Wow! I'm making the record books with my amazing amount of blogs this past week. I find it amazing how lack of money forces me to stay home, leading me in to deep depression, no doubt due to lack of my addictive brew, au lait, if you please. I sit here, owner of 4 pairs of Marje Kerem earrings, and ponder life, fashion and beauty. My thoughts on life are best left untyped, thoughts, when unsure, echo unkindly when worded badly. Fashion and beauty are entirely manageable though!
Ok, well, for the first time in 4 years, I am heading headfirst in to a European (read Estonian) summer. Cold, Cold, Cold, Cold, shiver, COLD! I never realised so many pairs of long trousers and sweaters could be required for summer... needless to say, I'm unprepared. How was I to know that my summer basics of tank tops, shorts and parella's would go unused, left to the moths in the deepest darkest corners of my drawers? Each morning I attempt to concoct an outfit worthy of being labeled stylish, and each morning I then hunt for non-existent cardies, spring-weight jackets and the like to cover it all up. Shawls are something I can't live without!
Meanwhile, I completely forgot about my Moschino jacket lying forgotten in my closet and my Max Mara 80's vintage jacket lies waiting for me to move somewhere where I can actually wear it without feeling overly "fashion" to the point of ridicule.

Beauty has come to me in the shape of my renewed earring collection. In view of my future plans, I am trying to stock up on jewelry made by local artists. I had Marje re-work 3 pairs of earrings that needed repair, and Tuuli kindly rewarded my efforts at locating said marje with a beautiful new pair as a graduation present. I am now desperate for some of Ülle Kõuts' gorgeous accessories, and I will feel absolutely ready for anything fashionistas could throw at me. Beauty of jewelry all lies in the quality. I have always been taught to respect good jewelry, wear it and feel good doing so. I have to thank my ancestry for this possibility - the females on my maternal side of the family have always appreciated good workmanship and I have been lucky enough to inherit some key pieces. If my house were to catch fire and I could only save one thing, it would be my jewelry. Yes, pictures are important, but my jewelry represents my family in ways pictures never could. When I wear my onyx necklace, my great aunt speaks to me of evenings spent in Montreal during the golden 40's. When I see my silver filigree bracelet, I imagine post-independence Estonia in the 1920's, my grandmother walking the streets of Old Town perusing wares in the fashionable shops. I have jewelry that has been designed for me, things my mother has carefully chosen for me. I have to admit, my pearl ring is missing. The shame, I know! My great-grandmother gave it to my mother on her 16th birthday, and she in turn to me on mine... and now I've misplaced it. It has to be here somewhere...

Having said I would take only my jewelry if in need, I can't quite imagine leaving my pictures or artwork either! I've collected many family heirlooms in this room. Black and white pictures of my father and uncle as teenagers, carefully posed in their grey suits. A poliograph of my Grandfather at the tender age of 1, chubby and utterly adorable. I possess the only copies of my paternal grandparents wedding pictures. I also own some very beautiful paintings left to me by my mother. In the kitchen is a painting painted in 1929, award-winning in it's time. In my bedroom is a huge picture of a woman with long red nails, by an up-and-coming Estonian artist. I love the colours he used... it's so me. People laugh at my love of female nudes, however when I look at my paintings depicting just such figures, I can't help but smile. They are so female, so inviting of comfort. I could never feel uncomfortable in front of them.
Alas, if my house were to burn down to the ground, how would I save my guitar!? How would I carry the cat that hangs over the edge of my antique armoir that was given to me at the age of 4? Or the books that have helped me through the worst of times or kept me company on the long rainy days when I lie tucked up in a blanket and read as though my heart might burst should I stop? They too, have more stories within them than the words would like to admit. What of my hand-painted kimono? Or indeed my vintage Max Mara jacket? What of my bed? The bed that has held me since the age of two?
I feel guilty that I use things to remember. I am a pack-rat, and surround myself with memorabilia that I could never imagine throwing away. I drag myself down with all my belongings, yet... if I know who I am without them, is it really a sin to let my fingers linger on my great-grandmothers silver candle-stick or cover myself in quilts my mother made? I could live without all these things, but never do I want to have to. Comfort for me is knowing where I came from and seeing love in the things I surround myself with.