Meanwhile, at RM, Fall with Style.

New arrivals of shoes, tweeds, wool coats and other treasures are filling the gaps (there are no gaps) on my racks.
There's a beautiful black leather Roots bag, brand new. Compact and perfect in every way.
There are some suits to die for named Prada, Zegna, Paul Smith and Canali.
And as always, there's me, giving you the sound advise you want when shopping. Come and get it.

Oh My, Dear Life!

Alice Munro, dear Alice. Thank you. Please write me another one.
I just finished the last pages of her latest book. I took my time with this book, only allowed myself one story at a time, every few days so I can stretch the pleasure further.
Every story in this collection is a heartbreaker. Even her short childhood recollections, despite having been written in a clear prose devoid of sentimentality, have an impact of such magnitude that I ended up closing the back cover with wet eyes, panting for air. Who cries when reading a book anymore? Well, turns out I do.
In these lines she manages to compose her music of words so concisely, light in style but heavy with content, dense with life meanings, and never simple. She makes me want to write her a letter. Maybe I will.

New Arrivals

Those of you who are thinking ahead, planning what to wear to a special holiday event for example, must come by and check out the fantastic additions to my racks. Some exquisite jackets by the great master Armani, and some of his competitors. These garments would make any man look and feel sophisticated, well packed, and cosy. Most of them are in size 40R, but not all. Please come.

Feasting on Culture

I'm lucky to have gracious friends with membership at the AGO. Today they took me for my birthday to see the Frieda Kahlo and Diego Rivera show - a comprehensive study of their life of love and art.
Like many artistic couples, they fed on heart break, drama and lust. And Frieda looked so good in her suffering.
I must admit that what struck me more than their paintings, which have become iconic in recent decades, are the photographs chronicling their life, and the less known works.
I love this nude of her that he did early in their relationship:

And this portrait of her, the stillness and grace in it are perfect:

Stormy Weather

Many striking images emerge from the devastated northeastern seaboard. This one of a light house on lake Erie talks to me in particular because the force of the water is so clearly present, both enchanting and horrifying in its beauty, it's like a work of art.

My favourite picture of my father, in his element, at sea, but with a personal intimate twist - a stowaway bird resting on his shoulder:

And the kind of weather and environmnet I had while away, what contrast to ours:

More Shoes

I have a fascination with shoes. Always have, always will.
Luckily, some of the customers are similar. They bring shoes to consign, and they buy shoes from me, and the exchange is simply marvellous.
So we have some good ones, newly arrived, and those who share this fetish and need a fix, come by and see if you can get lucky.

Upon my Return

I will be accepting new items for fall and winter.
I'm going to see my family for a couple of weeks, so the shop is going to be closed. I'm going to witness my father being buried.
When he died of a terrible cancer 2 years ago he donated his body to scientific research, and that's where he's been for the last 2 years. Now that his body is returned to us, something has to be done. Even though we said our goodbyes at the time, we have to gather and see him go into the ground. It must be done.

I miss my father. He was a very present father, even from a distance. I think about him quite a bit. This is something I wrote and read in his memorial service at the time of his death:

I had a father
like no other
he smiled when he was happy
he cried when he was sad
he loved, he never hated
and now he's dead.

when I was young
he took me on many a ride
he sailed and traveled
to lands so far and wide
he never liked to sit around
he moved about the world
and then he got a little old.

he lived his life with passion
he loved his kids, he cared
he was there with every step we made
and even if he was a little pushy,
he helped us when we failed.

we're happy now that he no longer suffers
he wanted to be gone
but loved his wife, our mother, so
he held on to life, and on and on.
In time we'll grow to miss
his hands, so warm, his hugs, his kiss.

and each and every time we do
we will remember this:
he was our father
he gave us life
he loved us
and we will call each other then to say:
today aba is right here
in me, in you
and in this lovely air.

Tabu

A curious but compelling film:
Shot in black and white, almost completely silent but with good music, with a time frame which spans over a century and reveals the secrets and emotional life of an old lonely woman in Lisbon.
The main romantic plot takes place in beautiful, sunny, sensual Africa. The other parts of the story which happen in Lisbon are bleak and cold as befitting the story - life in Lisbon is punishment to the great crime of passion in her past.
Why is passion always punished so severely in stories? What are we saying to the universe with these lessons? that passion is to be destroyed, or is it self destructive?
I don't know.

The Search for Luminosity - Joseph Sudek

Joseph Sudek at the AGO yesterday - a photographer searching for light in times of great darkness. He worked in Prague until his death in the early 70's, documenting lights and shadows in his beloved city and studio during decades of troubles and wars, and finding great beauty in the process.

This picture, after Caravaggio, reminded me of my of my own living room:

Nuit Blanche Finds, and Remembrance of Summers Past

This year, with the help of a midnight shot of brandy and a warm up in a bar mid way, we managed to stay out and explore longer.
The man in the photo bellow was the most interesting thing we saw - he was not on the program, a partizan musician playing ethereal sounds on a self made instrument: hollow piece of wood attached to an amplifier, with an assortment of attachments that made the music simply hypnotic. He did not have a name tag, I don't know who he was, which is a shame.

Trisha Brown Dance company preformed this continuous climb, a re-anactment of an old show from the 60's. It felt completely contemporary.

This last of the Morning Glories was a fine one:

And the last incarnation of the new year flowers, they lasted nice and long:

Positives

I haven't done this exercise for a while. I should do it more often, specially in difficult times. When I forget, I am bogged down by the stench emanating from the underbelly of our society and that feels pretty crappy.
Here are the positives for this week:

* Good day today at the shop - no A******ls trying to get something for nothing, rather some nice new customers and some of the regulars I like - appreciative, well spoken, kind. All in all the sort of people I want to come to shop.

* Some first rate items coming in and leaving as soon as I put them on a hanger, even before tagging. I like that.

* The pool at the Y is open again, I got a couple of great swims this week - a lane all to myself after a long read in the sauna. What a privilege.

* Sale items leaving the shop in a steady pace, off to live in people's wardrobes, clearing space for new things to come in. Still a way to go in that department.

* A good movie - Farewell My Queen: Set in Versailles during the last few days of the Queen's life before she lost her head and her kingdom, from a point of view of a mysterious young woman who adores her and lives in the palace, her Reader. Interesting take on an old theme. Well designed, well written, and well acted. And the clothes, to die for. Well, they did...

Day of Atonement

This is a serious day, in which we are supposed to suffer hardship of hunger and thirst, to remember the sins we have committed all year, and to ask for forgiveness.
I admit I have sinned. We all do, if we are alive. I sin with relish. I sin with dedication, and I sin with joy. Sin is the essence of life.
Granted, most of my sins are mild. I do not get up in the morning with the intent of harming the universe, but I'm sure I contribute in my own special way, like the rest of us.
Forgiveness is overrated. God himself never seems to grant it or believe in anything but punishment. And if it's a Goddess - well, don't all females know how to hold a grudge forever?
In light of this statement, it would be hypocritical of me to atone, and get up tomorrow morning and continue living in exactly the same way.

This is what I'm doing today:
I commit myself to a joyful life of sins, without regret or whimpering whining about forgiveness.

New Year's Flowers and Food

Colourful stuffed peppers, before and after:

Samba for the New Year

Vinicius De Moraes - a creative bad boy/poet with all the qualities we want from such a figure: eloquent, romantic, long dead but not forgotten.