I have to confess when it comes to being a modern woman I am missing a common gene, the ‘I Love Clothes Shopping’ one. I don’t. (Actually, I don’t really like any kind of shopping; even a trip to a plant nursery or yarn shop holds limited appeal.) I think it comes down to two factors. First, I’m not keen on the hustle and bustle of towns and cities and I find most shops too noisy, too hot, too busy and too full of things I don’t want and certainly don’t need; add to that the fact that I’m not interested in fashion and you can understand why I very rarely venture out to buy new clothes. When I was working and needed to look smart and tidy then of course I had to make some effort but what a happy day it was last year when I folded all those work clothes up and handed them to other people, charity shops and clothing banks. I don’t so much as own a single skirt, jacket or pair of black trousers anymore; I kept only the things I like and will wear and it feels wonderfully liberating.
These days, spending most of my time either gardening or decorating I pretty much live in very old clothes – jeans, shorts, t-shirts, jumpers – which I wear until they literally fall to pieces. Where other clothes are concerned I have what I think is called a ‘capsule wardrobe’: a small amount of clothes all of which I like and wear, and in most cases, everything goes with everything else. This means I tend to wear the same outfits over and over but I believe that’s what clothes are for and it really doesn’t bother me if anyone thinks it’s strange that I always wear the same things (not that I think people really notice anyway, surely they have better things to do). So, when we venture out in the car every couple of weeks to go to a supermarket, buy the DIY supplies we need, take the rubbish and recycling to the appropriate place and conduct any other business that needs doing, I usually wear one of two outfits which Roger wryly refers to as my ‘shopping trews.’ If the weather is warm, a pair of linen pedal pushers, cotton t-shirt and canvas pumps. These were all bought from a French supermarket: I don’t know what it says about me but it’s the one place I’ve always found clothes that fit me well. Looking through recent photos, it seems this doubles as my autumn hiking and beachcombing outfit, too (just replace the pumps with an old pair of trail running shoes).
On colder days, a pair of jeans (also French supermarket bargains), a jumper I bought for work 15 years ago which refuses to wear out, a scarf I was given and my all-purpose ‘wear everywhere’ green boots.
Hardly setting the fashion world on fire, am I? That’s the point, though – I don’t want to. I’m clean, tidy and comfortable and I believe that’s all that matters. If I don’t look like I’m ‘supposed’ to, well I’ll live with that.
The only difficulty with a small capsule wardrobe and lack of fashionable items on hand is when there is a special social event for which a degree of dressing up is required. Next July, we have the lovely occasion of Sam and Adrienne’s wedding to look forward to and of course, thoughts need to turn to wedding outfits. I know for a lot of mothers of the groom this would be such a treat, with months of planning and browsing and trying on outfits and agonising over colours and accessories before any purchases were made. Try googling images of ‘mother of the groom outfits’ and you can see exactly what society expects of me: fitted silk dress, satin two-piece suit, killer heels, enormous hat, designer handbag . . . aaaargh! When I was a novice mother of the bride, someone recommended a shop where they would sort out the perfect outfit for a mere £600. Of course, they could also provide matching shoes, hat and bag for closer to £1000 . . . and then there was the underwear. Excuse me? Mother of the bride needs special underwear? Oh my, I really have led a sheltered life. . . and sorry, but £1000 buys us several weeks of (early) retirement. Note I haven’t even strayed into the realms of hair, makeup, nails and other horrors. Thankfully, I was saved from this living nightmare by the fact that both our daughters turned their back on the gross spendfest that modern weddings have become; they opted for small, intimate affairs with a good deal of homemade gorgeousness which made for truly special and personal celebrations, such lovely days which focused on life and love and not what anyone was wearing. ‘Old’ outfits straight from the wardrobe were just fine.
Sam and Adrienne’s wedding promises to be just the same. The message is to wear what’s comfortable and that’s good advice, since the reception includes outdoor games (what a lovely idea to bring guests together); also, our five young grandchildren will be there and I can’t chase toddlers or tote babies in high heels. Looking through my much-diminished wardrobe, I found just the clothes I plan to wear: trousers and top, both linen, which I bought many years ago in the days when we had smartish summer events to attend. They were quality buys (albeit on sale) and although they’ve had several outings, they still look sharp and not jaded or worn.
