It's been so long since I've blogged here, I forgot how to insert images. Yet I persisted! I persevered! Because the tea and the teacup and the flowers and the cake and the added artifice of the ancient paper (I mean, come on, who reads 100-year-old papers with their morning tea?) just make me so happy I feel the compulsive need to share them with you, my friends, whom I have neglected here on this ol' blog for far too long. I am sorry for this. To make up for it, I will tell you this secret: I want to wear linen and silk and organic cotton and live inside this photograph, which I like to believe is populated out of frame by beautiful Mediterranean gods and goddesses who also wear only natural, beautiful fabrics.
I read something recently about how linen, silk, organic cotton, and wool are the only fabrics that are safe to wear. Others have chemicals like formeldahyde in them, which, worn next to our skin, our bodies' largest organ, is basically toxic as all hell. I am covered head to toe right now in synthetic fabrics, you know? And then after I Googled, "soft organic 100% cotton T-shirts," I found out that the amount of energy that goes into making the cotton tees (not to mention the dyes) pretty much make it all that much more ridiculous, which made me give up and go, What's the point? Which is why I want to forget all about it and just go crawl into this photograph and eat cake and drink creamy hot tea from beautiful pink teacups and read newspapers from 100 years ago.
Anyway, today's post title comes from Kevin Sampsell's blurb for Alexis M. Smith's novel, Glaciers, which I bought after happily spotting on a front table for new paperbacks at my local B&N. I always look at the front tables at big chain bookstores, even though I know I'm being suckered. Still, I bought Glaciers because (1) I'm me, and so I gravitated to the non-standard-sized book on the table (looks like 5x7 to these eyeballs but I could be wrong); (2) I was enamored with its French flaps (enamored!); and so because of these nice touches (3) I felt I could trust the dress on the cover (which, on closer inspection, seemed to be collaged from 100-year-old scraps of newspaper and/or books and/or journals!!!); and then the combination of these factors drew my attention to the top of the book cover, (4) which reads A TIN HOUSE NEW VOICE (I thought, "Tin House has books on front tables!?!") and so I picked it up; (5) I touched it; and when I saw on the back cover that (6) Kevin Sampsell blurbed it, I was like, OK, I don't even care what's inside (though I did glance at the inside front flap, and I did see (7) "Isabel is a twenty-something thrift-store shopper," and that was good enough for me); I bought the book just to support the system.
And that, I think, is actually how suckers are made in seven easy steps and how books get sold.