The kind you hope for

This is my new boxy black blazer from the Cat Protection Society Op Shop. It is made from a lovely dense wool, is fully lined and features real buttoning cuffs and patch pockets for handkerchiefs and emergency liquorice all sorts. I would dissolve into a small gelatinous mass if I were to wear it in this current weather so it's on ice, so to speak, until at least next May.

I buy something from the Cat Protection Society Op Shop whenever I can, partly because they have good loot but mostly because they do a sterling job in caring for cats. For many years I was the chief carer of Chloe, a lovely talkative calico cat who was also entirely deranged. She once took up residence in the wood cooker and could be rarely persuaded to step outside. At the height of that particular bout of madness she even took to taking her meals in the oven.

Once she moved into a disused factory nearby and no amount of coaxing, fish snacks or warm cosy beds could keep her home. She seemed to adopt a strange new homeless cat persona and would take off, back to her cardboard box in the factory, as soon as my back was turned. Eventually some nearby workers, unaware of my efforts to keep my cat in her own home, assumed the mental cat was a stray and took Chloe to the Cat Protection Society. I didn't know where she was for two frantic days. I called vets, some entirely uninterested police stations and a lost cat service. I tried the Cat Protection Society in desperation. The lady who answered was very kind. "Yes, I think we have your cat," she said. "We certainly have one who talks a lot! !" When I arrived to collect Ms Fruitcake I found her in a very swank top floor cage apartment, laying back and smiling like Lana Turner might if someone turned her into a cat.

"She's treating it like a spa holiday," another nice volunteer said. Chloe greeted me with mild condescension, as if I was a service worker she might have employed years ago but could could barely remember.

For all Chloe's lunacy, I was grateful for her safety, and grateful too that she had been cared by people who liked and understood her so well. As discussed yesterday, Mr Zucchini has a new home but here are others who are in need of some assistance:

It saddens me that I can't gather up all the Darias and Soda Pops and rush them all home to live with me, but it's nice to know that they are being cared for with patience and kindness.

And here's Chloe in the early stages of her mind-over-matter phase, sleeping on rocks.

Devils, rocks, deep blue seas and hardplaces

My apologies for the delay - I was trying so hard to post regularly. Sadly my day job was dishing up twelve flavours of stress and unhappiness for a few days; happily it is mostly resolved now.

In my last post I said I'd talk about kindness and I intended to hinge this on Mr Zucchini, the optically challenged homeless cat. Mr Zucchini was in need of kindness soon.

I've have been the recipient of a lot of kindness this week - nice friends who excused me when I wasn't' able to make dinner, sweet colleagues who called with genuine concern in their voice to help with an ugly workload. It makes a difference. Today my boss kindly gave me the day off so set about issuing my own forms of kindness in the form of some comfort food
and a bit of human contact.
Summer has started in earnest so while I ate my body weight in Vegemite toast, I sorted out the clothes that afford the most comfort in Sydney summer humidity. So tomorrow I'll be wear this
.. a polished cotton Jigsaw shirt dress the colour of rockmelons, fresh from the dry cleaner's plastic. Shoes undecided but I'm hoping for something that mismatches my angel-wing toes completely.

And this afternoon, I went to check on Mr Zucchini and to my horror his photo had been taken from the window. My fear was short lived - the nice woman at the Cat Protection Society told me Mr Zucchini went to his new home on Saturday. He was very taken with his new owner and jumped from his cage straight to the their neck. It sounds like the start of a beautiful relationship.

And I wore a trench coat and all

Here's what I didn't look like today, which is a pity, because I adore this look.

No amount of lacquer, threats or patience would persuade my hair to adopt that soft tousled perfection.

But I can guarantee that this is the bag in which I take my clothes to the dry cleaners. It's also a very handy fleamarketing bag, and one that interests a lot of people. Its origin is a frequent topic. Sometimes I say I bought it in a market in Ohio, other times I claim it was my mother's, depending on how irresponsible I feel. In fact I bought it on eBay for four dollars. The postage was eighteen dollars, and that satisfies me enormously.


I didn't look like this today either, which is simply unfair.

That smashing, early Wonder Woman pose on the right is expertly executed by Norma Shearer in The Women, one of my all-times favourite films. If you haven't seen it you must, not only for the razor sharp dialogue but for the fabulous clothes.

I have limited patience with films unless everyone gets to the point very quickly and has an interesting wardrobe.

It is ridiculously wet in Sydney at the moment; I have a range of early summer frocks hanging sadly in my wardrobe, waiting for their break while my black trousers are working overtime. Tomorrow I might wear a boxy jacket I bought at an op shop and if I do, it will give me the opportunity to rabbit on about unexpected kindness, how much I like pockets and this bloke:

You have to smile

Usually I come staggering out the gym in a lather of sweat and exhaustion, fit for little more than gentle questioning and a hot bath. On Saturday morning though it's different because the dog salon nearby is open and many of the clients are looking out the window.

It's an odd thing - I never see a cross dog in there. As you walk past a small group will run to the window, tails wagging, evident pride in their newly clipped nails and freshly washed coats. Invariably I am sans camera but not this week - and thank God, because I doubt I'll ever see as sweet a smile as this again.

No one was more happy to see him than I

Lovely things happened while I was in the Buddhist op shop on the weekend.

First, while I was idly inching my way through the frock rack, a man in his forties came in, looking for his sister who works in the shop.

"She's just gone up the road," the lady behind the counter advised. The man was with their mum, an elderly lady leaning on a walking stick, gracious and calm in a navy blue frock. Mum and brother agreed they'd go looking for the sister.

