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.

Hi Swedish Hasbeens. You are not technically mine yet, but one day we will be together. Long after the trendy girls grow tired of you and toss you to the back of their closets, I will still be loving you. I have loved you forever. Maybe not your brand specifically, but I have had a long standing love of clogs since the 1970’s.

The clog seems to be the quintessential seventies shoe. I love seventies shoes. I love wedges and platforms and clunky cork heels. Maybe it comes with having substantially sized feet. Sticking my big feet in a delicate shoe always strikes me as ridiculous, kind of like a giant man in a tiny car.

I know there were numerous fashion atrocities in the seventies. I am not awaiting the return of polyester leisure suits or mutton chop sideburns. I am highly disturbed by the current hipster trend of messy Grizzly Adams beards and porn star mustaches. I do, however, have a soft spot for some of the outlandish seventies looks. There’s an old photo of my family before a big night out. My dad is sporting a purple shirt with a huge collar and my mom is wearing a green caftan with wide sleeves and coordinating frosted green eyeshadow. My sister and I are in matching red bell-bottoms, white turtlenecks and red vinyl vests. We all look crazy, outrageous and entirely fabulous.

The only thing missing in my seventies childhood were a few choice fashion pieces. I always wanted a satin jacket so I could pretend I was in a girl gang. I always wanted hairy boots. My mom thought they were ridiculous and refused to indulge in Sasquatch footwear. My heart broke a little when the hairy boot trend came back a few years ago. I wanted a pair desperately, but I didn’t want to be a middle aged woman standing on a street corner next to a teenager with matching footwear. When I am eighty and the styles come around again I will get a pair of hairy boots and a satin jacket. At that point I won’t be a middle aged woman trying to recapture her youth. I will be an old crazy lady and I will flaunt my fashion choices with all my frail boned might.

I will not, however, wait for clogs until I am old and my ankles are unsteady. I will bide my time and when they go on sale we will be together. I will make a lot of noise when I walk and be transported back to the days of hearing Steely Dan in my mom’s Pinto, looking at her backcombed head from the backseat, when everything was hazy and dreamy the way it is in childhood, and I will rock my clogs like nobody’s business.

I think it may be my impending birthday. Birthdays have a way of making me want to take stock and look back on how I’ve grown and what, if anything, I’ve accomplished. I often compare myself to others and feel that I am lacking although I know that I wouldn’t trade my life for anyone else’s. It’s strange that I can still make myself feel angst ridden when there is no angst to be had, question my choices and judge myself when there is no reason to judge. It is an adolescent habit I have yet to break.

No matter how old you get sometimes you still can’t outgrow yourself.

As an early birthday gift for myself, I am considering ordering these two lovely prints. There has to be room in this ambitious world for awkward retiring sorts who enjoy a nice furry pet, a bowl of snacks and quiet time.

The other day I ventured into Anthropologie with my girlfriend, “just to window shop.”

“I know you are on a strict budget, I won’t let you buy anything, we’ll just look,” my friend assured me.

We wandered around sighing, randomly touching lovely frocks, diaphanous blouses and whimsical tablecloths.

If we passed something particularly fetching and dangerously tantalizing, my friend would immediately say, “that would be so ugly on you!”

If I lingered too long near anything, she would say, “that would be even more hideous on you, don’t even look at it, I think I am going to vomit!”

“Not as much as I’d vomit if I saw you in this!” I’d say, holding up the perfect dress for her.

“Wouldn’t you love to wear this to the garden party I’d have to show off my new tropical painted serving dishes?” I’d ask, holding out a flimsy frock. “And look, here is the apron I’d be wearing as I’d prepare punch and canapes for everyone.”

Every now and then my friend would gasp and hold out the perfect ensemble, “If I won the lottery, I would totally buy this for you!”

“If I won the lottery I’d buy that for me too! And then I’d get something for you too,” I’d answer.

Then I saw it. A delightful little frothy top in the sale section, in my size, reduced from $148.00 to $29.99. So really, it was like a savings of $118.00, right? I tried it on (just to try) and instantly fell in love, as did my friend.

“You have to get it. I’m sorry. I know I was supposed to help, but you have to.”

I had to.

It is the perfect Holly Hobbie gets a job as a secretary blouse. When I brought it home The Sweetie didn’t look convinced, saying, “isn’t it another loose top that looks like a pregnancy top that you have been trying to move away from?” Finally however, he had to admit that it had a Little House on the Prairie meets Librarian kind of charm.

To atone for falling off my thrifty no-shopping wagon, I decided to cook lentils. Lentils with couscous, a lentil loaf and a lentil curry. We have a lot of lentils and they are cheap. It is all about checks and balances. I can be indulgent and frugal at the same time. I can feel guilty and smug all at once. I will wear my Holly Hobbie Librarian shirt, stuff myself with lentils, and be charmingly chic and cheap doing so.

I have returned from a glorious week of sunshine, booze and buffets and am a more benevolent person as a result. Things were getting a little frightening leading up to my departure. Depleted of sunshine for too long, I had a dark soul and a bleak bleak heart. It is amazing what a little infusion of sunshine will do. It has been blustery and rainy for a couple of days since my return and I haven’t been bothered in the slightest.

Beach vacations are glorious. There was candy coloured brightness everywhere, on the clothes, the flowers and inflatable water toys. The sounds were delightful – the blaring mariachi music, the clickity clack of my flip flops, a deranged rooster who would start crowing incessantly at 3 in the morning, the hypnotic crash of the surf. I was mesmerized by the pelicans that flew like a fleet of freaky pterodactyls. I was charmed by the beach dogs who were gentle and wild at the same time, leaning against my leg for a nice rub behind the ears but looking like they could chew my arm off at any moment.

I loved uninterrupted time with The Sweetie. We invented a new game where he would lift me up in the water and pretend to throw me to the ocean as an offering.

I fell into a rhythm of sleeping when I was sleepy, moving when I felt like moving, and eating when I was hungry which turned out to be all the time. The Sweetie was trying to find out the Spanish word for vacuum as he was sure that that was the waiters’ nickname for me every time I neared the buffet. By mid-week I was using my ever increasing belly as a cup holder and book-rest as it spilled out over my bathing suit.

I came home resembling a barrel, all bloated and boozy. My clothes were straining and tight by the end of the week. I love that I don’t care right now. I am sun kissed, fat and jolly and I have survived another winter.

The days are becoming significantly longer, it is less than two weeks before the clocks go forward and less than three weeks before spring officially arrives. All things considered it has been quite a tolerable winter.

Pah! I am taking a beach vacation anyway. I tried to fight the good fight this year, spending a lot of time in front of my lightbox and resolving to be stoic, giving the credit card a much needed break. Who have I been fooling? I need the sun like I need air, water and chocolate. I am the furthest thing from a brave little soldier. I am not brave at all. I have been a monster and for the health and welfare of all, I am carting myself away from this frozen grey tundra and embracing a week of sun, surf and margaritas.

The Sweetie will be spared for a week and will not have to witness me clearing my sinuses with my neti pot on a nightly basis. I will not give him the death stare or burst into inexplicable tears. I won’t wear flannel pajamas for a week, or wear my bathrobe over my clothes or sleep with the hot water bottle. I won’t have fantasies about snapping people’s limbs in half. I will be a salsa-eating benevolent version of myself rather than the spaghetti sandwich eating curmudgeon I have become over the past few months. Surely that is a worthy cause for racking up the credit card bill.

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.

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.