Saturday, March 20, 2010

Oh No It's Been A Week But There Is Always Hope

The patient and efficient Lucy Beer came to help clean up blogging messes, bad formats and why won't things just line up properly. It's been a wonderful guess as to where pictures will end up and why the preview doesn't always show the post as it will be sent out. It's a mystery to me but she had it all fixed rather quickly.

I had lots of ideas and couldn't wait to begin posting. A tiny little cough had begun and by morning when I stayed in bed, all my ideas were gone. I hoped and I hoped but couldn't hope a cold away. 

Sleeping a few days away and then coffee and email catch-up. Sunny and 80 degrees and Happy Spring. Good day for a car wash, getting rid of all those rainy polka dots and windy day grime, hearts and please wash me lazily swirled into the mix. Laundry too, always a good time to remember the sultry fragrances of sun and lemon, fresh washed and maybe dragged past lavender. 

I remember the big galvanized tubs of lavender at Joseph's in London and how breathtaking it was against good wood floors and seriously pretty designer clothing. I remember how kind Joseph was, helping a younger Kenzo Takada with his displays and taking pictures. Joseph Ettedgui, with his brothers Franklin and Maurice helping, was everywhere. Shops in Paris, London, New York and a small wholesale collection. He shipped beautifully and maybe his twelve-ply cashmeres sold out in a heartbeat because of his hand. Not that hand knits and winter weight cashmere was essential for Sunset Plaza but his things were. I guiltily kept one, a black oversized cardigan. It was inches thick when I folded it - a 2,000. heirloom.

Angelo DiBiase was in New York for Thanksgiving and his almost unintelligible command "Mad Darling, it's cold here. Come." There was a seat on an early Thanksgiving flight and it was really cold. I wore my Joseph cashmere over black leggings, Manolo black kid ankle boots that had colored gemstones sewn on the cuff, a black LeGarage chiffon mans shirt over a Wolford black bodysuit. 

Angelo and I skipped in the cold and dashed into Empire Diner, his fave. A quick coffee and a short walk to his friend's loft. A garlicky wine smell as we walked in, kiss kiss and children on little trikes rampaging. We ended the night with Bougelais Nouvelle and hugs and happiness. I flew home the next day, too happy to be tired. 

Joseph would have laughed.

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