As the search party set out, I found a silk floral Laura Ashley frock.
Pretty fabric, silk and fully lined. Things looked hopeful but not for long. My potential new frock was cut on the bias and while it gave me an hourglass figure like I had previously thought I could only covet on other women, it was too long and a bit big around my narrow shoulders.

Meanwhile the sister came back. "Your brother and mum were looking for you!" the assistant told her. "They've gone up the street to find you!" The sister went rushing back up the street to find them.

And then I found the Von Troska.

I've explained before how much I love this Australian label - beautiful tailoring, great fabrics and designed with due reverence to working women, the Australian climate and the boho spirit. The dress, I hope my photo illustrates, wraps around, and is cream with black and two shades of brown forming a grid. It was a light but practical rayon-cotton mix.

I'd just tied the wrap, and was making a sulky face in the mirror at the poor fit, when mum and the brother came back, still looking for their sister. "She's just gone to find you!" the shop assistant told them. Mother and son wisely decided to wait; I sadly took off the dress that was cut for a much taller woman and decided to try my luck for the third time at the dress rack. Also, I wanted to hear the greetings when the little family finally managed to meet up.

I got very lucky indeed for there was a silk knit cardigan and a blue silk blouse that had just made it on the rack. While I tried on the blue blouse the sister came back and there was much excitement. So much in fact I was too busy enjoying their talk to remember to photograph the blue blouse (which was great and is now in my wardrobe).

While I was trying on the silk cardi, Uncle Peter turned up. The brother was overjoyed - there was much happy hugging and slapping of shoulders. It transpired they had not seen each other for nearly thirty years.

I liked my cardigan.
I believe I liked it better when I saw Uncle Peter and overheard him telling his nephew (in the smoothest and most perfect received English) that he had just scored a large Collins dictionary for nine dollars. Here he is in the background.

And yes, I bought the cardi. I thought it would be great with light tops and flowery dresses. It is already known as the Uncle Peter cardi. I also scored two books - the lyric poems of Keats and Shakespeare's Wife by Germaine Greer.

I always have fine times and kind experiences in the Buddhist op shop. They get some great donations, are very reasonably priced and all the proceeds from the shop go to women and children's charities in India and South East Asia.

The brother and sister and mum and Uncle Peter comprised the nicest family. Their happiness followed me around Newtown, on the streets and over a very late breakfast, all Saturday.


There were baby sitting duties to attend to on Saturday evening. I hope in thirty years' time we will be as loved by our nephews as Uncle Peter is by his.

The weekend! Oh, and whiskers. Don't forget whiskers.

There are no mittens in my glove drawer and I haven't much time for string. Notwithstanding, these are few of my favourite things:

Brooches on wool coats

Pansies in the park

The old wood cooker in my kitchen

Cockatoos!


Carefully washed hairbrushes dried in the sun. (Every three weeks my friends, every three weeks.)

Grandmother coat hangers from op shops. Knitted (or otherwise crafted) coat hangers can't be beat. Always inexpensive, always a wonderful example of some dexterous woman's unpaid labour, always pretty and always superior to clanging wire hangers. My inordinately patient spouse literally trembles when he sees me looking at coat hangers in op shops. Here we see a pink crochet number carefully supporting a vintage silk Bill Blass dress that makes several appearances in the summer months.


Gardenias! They make me swoon.

Choosing my jewellery in the morning and remembering where I was when I bought it.

Sorting the ironing and establishing a new colony of orphaned spousal socks. (Where are all the missing sockmates? The world must be littered with them.)

Vintage handbags. Here is a small selection including Pucci, Bottega Veneta, Missoni and Dries Van Noten.

And most importantly ...

I hope you have lots of favourite things coming your way this weekend.

Nothing but the truth

My learned friend who sits just down the corridor from me came bursting in to my office this morning to see if I was wearing the floral dress. He reprimanded me when he beheld a sober brown pinstripe number with a black cardi and a black belt. "Where are the flowers?" he demanded.

Maybe tomorrow.

It was fiendishly busy today - I'm glad I was in pinstripes. They kept me focused, and kept me from lamenting the glorious bright yellow Sydney weather that I couldn't actually experience.

I had lunch at my desk while I read the paper and sent emails at the same time. On the way home I mentally packed for my next holiday break, which will be in San Francisco early next year. Everything I'm seeing on the Northern Hemisphere blogs - scarves and tights, dresses and coats - is exciting me. I've mentally packed my tights and scarves a thousand times.

Which brings me to two special purchases I made at the final winter sales a few weeks ago:

A pair of neutral boots to help me make my way through the Yosemite park.
These are from a store called Trenery, a relatively new chain that mercilessly targets women like me - forty something, working, wanting to wear nice things, striving not to look like she's competing on a low grade reality television program. The boots had been reduced several time and were waiting patiently, in my size, for $109.00. They are the second pair of boots I have bought new in my lifetime (my boots overwhelmingly hail second hand from eBay).

And a blossom coloured woollen scarf, soft as bunny's belly.
I swear this scarf wriggled suggestively at me when I walked past it on a rack. "Psst," it whispered. "I'm down to $29. I'm all merino wool, fold up real small and like travelling. Feel me. Aren't I something? Are you really prepared to keep living without me swaddled around your throat?"

I am very vulnerable to chatty accessories.

Now, my sordid confession: I'm still getting the hang of the photographing-oneself-thing here. I take lots of photos but they never look right and my incongruent blend of vanity and shyness makes it difficult to work out how I should be displaying my clothes and personal clothing choices. I really admire the other bloggers who post photos of themselves and wish I could mimic their confidence and style.

In the meantime you'll have to cope with Kate, who always looks great but doesn't really waiver in her daily wardrobe.
Needless to say, any tips or clues you can give me about posing for blogworthy photos would be most appreciated.