I Love Reading Blogs

I've spent the last month glued to my laptop reading the blogs of others and I'm so much the better for doing it. On the surface it's been a bit of a tricky transition of a month and I've gratefully realised I'm not the person I was a month ago.

There was a lot going on. Elizabeth's death hit me unexpectedly hard, very hard. I was also in the middle of a flare up of RA, tried a new course of anti-inflammatory medication which had me doubled up in pain until I was changed to another one. I could also hardly walk. So a lot of time and energy was spent in pulling myself out of a deep 'pit'. Today things look a lot more promising. I walking loads better. Tomorrow I'm starting a course for people who have RA in how to live with it and manage it and in a few weeks I start a course of physiotherapy to improve my mobility. But best of all I feel really motivated to start living again, and it was the sensation of enjoying life I had totally lost and really missed. It felt at times as if it would never return.

I really feel that a lot of this credit has to go to the invisible friends I'm finding who blog. I've been intrigued, educated, excited, envious, entertained, inspired and enriched by all of their hard work and creativity. It has also helped me clarify and focus on my interests that will shape my future. The blogs fall into a few related categories, but I would never be able to get the feedback and support I need in my local real life community, There isn't the interest in women of my age or any links between the groups of people who may have similar interests her in Bristol UK. But on-line, it all seems to work out fine. Admittedly, it does make me wish I lived in the USA, I suspect I wouldn't be such a fish out of water there, as I probably am here.

One big interest is my love of vintage clothing from the Belle Epoch 1915-1920s, the Jazz Age 1920s, Art Deco  1930s WWII to the late 1940s. As I have never had much of a waist, I've never been that interested in the new look 1950s, that's not something I could or wanted to do with my figure, but put me in anything from The House of Elliot to Poirot and I'm a happy bunny. As I'm far too curvy to wear real vintage, (why are all real vintage clothes so small?!) It's this wardrobe I want to make for myself. So a number of the blogs I love are from a whole community of women who love and wear these clothes. Some make them, some sell them, some model them, all wear them. They are an inspiration. I've also discovered they come in different sizes, some of them are really curvy too. They do all seem to be a lot younger than myself, mainly in their 20s and 30s but you never know, this might change with time too. I think the top blogs in this section have to be This Old Life and Wearing History. They both make and wear vintage stuff really well. Thank you girls.

So that's the top 10 of the 24 blogs I'm following daily at the moment. As time passes, no doubt I'll lose some and add more, but it has been a revelation to me of how much they have impacted on my life at a time when I needed it the most. Now I'll have to start actually doing the stuff I'm meant to be doing. Making my clothes and going out and enjoying my life, doing the things I always intended to do when I started this blog. Tomorrow, I've a day in hospital out patients, but come on, get something started by the end of the week, please.


Then there are the blogs that are really informative about the culture of vintage ephemera. It's just interesting stuff about interesting stuff. It's addictive. I think my favourite blogs that do this are How Retro from Australia and The Vintage Traveller in North Carolina who also takes you on visits to her local museums and days out.


There are some really quite high brow sites which have a more academic artistic intent. The Silver Screen Modiste covers classic Hollywood costume design and it's relationship to fashion and culture. Enchanted Serenity of Period Films is a blog that recently closed,unfortunately, but he's kept the blog online and it has to be the most fantastic resource of period films ever.


Then there are the blogs that just make me laugh, Dairy of a Vintage Girl makes me fell all is possible, Va-Voom Vintage makes me feel my size isn't a barrier, The Retro Natural is a much appreciated (by me) young Black American woman. It's the only other woman of colour I know who has embraced vintage styling. Why there aren't more of us I don't know. But thank you for being there. Lastly, in my blogs of note, there is Vintage Black Glamour where for the first time I've seen the history of the cultural icons of the African Diaspora celebrated in all of their glory. It feeds my soul. I wonder if I'll see my Dad in it. Hope so. 

