You're just singing someone

[sovay]

I am not doing fantastically, but I dreamed that I saw rushthatspeaks in the window of a tea shop in a fabulous hat; he came down to the verge of the highway where I was walking and kissed me.

elisem has created a necklace inspired by a photo I took: "The Art That Comes of It." It is extremely hibiscus.

I appreciate the multiplicity of voices surveyed in the twenty stories of New York's "The War and New York."

Comments

[pameladean]

I recently reread Cress Delahanty (introduced to me by Elise, incidentally) and immediately pictured Rush, whom I have not seen for years and years, in the hat from that book. That hat was fabulous all right, but probably not in the sense that your dream hat was.

I had not seen the hibiscus necklace and am all agog. Not unlike my reaction to your photo, overall.

P.

[sovay]

I recently reread Cress Delahanty (introduced to me by Elise, incidentally) and immediately pictured Rush, whom I have not seen for years and years, in the hat from that book. That hat was fabulous all right, but probably not in the sense that your dream hat was.

I have never read Cress Delahanty! What sort of hat features in it?

I had not seen the hibiscus necklace and am all agog. Not unlike my reaction to your photo, overall.

It truly delights me.

[pameladean]

"The table decorations," said Mrs. Delahanty reminiscently, "were horns of plenty, made of straw mats. And out of them came spilling every fruit, grain, and flower ever grown in Orange County. Cress's hat would look right at home on that table."

"Oh Mother!" cried Cress.

"Except," said Mrs. Delahanty, "that those horns of plenty were of natural-colored straw, while this hat . . . " she paused, searching the room for some object with which to compare it, "while this hat," she concluded, "is an indescribable color."

"Oh Mother," cried Cress again, "it isn't. It's flamingo red."

"I've always considered red a nice warm color," said Mr. Delahanty.

"This is the warmest red, if it IS red," agreed Mrs. Delahanty, "you ever laid eyes on. And its size!"

And from another viewpoint:

The way the hat struck Cress was so overwhelming that she felt she might search the whole world over and still not find any word, any comparison which would explain it or the way she felt about it. The hat was summer time. It was deep and broad like summer. It caused soft scallops of shadow, like summer shadows under the densest trees, to fall across her face. It was like a poem; it was as much "The rose is in full bloom, the riches of Flora are lavishly strown," as though Keats when he wrote it had been thinking of it. The person wearing it would be langorous, gentle, and delicate.

Cress is thirteen.

P.

[sovay]

Cress is thirteen.

She's a wonderful thirteen-year-old.

[pameladean]

The book takes her from twelve to eighteen. She's wonderful in different ways, also, unsurprisingly, awful.

P.

[rushthatspeaks]

I would probably wear that, assuming my hair to be dyed the lapis shade of blue it generally is. Though I have no idea what I'd do for the rest of my outfit. At any rate, I have marked the book down on my to-read and am grinning in delight.

[pameladean]

I figured that you could probably effectively wear any hat you wanted to. (I originally typed "pull off," but well.

Cress is wearing a middy blouse or dress, I think.

The book is not like anything else.

P.

[sovay]

I would probably wear that, assuming my hair to be dyed the lapis shade of blue it generally is.

It was a blue-black cartwheel of a hat in the dream, against which your hair showed its natural blue, like a night and a day sky at the same time. It was a good effect.

[nineweaving]

Now I want to find that hat for him!

Nine

[minoanmiss]

I wish I could draw well enough to draw that for you two.