Merry Influenza.

I took a longer-than-expected holiday hiatus due to two consecutive stomach bugs. The right side of my neck remains mildly swollen, like a halfhearted water balloon. Even though the reading and writing of text still render my head throbby, I wanted to share from a book I received from my husband for Christmas. Yes, I love you this dearly. It’s true.

Perhaps somewhere in the subterranean chambers of your life you have heard the call to deeper, fuller living. You have become weary of frothy experiences and shallow teaching. Every now and then you have caught glimpses, hints of something more than you have known. Inwardly you long to launch out into the deep.*

I think this is the reason I started writing. There’s this inner longing that keeps me awake at night, a search for greater depths. I’m tired of going to the mall. I’m tired of bagging up endless belongings that no longer matter to me. I’m tired of seeking material satisfaction. It makes me weary. It is a path of suffering, the suffering of others and my own, and my feet yearn for a different one; the path of justice, the path of mercy.

*Richard J. Foster, Celebration of Discipline. New York: HarperCollins, 1978.

The Found-up: Fall 2014

If you care (and I will totally understand if you don’t) but if you care, I would like to share my latest purchases with you. These items have been made well, sourced ethically and I’m getting excellent mileage out of them.

 

~August~

“Dub” Hooded shirt, Fig Don’t let the name or weird, slightly affected photo fool you– this is basically a glorified hoodie, but it sounds way more legit to say, This is my dub hooded shirt! Actually, that sounds pretty dumb. Moving on, then. This was technically a summer purchase, but I started getting the best use out of it this fall. It was purchased from a locally-owned outdoor apparel store in Nakusp, BC, the Best Place on Earth. It has an expansive hood– seriously, you could hide Frodo from a Ringwraith in here.* Its subtle peplum cut is flattering without being hyperfeminine or trendy and in summary, it’s my favourite pullover.** It’s black because black goes with everything and therefore aids me in my personal trend vendetta against Anna Wintour. Made in Canada.

 

~September~

Striped sweater, Vince This was a Vespucci find and a testament to the incredible value of consignment shopping. This sweater is 100 per cent cashmere (a surprisingly economical choice), in great used condition, retails for hundreds and I got it for eighty bucks. Made in China but secondhand means it’s off-grid.

 

~October~

Navy Pleated Tunic, aka my bulldog peplum methadone, Mini Mioche The design is versatile, but the best part about this garment is that even the fabric is produced sustainably– a rarity worth paying a premium for, in my opinion. I do feel obligated to warn any would-be purchaser that the neckhole is very small, or else my offspring is suffering from a serious case of melon head. I pulled it over her yesterday and she started re-enacting the burial scene from The Cask of Amontillado whilst attempting to fling herself off the change table. Some elastic may be in order. Made in Canada.

 

~November~

Robie button-down, Tradlands Saving the best for last? More like saving the best thing you’ve ever seen in your gosh-darn life FOREVER. When this arrived in the mail, I quite literally chronicled its unwrapping in photos and I am not a photo chronicler.***

My husband can attest to my jumping up and down like a sugar-charged toddler but he’d probably rather forget the whole episode. You can read all about Tradlands and their fashion philosophy over here so I’m just going to blather on about the perfect fit and slow craftsmanship and timeless versatility and how I’ve worn it for 3 days without washing it. What? No I didn’t say that. Made in USA.

 

* Hold the Bucklebury Ferry. Was that my second LOTR reference on this blog? I’m not a geek, I swear. My sister loves Firefly and my brother has more Robert Jordan books than Chapters but I’m normal, I promise. This sort of thing just spews out of me when I’m typing with a beer in my hand. One Innis & Gunn Original and my brain thinks I’m in a pair of flannel PJs, eating Cadbury Buttons on my mom’s couch while tenderly embracing the Tolkien box set I just received for my thirteenth Christmas. Nobody believes me. Okay, fine. I speak the languages of Middle Earth.

** My only pullover, actually, since I became a ruthless closet pillager.

*** If I see one more photo of somebody’s plate of food in my newsfeed, my muscles will rip my sleeves open and I will smash this laptop and never blog again.