Provisions

pro·vi·sion (pr-vzhn)
n.
1. The act of supplying or fitting out.
2. Something provided.
3. A preparatory action or measure.
4. provisions A stock of necessary supplies, especially food.
5. A stipulation or qualification, especially a clause in a document or agreement.
tr.v. pro·vi·sioned, pro·vi·sion·ing, pro·vi·sions
To supply with provisions.
[Middle English, from Old French, forethought, from Latin prvsi, prvsin-, from prvsus, past participle of prvidre, to foresee, provide for; see provide.]
pro·vision·er n.

From the free dictionary
To be prepared. For safari or for old age.

TO BE IN AFRICA

GEAR. Stuff to make life more comfortable
Notebook and pens
Chapstick
Bandana
Water bottle, hiking boots, wide brim hat.
Luscious color and hot lips. The colors of Africa. Red earth, purple mountains, sienna grass... I look forward to first seeing the light of the country. The warm dark skin wrapped in reds and yellows, the stampede of dust on the savannah, new grass after the rains, purple sunsets, the vast space, the equatorial sun. To sing and dance barefoot in the dirt. Listen for the sounds of the winds, the crackling bushes, the morning coos. Smell the hot earth, dry bushes, cold night air. Far far away from civilization, electronic devices, out of network. In the company of the wild.

Long patterns of stripes, flowers, quilt like patches, dusty white dark feet, white teeth and big eyes, beads wound round and round long necks, wooly hair wrapped in bandannas of colorful cotton, sarongs tied around the waist in layers of lavish faded cotton of clashing colors. Is this not joy?

Could I be disappointed in the smells of Africa? The colors of the land, the people? Will the food taste bitter and the water of the earth? Will I lie awake in my tent at night afraid of the crackling bush and footsteps of lions? Will I long for emails from friends, shopping on line, the nightly CBS news cast? The garden and book club meetings? The YMCA water aerobics, my bedroom chair and high bed? Will I long for shopping at Costco , TJ Max, Target? Will I miss the old familiar or take flight in this new country? Soar on new wings.

Hatteras south

Wearing my favorite satin bottoms stuffed in battered boots and polo tee I head south on highway 12 to Tiki Bar and Food in Hatteras Village. Lunch of bar b q panini overlooking fishing boats to the Atlantic. Welcome bikers Harley D galore. Salt wind. Purr of bikes. Clanging halyards. "Uglies" from Orange Blossom in Buxton. Twisted live oaks. Wild tunic and pantaloons from Parrot Bay. Hatteras lighthouse on a cloudy day. Then back to my favorite Pea Island Art Gallery in Salvo showing my favorite artist Carol Anna Meese.

Elizabethan gardens

Spanish Moss. Flame azaleas. Bubbling fountains. Gazebo by the bay. Perfume jasmine. Sighing wind in live oak trees. Birds. Birds. Birds. Stopping to capture what I can.

Boots. Hatteras hat. Sketchbook.

Gazebo. Sixteenth century replica. Reeds for thatched roof came from England.

Slowly lapping water bird twitter. A rush of wind in the magnolia trees.

Strolling at dusk in all white organdy and hat with veil. Around the bend mint Julips waiting in iced silver tumblers. A cello somewhere playing Mozart. Moss underfoot and fallen camellia blossoms

Cinnamon Fern.

Ancient live oak alive since1585 when colonists first arrived on Roanoke Island.

A white wedding I'll have under the oak with swaying Spanish moss and camellia blossoms under my feet

Kite surfing

Ready for the wind and a Hatteras Island day, an old fishing vest bartered off the back of our guide in Peru is a perfect wrap along with a small brimmed cap. I visit Real Water Sports flagship store in Salvo, NC. Love those surfers and international kite surfers love Hatters wind as does the Hatteras "DOO" Hairdo though a thick braid will do.
 

 Later early supper at Good Winds, crispy shrimp and Kick Ass Shiraz.

Vintage Thrifting

Nags Head, North Carolina thrift shop finds. Pink cluster of cottages, Edith's Antiques, I walk up the boardwalk through the covered porch alley to shops so stuffed it is certain one is on a movie set.

 

 

Mannequins in 1930's smoking jackets, white linen suits, armor, lumberjack flannels, servant’s wear, civil war soldiers uniform, chenille jackets, coral opera coat, cowboy boots, flowered and netted hats, bowlers, Stetsons, top, cloche, pillbox, wonderfully zany costumes for every fantasy.  A wonderland of nostalgia, stories, what feet have marched, hobbled, tiptoed, stomped, skipped, and dragged in these shoes? Tiny baby shoes, worn boots, 30's black leather pumps. I buy a silk scarf, flirted with a magenta border and just a few holes.

