The deer shirt is mine. I was in Anthropologie with a girlfriend the other night and I felt a small stab in the heart as soon as I entered, thinking about the shirt that got away.  As I listlessly thumbed through the sale rack, my hands suddenly brushed against something silky. It was the shirt. My shirt. There was only one. In my size.

Call it fate. Call it destiny. Call it manifesting my desires in accordance with the laws of attraction. The shirt and I were meant to be together. I wondered if the whole experience of coveting a material object and having it slip through my fingers had been a test to see how pathetically shallow I really am.

My grandmother used to tell me Latvian bedtime stories when I was a little girl.  They often involved two sisters on a journey. Each sister would encounter an old man who needed help of some kind. Often he needed assistance to take a bath, which is just plain creepy, but it was my grandmother’s story not mine. One sister would shun him and hurry on her way to find riches. Inevitably she would get torn apart by wolves or have a shower of tar fall on her. The other sister would help the old guy out and be rewarded with a handsome prince and a never ending supply of rye bread and potatoes. The moral of the story being that if you were good to others you would be rewarded. Maybe the homeless guy I’d passed the morning of the lost shirt was a test. Being sad about a piece of clothing while someone else is hoping to get a mouthful of food is a good perspective maker. If I had been too busy mourning my loss to bother buying the guy a bagel maybe the shirt would not have reappeared. Or maybe I am still shallow and will be showered with tar the first time I wear it and then be promptly eaten by a wolf.

“I found the shirt!” I cried to my mom on the phone, eager to share the happy news.

She paused. “I’ll make sure to tell your father right away. I’m sure he’ll be able to get a good night’s sleep now.” She finally replied.

“I found the shirt, God loves me!” I shouted at The Sweetie when I got home.

“Is it a little frayed at the bottom?” He asked as I held it in front of him.

“It’s supposed to be like that!” I snapped.

Truth be told, it is frayed at the hem. I worry about the first time I wash it, which, I was disturbed to read on the label, I am supposed to do by hand. I don’t wash anything by hand, nor do I iron and it looks like a shirt that would wrinkle easily. I also have to admit that taupey colours tend to make my complexion take on a khaki glow. No matter. You don’t mess with fate when it leaves you an offering.

I am a shallow woman, I admit it. I am in love with a store. The first time I walked into Anthropologie I almost collapsed with excitement. Here was a store that was speaking to all of my fantasy selves.  I wanted to live there. I wanted to place whimsical trinkets in a delicate porcelain dish while brushing my teeth with Italian toothpaste. I imagined myself flitting around in embroidered lounge wear planning dinner parties with mismatched painted dishes, jotting down notes notes in a parchment paper notebook embossed with birds. Alas, I don’t have an Anthropologie budget. This week, however, I received an email announcing that Anthropologie was having a mega sale. This morning from 8-11 AM, sale items would be reduced by a further 50%. I could hardly breathe.

The week was spent visiting their website, gazing adoringly at a blouse I was lusting after, a loose frayed looking number with deer along the hem. “Soon you will be mine and we will be together forever,” I whispered to the computer screen. I checked on my beloved every day. I have not been able to wake up early for months to go to the gym or a yoga class. Inevitably I hit the snooze button until I finally give up and go back to sleep. Obviously I never had the right motivation. I can’t get up for my cardiovascular health or spiritual growth, but this morning I was up at 6:30 AM.

The store was already teeming with crazed women jostling for space when I arrived. “I guess other people got the email too!” I quipped to the woman edging me out of her way in order to get at little dishes featuring gilded raccoons.  She ignored me, her eye on the prize. The air was thick with tension, everyone was on a mission and no one was willing to concede space .

I dashed for where I had last seen my coveted blouse. It was gone. I frantically searched among the racks, sweating in my heavy coat, hands trembling and feeling panicked as other women more aggressive than I held their ground and refused to move. I scanned the line ups at the cash and the dressing rooms, certain that someone was clutching my blouse. Nothing. It was gone. My deer dreams were dashed, gone forever.

I walked out defeated and empty handed. Once I was away from the chaos my head began to clear and my hands stopped shaking. Breathing the crisp air and having space again calmed me. I didn’t have to fight anyone. Now there would be time to go to the gym since I wouldn’t be putting on a fashion show for myself. I bought a bagel for an inventive panhandler with an empty cup tied to a stick like a fishing pole. He called me Miss and bobbed his cup at me.

It turned out to be a good morning, even without a deer blouse.

I am dusting off my mouth guard and getting ready to rumble. My friend is hosting a mega clothing swap in Leslieville tomorrow and I am sure the clothing sharks are already smelling the blood in the water. I am thrilled and terrified at the same time. I love a good clothing swap. I am always in the market for free goodies and now in the dead of winter I am really feeling the need for free pick me ups. I have enjoyed many a clothing swap with my girlfriends, but they have always been civilized affairs involving lots of wine, snacks and the ability to openly shame anyone who becomes too aggressive and greedy. I am apprehensive about dealing with crazed strangers in a fashion frenzy. I am a shy and retiring sort, definitely more of a lover than a fighter. Nonetheless, a girl has to pick her battles, and this is a noble fight. I will have to channel my winter angst and aggression to ensure that I walk away with an armful of free goodies and minimal bruises.