Enjoying Vintage Blogs

After over a decade of being on-line, it's only over the last week or so, I've really got into reading other people's blogs! I really have a love hate relationship with being on-line. My laptop is rarely switched off all the hours I'm awake. I frequently, like 20 times a day turn to it as a reference source, about a program I'm watching on tv, an author, looking up the fact a drama is based on, something to do with cooking, what's on the news, you name it, I'll google it. I've even considered having Wikipedia as my home page.

But there's also a lot online I hate. I'll often play a game of Mah-Jong which I down loaded, but the thought of practising genocide with someone living on the other side of the planet, leaves me cold. And as for FaceBook, Ugh. I'm on it but hate it with a passion I'm not able to explain. I have most of the options and setting turned off or for friends only. I use it only to find people I know in real life and send them an instant message which is formatted more attractively than an email. I would no more write on someone's wall as shout a private conversation across a crowded room, it just strikes me as soooooo gauche. Sometimes it seem, (and it seems only to me) the world has gone mad. All this strident screaming on people's walls about the great life, advertising your private life, tagging in photos and then allowing companies to use you, your photo and your wall to advertise their goods to your friends! Are you serious? It's why I call it FakeBook and I hate the culture it's creating. Can you tell I'm over 50? :)

In the early days of blogging I never knew what to look for. I tried reading blogs by journalists I liked, but often it crashed down to mumbling about the minutiae of everyday life and I really don't need to read the ponderings of someone's breakfast cheese of watch the collapse of their marriage.

But recently, this all seems to have changed and I'm finding my interests better reflected. I have always loved the fashions of the Belle Epoch. The time between about 1910 to the 1930s. When women's Edwardian fashion started becoming more practical. Currently you'll see the best of it well portrayed in Downton Abbey. It was a fashion created for mature curvaceous women, not skinny models. It is meant to be beautiful, flattering, erotic and sexy. Edwardian clothes sexy? You're so damn right! It was the first time lingerie was developed. This sudden jump from ankle length thick cotton  nighties with full sleeves and cotton mop hats to flowing gowns with matching peignoirs, all the better to be seen sitting brushing out your hair in with a come hither look. This is no surprise. As soon as motion pictures were invented, it's fashions went straight to the bedroom. One of the other reasons I love this period is that between 1910 to the 40s fashions were flattering for women with, big boobs. You may think the 20s were just about young boyish figures, and it was, if you were like that, but check out the photos of larger women during the time. How they celebrated being freed from looking like roosting hens. In fact the fashions from 1910 right the way through to the end of utility wear in WWII were the most democratic of womens fashions as far as body fascism is concerned. It's why I love it.

So here I am, this 5'4' rather dumpy woman with a love of serious vintage clothing, in the autumn of my years. One of the things I'm really looking forward to doing is making my own clothes adapted from the many vintage patterns I have from the time. I'll also be trying my hand at hat making as well, which should be interesting, but if anything, if I can nail this, it could become a bit of an earner. Who could resist a cloche hat with the winters being as they have been over recent years?

But lastly, the most difficult aspect of these interests are at large being reflected 'out there'. By far most of the women on line who are interested in wearing and making vintage wear tend to be young (under 30), very slim and white. Nothing wrong with that at all, I salute my sisters and their individuality. I on the other hand am in my 50s, very rounded and a mixture of British and Ghanian (west african) descent. Yes I know, I'm more likely to look eccentric. Do you think I look as if I care?

But the availability of the vintage pictorial history of the Diaspora has not been well documented over here in the UK.  Sure you can find grim US images of African Americans (post)slavery, dirt poor in the deep south or urban decay in the depression. Apart from publicity photos of early jazz musicians it's hardly a visual history anyone would want to re-create. But now new images are beginning to emerge and it's this new emerging history I want to salute, of African Americans, happy healthy and beautiful and getting on with their lives. And they ore the ones I see myself in. I must add, more diverse images may have been more accessibly in the US, but are not widely available on this side of the Atlantic.

