In October I went to Ross hoping for new basic skirts. My long black skirt dates from 1989 and while the waist still fits (unlike the white jeans from that summer), it is faded and not as long as I'd like. My short black skirt dates from January 1991 when I went wild and bought three skirts and two shirts on the same day. (Office wear, don't you know. And three skirts with two shirts. I've long preferred skirts and dresses to shirts and pants, obviously.) The long straight skirt is fine eight years later, because I've hardly worn it since I can barely walk in it. The short houndstooth doesn't show fade as much as the short black, which is now gray. So.
I found two skirts. I'm not thrilled with the short one. It's just above the knee, and I'd prefer an inch or two shorter. Just below the knee, of course, is Right Out. Matron length. I hate that. For six bucks, it'll do: it has no set waistband, which is a Good Thing, yet it does have darts allowing for hips. The long black one is great. It's a thin stretchy jersey, straight to my ankles but slit to the thigh. Also I got two cotton and silk cardigans, grey and bluey-lavender. Buying four garments at once still feels naughty to me.
(I distinguish between metallic gray and dove grey with Madeleine L'Engle's spellings.)
Then I went downstairs to housewares. Yes, at Ross. DEW said she wanted a frame for the photograph of us in Seattle. I looked at two racks of frames. Then I turned a corner and fell in love. I tried to resist. It's not my kind of thing, I told myself, but really it's just not been my thing lately. Utilitarian, that's been our thing for a while. Pretty clothes, lots of books, good food, yes, and the occasional piece of furniture, but we still have copy boxes and crates and plans instead of furniture and don't have things like vases and pitchers and such crap.
Until now. Besides that it's pretty, it is also unnecessary and excess consumerism. But the pitcher is so pretty. Well shaped, with a flared, rippled lip, a buttery yellow with blue flowers and green leaves glaze. I let myself pick it up and carry it around for a while, since that is sometimes enough. It was't. I bought it. And dark green placemats, better than the cloth napkins we've covered the table with up to now. Until I learn to sew, our elongated oval table won't have a cloth. I don't like tablecloths anyway.
Last Friday HAO came over for supper and "American Beauty." She looked at the pitcher. "Have you always had that?" Nope. She said it was just the kind of thing she would buy, just her colors. The blue and green, yes, but the yellow? Apparently.
I resolved to go back to Ross to look. I heard the Cowboy Junkies' "Come Calling" as soon as I walked in. A good sign.I didn't find another pitcher, but I did find a vase of the same pattern. I didn't get her a comps present besides the roses, and now she's missing our Thanksgiving as well. So I'll give her the vase. Also I got stationery for Granny and DEDBG. Butterflies for Granny and Matisse's Icarus for DEDBG. Icarus always reminds me of her. Well, I guess Matisse as a whole does, since his whole in my untutored brain comprises Icarus and the one of the human figures in a ring dances on a green hill under a blue sky.
I love buying presents.
And getting them. In Express I wrote down the exact specifications of the tights I like for my mother. On Thanksgiving Day she'll ask what I want for Christmas and instead of saying "Ma, I have eight people in the house, can I call you later?" I'll be able to say, "Why of course, mother, despite having eight people in the house I can give you exact product dimensions, SKU numbers [how is that spelled?], and sizes of a stocking item, thank you so much for asking."
And just in case I checked T.J. Maxx again, but as soon as I got off the escalator I heard Huey Lewis & the News' "Heart and Soul" and so turned around and walked out again. This disparity of music is all the evidence you need that Ross=good and T.J. Maxx=bad.
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