I saw this sweet necklace by a Toronto artisan and instantly and conveniently forgot about the August shopping ban I had imposed on myself.

I rationalized that much of the ban had to do with my avoidance of anything pertaining to autumn. I do not want to see itchy wool sweaters or heavy clothing so a shopping ban felt timely. This necklace, though, looks light as air, positively spring-like in fact.

Besides being local, light and lovely, the necklace also features rose quartz. I have been a big fan of rose quartz ever since I learned that it’s the love crystal. It is the feel-good-unconditional-love-vibes-for-all talisman.

I already have a fabulous rose quartz necklace that makes me feel like a new age Wilma Flintstone.

Sometimes, however, it feels too heavy and clunky around my neck. I don’t want to feel burdened and weighed down by too much unconditional love, now do I? This new necklace will be light and easy to manage and will still send out the love vibes.

Of course, I recognize that all of this is a cheap rationalization to justify my uncontrollable consumption and impulsiveness. I don’t really need a new necklace. I certainly don’t need an amulet for protection against critics but considering my recent defending my life rampage, it couldn’t hurt. Perhaps this is why athletes wear the same underwear for an important game and business executives have their power suits. Sometimes we need a physical representation of our inner desires or something tangible to cling to when things feel chaotic. We all need a life preserver now and then, a set of water wings in a prettier and less bulky package. I shouldn’t need to depend on a crystal for some gentle loving compassion but sometimes the days can be dark, the critics can be loud, and a sweet necklace may be just the touchstone I need.

I have a new necklace.

The lovely and talented Amy at Smitten Kitten is the perfect model for her own works. I saw her last week wearing one of her creations and instantly decided that I needed to be just like her. What I really wanted was her entire ensemble down to her lust-worthy Frye sandals. Luckily she has dainty feet, otherwise I would have had to jump her and nab her shoes. I settled for buying the necklace and I have been merrily wearing it ever since. I love a good dose of gilded nature.

Is is shallow that a new trinket makes me so happy? I guess I’m a very happy shallow girl. I have a gold feather around my neck and I think woodland creatures would approve.

I was going through some shopping withdrawal this week. My new frugal lifestyle has been satisfying and I’ve had many smug moments resisting temptation and eating my thrifty lentil dinners but the treat-lover in me has been feeling a little deprived. I was experiencing a serious case of budget martyrdom.

Luckily The Sweetie and I found some delightful garage sales this morning. It was the perfect day for garage sales. There were copious amounts of charming, fluffy cats sunning themselves on the sidewalks and porches. The garage sale hosts were extra adorable and friendly everywhere we went. The Sweetie and I would whisper to each other, “Could they have been any nicer? Are you shocked that they didn’t offer to make us smoothies and bake muffins?”

I picked up an armful of delights for a mere $12:  knitting needles and yarn to add to my stash, a novel I have been wanting to read for ages, a belt since I figured I should start accessorizing more, a magazine holder (which The Sweetie is very excited about since he regularly trips over the books and magazines stacked around my side of the bed), and my most exciting find of the day, a retro bread box. I have been lusting after an old school bread box for ages. On top of that, a lovely woman threw is some heirloom tomato seedlings, just because. She was delightful, the cats were delightful, the weather was delightful, The Sweetie and I were delightful.

Sunny spring Sundays that begin with garage sales are always delightful.

I am a firm believer in treats, even after declaring that I will change my self -indulgent, spendthrift, treats-for-me-all-the-time ways. Dealing with taxes and facing my bleak financial state is a prime time for such proclamations.

That did not stop The Sweetie and I from having our annual cookie and coffee treat from the bakery located in the same dismal mall as our accountant. Knowing the cookie is waiting for me helps when I have to fess up that I have not saved any money for my taxes, have made pitiful RRSP contributions, and my future as an old lady eating cat food becomes more and more of a terrifying possibility.

The cookie is followed by a trip to the nearby Value Village since part of the yearly tax time ritual also involves a declaration that I will never buy anything new again. I will only buy items at thrift stores and garage sales or make my own clothes from old foraged rags.

My new frugal self was rewarded with this sweater for a mere $7.99. It will amuse me to no end as I mince around pretending I am a French ingenue. It was sweetened by the fact that the helpful store clerk with braces opined that I can wear horizontal stripes because I am slender.

Slender.

The small treasures make me feel rich. A cookie with my soul mate and partner in crime, trying to coax a smile from the gruff but lovable bakery guy, being called slender. Life is still sweet even on tax drop off day.

