Ragamuffins

In Portland during the early ‘90’s, I worked for a place which designated a particular day to be Western Friday.  In her voluminous skirt, I commented to a girlfriend that she looked like she just jumped out of Gone with the Wind.

“Honey, if I was in Gone with the Wind, I’d be wearin’ an apron.”  Pam came to mind this morning as I contemplated writing about an encountered this past weekend with someone I rarely meet:  an articulate young person.

My arrogance.  But it was fun to remember Pam’s story once more.  She and her husband had attended a religious retreat one weekend, and the following Monday she reported a conversation she’d had with the Deacon/whatever.  After a time he said to her,

“How nice to meet an educated Negress.”

“He didn’t really say that, did he?”  Yep.  And no, she didn’t get insulted or in-his-face; she shook it off to his advanced years, and knew he meant no slight.  So that came to mind as I rewound the conversation I had with the college-age son of the politico whom I helped a bit last election.

To re-cap, I griped about a radio ad; next thing I knew I was invited to a Party gathering, and then last Saturday their Open House a couple of blocks away .  I was there, with bells on.  The token homeless person; every good holiday party needs one.

What helped me to joyously attend was the fact that I didn’t need to worry about what to wear.  The week before, I’d stopped into the local Goodwill, searching for a frame to Shabby-Chic but sidetracked.  If you’ve never been to that particular department store, clothes are organized by color.  At first I found that quite annoying, but then I grasped the genius of the idea.  It’s easy enough to check the length of the jeans from a distance to see if that part’s right; I don’t feel like hemming pants anymore.  And since I’m not always sure what particular SHADE might be the most flattering for my skin tone, it’s easier to select a few choices within a couple of feet rather than prowling the entire second floor.
(Sorry fellas,) but for sixty bucks I walked out with several lined skirts and wool slacks; a beautiful sweater set with a bit of embroidery;  casual tops in colors I’d never tried before; an Italian shearling vest, originally grabbed to turn into an old-fashioned muff, but still  intact; and a full-length heather grey wool winter coat, marked at $19.99, but whose green tag was valid for half-price day.  I had several green tags.  As I told the hostess and another woman at the party who asked, “Where did you get…”, at those prices ($3.99; $4.99; up to the spendy $9.99) the clothes are practically disposable.  In my own case, I’m enjoying wearing something other than sloppy sweatshirts while painting.

You’d be amazed at how designer labels still have their original tags.  Whether they’re seconds, out-of-fashion (I stuck with neutrals and classic styles, with those punches of color), or somebody cleaned out their closet, you can find some real bargains.

I got home and began playing dress-up, like we do.  I was amazed at my new wardrobe:  combined with the few decent items I’d managed to keep from pre- Ruff Life (when I’d disposed of most of my earthly possessions; even Pam purchased some nice business clothes), I can now mix-and-match a few items, turning three outfits into twenty, like fashion magazines advise.

So I didn’t have to show up like a Ragamuffin, and since I digressed, I’ll talk about my conversation with the Kid in another post.

About the Gourd:  this higüera (tree gourd) is the third in my series of Three Wise Women, painted while living in Puerto Rico.   More popular than Christmas is January 6^th, Three Kings Day (Three Wise Men).  Every artist on the island creates Three Kings-something but I hate doing what everyone else does, so here’s my Three Queens.  However, Captain Stan  suggested I rename it, which I did.

As a rule I don’t use symbolism; I’m not that kind of an artist.  But this was easy.  The Puerto Rican identity, if you will, is made up of three cultures: Spanish, African and Taino Indian, which is what my ladies represent.  The Lady from Spain is loaded with lace, as lace tatting is still a thriving industry in small, mountain towns; the African dancer holds maracas and is wearing traditional dress for the popular Bomba y Plena; and last but not least is our Taino representative, holding a pilon filled with yummy Mofongo.

The colorful buildings can still be found in Old San Juan, which is paved with blue stones:  ballast brought over by ships which returned to the Old World with cargo from the New World.  In the center is the iconic birth, covered with the Puerto Rican flag.

Now you know.