So for anyone who has ever wondered, what would a Black aristocrat look like on the set of Downton Abbey, here's a taster. And if ever I get to go to a ball, I hope to do her justice.

Enjoy.

Saying Goodbye To Elizabeth

I've just returned from London, where I attended the funeral for a lovely woman called Elizabeth Fosgate, someone who I've known for about 30 years. She died a few days after a cerebral haemorrhage on 8th September  a month before she was 82, a good age, but it doesn't make it any better.

Elizabeth was the younger sister of a wonderful woman called Lorna, who 'took me in' when she realised the extent of my sufferings with my own family. Lorna and her family have done more for me than any member of my family did. My only regret is that I wished, at the time, I could have accepted their support with more grace than I did, but I think they knew that was down to the damage that had already been done. It's not easy having a mother who is a diagnosed psychopath, I just wish I had been told earlier. I would never have poured so much of my life down the drain, in an effort to meet the demands of a parent who could (unknown to me) never be satisfied, happy or safe to be around.

Back to Elizabeth, she was kindness itself. She spent her life caring for others, as a nurse, and as a carer. When she was around 30, she contracted a form of TB which left her an invalid for the rest of her life. Most people who knew her had more to do with her interests, meditation and various esoteric beliefs like the White Eagle Lodge. I don't engage in any of these types of activities, I'm just allergic to anything that offers someone the opportunity to engage with what's going on inside my head. (Ahh? I wonder what caused that???) But there were two aspects of her character that really impressed me.

She was a very attractive woman who never married and seemed content to be single. I asked her once why she didn't marry and we had a long talk about it one Christmas in the family cottage in Dorset. She explained that when she was younger she hated the attention she got from men because of her looks, her large bust, the fact she was a nurse and the fantasies that created. She ended up cringing in the face of a sensual approach, feeling like prey. At the time, I didn't understand it, but I sure do now.

The other aspect I so admired was how she conducted herself as a disabled woman. She always cared for her appearance, she pursued her interests, she did as much as she could with her life when she wasn't engaged in continuous service to others and did it all with a genuine generous smile. Over the last 5 years or so, since the development of kidney disease and rheumatoid arthritis which have forced me to live differently, Elizabeth has been a model of how to conduce myself. It could have all been so different. There have been times when I've been so angry at my loss of abilities and opportunities I cold feel tempted by the comfort of bitterness and resentment. There have also been occasions when I've found myself the object of exotic fantasies rather than a partner in a relationship. Do I stay around, just so I have 'someone', or become murderous in my fury at dishonest manipulation? Elizabeth was a model of how to conduct yourself when faced by such base motives. She did show me it was possible to look inside for what you need. And I'm so thankful for that.

I've never been much good at the funerals of those I have found difficult to lose. I was sobbing, I hope quietly. I never find the eulogies appropriate as they don't seem to reflect the deceased in the same way I appreciate them. I'm not a picture of grace at funerals of those I love. Neither would I have wanted Elizabeth to have struggled on with a more limited life after her stroke. She would have hated further loss of her independence which was so important to her. She wasn't without her faults. She should have stopped driving, and ironically, she would have really benefited from the social interaction of living in a warden assisted group home, something she really resisted. Her last year or so she found frustrating and isolating, unfortunately due to her stubbornness, so it could be said, she left us on her own terms. I'm grateful to know, just before she left home to visit her nephew for lunch, she had a stroke while walking there, (nephew's neighbour called an ambulance, hospital, died 4 days later without regaining conciousness) she was singing and dancing in her lounge with her carer to Abba.

I'm also very grateful to write this about Elizabeth, because by doing so,  it's shown me, she taught me, and others, very well. I've realised we don't need her to stay any longer. Liz, I Thank You. I'll miss you. You don't need to stay. Your job is done.