23 April 2013

Seize The Dress

I will never forget the one that got away.  Bright, so full of promise, it was a pleasure to behold.  Could it be ethical to spend so much in the pursuit of material joy?  To place material joy so high in the ordering of  happinesses?  So the philosopher in me sat... and thought... to buy or not to buy... until I concluded that yes, this chance at happiness must be pursued, so infrequently do feelings so strong come along.  But then, when I looked again, it was gone.  Someone else had not dallied, had whisked my joy away.  This was the Anthropologie Secret Joy Dress--red like tomatoes, blue like the sky, everything friendly and out-looking.  I find that the missed opportunities I never forget are the ones I shouldn't have missed in the first place, and the only thing I can think of to recognize them before they become missed opportunities I shouldn't have missed, is that strong and immediate attraction that I first felt upon seeing  them.  I've checked eBay, eyed store windows, but haven't seen it since.  Part of me shall always belong to the Secret Joy Dress.

I had intended to get myself some birthday shoes--royal purple heels, with big bows--big enough to say "yes, sir, this is a f*&@ing bow," but not big enough to be mistaken for a costume.  Alas, the shoes had sold out by my birthday.  The lesson here again is, don't wait!  The good pieces never make it to the sale rack.  You might find decent staples on sale, but the pieces with panache, with pizzazz, will always have a line of suitors.

ModCloth posts new pieces frequently, and their catalog enjoys a wide and attentive audience.  Take, for example, their "What Really Makes You Romantic Heel." (You really should stop by and check out some of their product names, if you haven't before.)  It was posted only yesterday, and yet there are already less than half a dozen pairs left.  This shoe looks like something Marie Antoinette would have worn if she lived in the 1920s.  If you know me, or if you've seen some of my other posts, you know I am both a fan of 1920s-fashion and of 18th century fashion.  The shoe also has front and back bows in a delicious pink, and the heels are see-through, which reminds me of the see-through jelly bean shoes I wore as a kid.  (They often had sparkles in the plastic, so they look liked flats Cinderella might have worn.)  So this morning, I did not hesitate, and a pair of "What Really Makes You Romantic Heels" are on their way to my door!!!  No buyer's remorse, here.  This is true love.  True shoe love.  We'll wear one another out with walking and dancing.  I'll rest them conspicuously on tables and chair arms.  Shoes like these are meant to be seen.  I would walk on my hands if I could.
In the hierarchy of life's joys, the truly great ones seem to come along too rarely.  When you see one, don't hesitate.  Run after it!  Tackle it!  And when you have apprehended it, hold on!  For those supereminent joys make life more worth living... whatever the vehicle of joy, be it an idea, a person, or a thing.  The attraction is instantaneous.  There is no need for deliberation.

Sometimes possession isn't even necessary.  Sometimes awareness of the joy-giving thing is enough, like Tennyson's conclusion in In Memoriam that it is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.  I believe I am better for having seen the Secret Joy Dress and bowed purple heels, even though I am not likely to don them.  Their aspects are themselves joy-giving, and they make me less likely to settle for duller hues or smaller bows.  Be that as it may, the first lesson of the Secret Joy Dress, is to embrace love and joy at every opportunity.
You are my Secret Joy Dress,
And my fancy new shoes.
You are everything that sparkles,
Big bows, bold colors, too.

You are the beginning of my hopes, and their end too.
All my joys are rooted in you.
As long as there is anything of me--vim, dust, itch, or clue.
If there is aught of me, then that loves you.

From the soundtrack of Jane Campion's film, Bright Star, based on the life of John Keats and his relationship with Fanny Brawne, an a cappella cover of the beginning of Mozart's Serenade no. 10 in B Flat Major, the Adagio, for winds.  


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