 

Southern Soldier Antiques, in a back room in a far off dusty corner, is a rack of costumes, "re- enactment” clothing. Not too old, surprisingly well made, and fun. I spy a long, claret colored silk skirt, ankle length in front, dragging a small train in back, with many tiny belt loops and Gabriel belt. Hugely wide along the hem, fitted around the hips, I buy it for fifteen dollars without trying it on. Then I spot a long, bias cut, silky, black, deeply plunging sleeveless dress, I slip it over my head and it is stuck, way too tight for my bust. I start to sadly put it back then decide to check the seams and discover it has been take-up with darts, wide and deep, and surely I can let it out to my size! I fold it lovingly on top of the claret skirt. Ten dollars. A long white cotton skirt full of tiny tucks and ruffle along the hem with only a few yellow stains, too tight around the waist but so long I can cut off the waist band and hike it up shortening and widening it, I may never wear it peeking out from under a grey linen skirt but hey it only cost three dollars! AND a sunflower shaped silver pin with a cluster of amber stones in the center. Perfect for my cloche if I ever find one that fits.

Another vintage house jammed with jewels. Bags, bonnets, belts, beehives and sequined pajamas. A coral opera coat is too dear at two hundred fifty dollars. I ask the man how did he collect all this.  His wife has connections. For thirty years she accessorized Hollywood. Yes, she knows her stuff. What fun is all this glitter!

Even wind at the beach can't stop the hilarious, glamour of this day in The Outer Banks.

At home I tie the silk flowered 50's scarf around my shaggy hair and pretend I'm Hollywood.

 

Slightly Outrageous

He did it to me. Aerosmith. This morning on the Today Show, there he was, a sixty something man, looking fabulous, strutting, shrieking, flapping, prancing, charismatic, and exciting as Hell.  I want his wild long hair with a white forelock; the long split tailed brocade coat, the ruffled shirt and tight pants.

I have been editing my Paris writings, written while sitting at La Petite Perigourdine on Rue St Jacques. Now I sit back home in the USA in a Lazy Boy, in flannel p.j.s and shearling slippers. I think I want to be back in Paris. To see exciting things, to document in ink or paint, to witness talented people, learn about their process. I want to know Aerosmith!

 Memory and imagination, all there is in the end, and where most life is lived. And so on a cloudy cold day in Virginia I can be in Paris, or Mexico. I can invent a life on paper. Sitting in the lobby of the Hotel Jefferson, at a window table at Can-Can, at a bench in front of Saks, The Village Cafe at The University, or taking a train to DC and sitting in a DuPont Circle bookstore, writing what I see.  

 

 Dressed up I go to town. Suburban life sometimes stifles me. Aerosmith I want to meet you,

dressed for adventure. Slightly outrageous.

Yikes, I need a life!

 

My name is Matilda and I need a life. 

I was reborn in a thrift store. Oh I had a previous life standing in the window of a modest dress shop wearing nondescript clothing, but my real life began in a small southern town that had seen better days. I had ended up in a junk shop pushed to the back and half hidden by cheap picture frames, bed springs, stained linens, and musty upholstered furniture. Having been roughly treated I had lost my hair, missed eyelashes on one eye and had various eczemas and scars. My arms and legs were stiffly locked, but I was tall and slender and had beautiful eyes that gazed out on the cobwebs and grime of my surroundings, my slightly parted lips ready to speak. I had an innocence that beguiled.

One dreary afternoon a lady found me, brushed off my dust, and loaded me, naked, into the back of a pickup truck. She was kind and elderly and she wore a magnificent yellow embroidered coat. I knew I would see marvels along the way, sights more splendid than my biggest dreams. She whispered to me that my adventures were just beginning. Yikes! I need a life!

So here I am now in a cozy room filled with the most delightful fabrics, tassels, hats and bows. Most all came from the racks of thrift stores. There are embroidered vests, satin slippers, black fedoras, silk skirts, and old mink. Piles of clothes are brought in from thrift stores all over the world. New wigs, hats, fascinators, leg warmers, turbans, feathers, corsets, dusters, a swirl of prints and colors more exotic than my mother’s garden, I would be garlanded in African beads, rhinestones, flower broaches, and chandelier earrings. Yikes! I get dressed in amazing sometimes outrageous outfits and in a sort of law of attraction, the most astonishing adventures come my way. I found a life in thrift stores. "Goodies", "Sal's Boutique", "Fannie's Fantastic Thrift", and the clothes I would carry would lead me to unknown and exciting territory. I was named "Matilda" for the waltzes I would dance.