The winter has been reasonably tolerable so far. We’ve hardly had any snow, the temperatures have been mild-ish and I am noticing that the days are already getting longer. I have been vigilant with my light box and so far I haven’t sunk too far into winter melancholy. I was getting cocky, believing that perhaps this would be the year that I would conquer the winter blues.

Alas, I have started to notice a rising note of hysteria in my voice as I merrily chirp that I am okay and that winter is half over. My words ring hollow and false. I hear the manic undertones and I am sure there is a giant thought bubble looming over my head with nothing in it but a black cloud. I yearn to hide from the world until spring, shuffling in my bathrobe with kleenex boxes on my feet. I am starting to feel broken.

I believe that when you are down a pick me up is in order, especially in the winter. I am determined to treat myself to all things happy until spring arrives. Good-bye shopping hiatus and resolutions to be less self indulgent.

First order of business, I treated myself to an adorable fox locket I found on Lanyapi on Etsy. It will go perfectly with my fox bracelet from Fey Handmade, although I don’t think I will wear them together and be all fox matchy matchy. It would be too much, akin to the unfortunate look of sporting jeans with a jean jacket so that it looks like you are wearing a denim suit.

I also happily picked up Neil Diamond’s greatest hits at the library. If a sweaty guy with sideburns and silky shirts singing his heart out doesn’t lift my spirits, even temporarily, I need to book a beach vacation immediately.

And speaking of denim suits here is my sure thing for dumb laughs, Will Ferrell doing a Neil Diamond impersonation.

The no sugar resolution is also off. The temperature has dropped and so has my resolve. I have visions of being in a canoe made of bread paddling through swirling eddies of hot fudge. There will be a bake-off this weekend and I will not be stopped. Sugar, and lots of it, is the answer. The same goes for bread and all things carb related. There will be croissants in my hands. Soon.

Winter may get the best of me yet. There are still 50 days left until spring officially arrives, then another couple of months until it really feels warm and pastoral, but I will fight the good fight, one giant brownie, trinket, and warbling singalong at a time.

Okay autumn. Perhaps I’ve been unduly harsh. I’ve complained about you a lot. I think I’ve even said I hate you on occasion. Maybe that was a little strong. You’ll never be my favourite season, let’s be clear on that. How could you be when summer is so fun and frolicsome. Spring is pretty amazing too. What makes spring even better is that it is followed by summer, whereas you are followed by winter, a fatal strike if ever there was one. If you were followed by summer maybe you’d stand a chance and I’d feel differently. Maybe.

Nonetheless, I have had to rethink my harsh stance against you. The past couple of weeks have been pleasant and I am trying to be open to your special charms. The fall colours have been spectacular. Lots of burnt orange and gold and that dried up smoky leaf smell that makes me think of an old steam train.

Halloween was nice. The Sweetie carved a great pumpkin and I enjoyed roasting the seeds with lots of salt and cayenne pepper.

I have been making giant batches of soup. That’s a cozy autumnal thing to do. Big bubbling pots of soup on the stove aren’t appealing in the summer. One point for autumn.

I found a fabulous pair of mint condition boots at my favourite vintage shop (The Refinery on Markham Street, the best shop ever). Autumn lovers always seem to comment on how happy they are to wear cute boots again, as if that makes all the cold dreariness okay. I rarely find vintage boots in my big girl size. These fit like a dream and they are a gorgeous burnt orange, a perfect fall colour. It was your offering to me, wasn’t it? A little gift in autumnal hues to try and win me over.

So far the season has not been filled with the endless misery I had expected. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so hard on you. Well played autumn, well played.

I am a walking contradiction. I am aware that declaring myself a declutterer and taking a Zen Buddhist meditation course conflicts with shopping online and amassing more stuff. One would think that I’d be slightly ashamed and cool it just a little, but I am weak. So far, I’ve only attended two meditation classes so I still have a way to go on my path to enlightenment. My Peter Walsh decluttering book is buried somewhere on my night table beneath magazines, a couple of books and piles of torn out recipes. I have lost a little of the decluttering fever.

A woman gets tempted every now and then. Especially when faced with this foxy fox bracelet from Fey Handmade.

I couldn’t resist. I found the site the other day on Bliss when I was procrastinating rather than decluttering. I saw the fox bracelet and became obsessed. There it was in my mind’s eye, haunting me. How could I resist such a delightful woodland creature? I thought about it while at my mediation course and felt extra guilty. How could I be thinking of jewellery at a Zen Buddhist temple of all places? I thought about it even though I had decided that as a woman reaching some semblance of maturity I should quit it with the animal motifs and become a little more sophisticated. I thought about it while I gathered up my piles of clutter. I couldn’t stop thinking of that little fox with his sprightly tail.

Perhaps I will never find freedom and enlightenment. Perhaps I will never be clutter free. Perhaps I am a shallow person with a strange obsession with animals who is a bit too introverted and prefers animals over people most of the time. Perhaps I am impulsive and indulgent and a spendthrift. Perhaps it is all of these things, but the lovely fox bracelet will be mine. Oh yes. It will be mine.