas at night, so chilled it is in the downstairs living room.
I am awash in lavender though thanks to my Grace Livingston Hill reading. The mothers in Hill's books always scent their bedrooms with the freshness of lavender. I'm using the essential oil in a diffuser to fragrance my bedroom as an adjunct to my before-bed sleep ritual and its working beautifully. My friend Judy recommended it. She is one of my belles lettres - friends I have met in correspondence from this blog.
Have you ever read Vera Brittain's book, Testament of Youth? It's her story of love during World War II in Britain. Love of brothers, fiancés, and friends. A raw tale but with delightful fashion highlights (Miss Brittain loved clothes) such as this one: "a neatly cut navy coat and skirt, a pastel blue blouse in a soft crêpe De Chine, an unusually becoming fawn felt hat trimmed with crimson berries and a black taffeta dinner dress with scarlet and mauve velvet flowers tucked into the waist". I would love to see a "fawn" hat which means it's probably "beige" but elevated now in my mind to the color of the bottom side of a soft baby deer. I swoon. Look for the film of the book which should be out soon. I think it will be a perfect post-Downton Abbey view.
Regarding brothers, I have two. They bookend me, one older and one younger. Tonight is my big brother's surprise 60th birthday party (obviously, he doesn't read my blog). My first memory of him is the assistance he gave me when one of my white baby shoes fell down the back stairs on a hot summer afternoon. Being boy-like, I see him rooting around underneath the porch and emerging triumphant, waving my shoe above his grinning face. I thanked him with a thwack to the top of his head from a child's sand shovel. I hope it's the meanest thing I've done to him - he's been gallantly dear and a constant safe presence through the years. I cannot miss the birthday party of my first Prince Charming, no matter how ungrateful his Cinderella was.