(The same can’t be said for the jewelled sandals I bought to go with them. How I love them, they are the most comfortable footwear I’ve ever had and I have worn them so much but I think it’s only a matter of time before they disintegrate into a pile of cork and beads. These will definitely not be going to the wedding.)
Sandals aside, this was a good start, but I really felt I needed another element, something to add a touch more formality for the wedding ceremony at least and bring a splash of colour, too. A jacket is out of the question, I always feel uncomfortable and look totally swamped in them, so I opted for a beautiful shawl or wrap, one I would make myself. I bought some exquisitely beautiful yarn, a blend of baby alpaca, cashmere and silk which just oozes comfort and luxury. Thank goodness for online shops! A tad pricey, but the money supports the artisan ladies in rural Uruguay who create such beautiful hand-dyed skeins, so I’m happy with that . . . and let’s face it, I’m not even within sniffing distance of that £1000 . . . or £100 . . . or even £50, for that matter.
Armed with yarn, needle and pattern, I set out to knit the first ever shawl of my life. Now, if I’d been totally honest with myself I should have known that this project was doomed from the outset for one very simple reason: lace knitting and I do not get on. Give me the most complicated knitting patterns on earth and I can have a good crack at them but there is something about creating patterns by wrapping yarn round fresh air that my brain just can’t assimilate. I tried, I really, really did. I made it from three stitches to 133 and a pretty piece of lace fabric was beginning to emerge when disaster struck: I tried to undo a small mistake and a couple of the tiny stitches slipped off my very shiny needles and unravelled themselves down numerous rows, taking several others with them.
Try as I might, I just couldn’t see how to fetch them back and so I decided it was time for an honest assessment. This was a tricky project: I could only work in the bright light of outdoors; I needed full concentration to the point where even cow bells and birdsong were irritating intrusions; I had to write the instructions down for every row and talk myself through every stitch; I felt such tension in my neck and shoulders and a fizzing in my eyeballs that I could only do small amounts at a time. In short, I was an anti-social lace knitting tyrant and I certainly wasn’t enjoying it one little bit. In my heart of hearts I knew I was never going to reach the 405 stitches to complete the shawl so I undid the lot and started on Plan B. This time, a rectangular wrap with no stitch increases and pattern repeats simple enough to memorise; on reflection, a wrap is more ‘me’ than a triangular shawl, anyway, and this surely would be simpler and less stressful. Ha ha, how the knitting gods laughed. Ten rows on 223 stitches and suddenly a couple of them slipped off the needle and unravelled right down to the bottom. Sound familiar? Now of course, it wouldn’t be such a big deal to undo and restart, but what if the same thing happened again? What if it happened in the 90th row? Could I cope with the heartbreak of undoing so much painstaking work? I undid the ten rows, put yarn and needles away knowing that I needed to sleep on it in the hope inspiration for Plan C would appear (hopefully before July).
Isn’t it strange where inspiration comes from sometimes? There I was, just a couple of hours later still feeling slightly downhearted as I washed the dishes after dinner, when I looked at the little crocheted cotton dishcloth I’d made some months ago.
Bang! Lightbulb moment. Forget knitting, why not crochet instead? After all, what is a crocheted wrap, if not a dishcloth writ large? True, it won’t have the ephemeral filigree quality of knitted lace but at least it won’t unravel, either, and there is a chance I might even finish it. Five minutes on the internet, pattern found and I was smiling once again. I’m still smiling, because I am getting so much pleasure from this project now. I can work under artificial light, so evening crochet is possible. I can enjoy the cow bells and birdsong once again. I can chat to Roger and look up from my work. I can pause mid-row for a cup of tea or glass of wine.
I can focus on the beauty of the yarn and the way the colours change and blend with such subtle effects. I can ponder the happy future that lies ahead for two precious young people and the excitement of their special day in July as I work each stitch in relaxed happiness.
Reflecting on the wedding, I think it’s safe to say that Sam wouldn’t want an uncomfortable stranger to support him and celebrate with him, wrapped in a satin suit, spiky heels and ridiculous hat (not to mention the special underwear). He’d rather have his Mum – his real Mum. Even if she is wearing a giant dishcloth. 🙂