I'll tell you a little something about a shift we are making. This part's about me.
I'm a city girl, always have been. But I have never felt materialistic, I never cared too much for the latest trend. My wardrobe isn't filled with shoes, in fact I have about seven pairs, only about two of those do I wear much.
My make-up bag is a bit sad: I have an old mascara, a 'smut black' MAC eye shadow from when I thought I'd try to be more girly, a lipstick which (hussssh) I also use as rouge and an Aveena face cream costs about 12.00, and one toner which was a gift.
I get my hair done every six months by my sister and I always claim I'll be back before the three inch regrowth, but I don't. Same with my eyebrows, a friend does a wondrous wax on me about every three months, again I get to the three week mark and think I'll go back cause they looked so good.
Most of my clothes are thrifted purely because I refuse to spend a fortune on clothes and since learning to sew it's even harder to pay for new clothing. My eldest daughter likes her country road clothing but again some we have bought on sale and most of it is handed down. My other children all wear hand me downs and they don't care or notice.
I only take the nice stuff I mean I don't want them looking like ragga muffins!
And also because I can be choosy. Because, I do realise, I am incredibly lucky. Lucky to be born where I was and to be able to be choosy. I have seven pairs of shoes!
But still, I'd always thought I was low maintenance. Simple.
Seventeen years ago I married a semi-hippy US navy boy, one I'd only actually known for only two days. And corresponded with for 18 months, so that's all right. When we did eventually meet again on my 23rd birthday, we had next to nothing. In fact he came here with $45.00, one bag, and one guitar he could only play three chords on.
I will never forget the vision of this young man making his way toward me in a big Navy coat torn off jeans, walking boots a goatee and a guitar strapped to his back, he was last off the plane having been detained by customs for quite some time.
I knew right then that somehow we'd be Ok. (We spent the 45 bucks on a hotel.)
His bag contained a Sylvia Plath book, a Navy coat (one for him and one for me, actually), our love letters, a few bits of clothing, and a book titled "Living Cheaply with Style: live better and spend less."
It was a long time coming, but the next bit is about him.
I'm a city girl, always have been. But I have never felt materialistic, I never cared too much for the latest trend. My wardrobe isn't filled with shoes, in fact I have about seven pairs, only about two of those do I wear much.
My make-up bag is a bit sad: I have an old mascara, a 'smut black' MAC eye shadow from when I thought I'd try to be more girly, a lipstick which (hussssh) I also use as rouge and an Aveena face cream costs about 12.00, and one toner which was a gift.
I get my hair done every six months by my sister and I always claim I'll be back before the three inch regrowth, but I don't. Same with my eyebrows, a friend does a wondrous wax on me about every three months, again I get to the three week mark and think I'll go back cause they looked so good.
Most of my clothes are thrifted purely because I refuse to spend a fortune on clothes and since learning to sew it's even harder to pay for new clothing. My eldest daughter likes her country road clothing but again some we have bought on sale and most of it is handed down. My other children all wear hand me downs and they don't care or notice.
I only take the nice stuff I mean I don't want them looking like ragga muffins!
And also because I can be choosy. Because, I do realise, I am incredibly lucky. Lucky to be born where I was and to be able to be choosy. I have seven pairs of shoes!
But still, I'd always thought I was low maintenance. Simple.
Seventeen years ago I married a semi-hippy US navy boy, one I'd only actually known for only two days. And corresponded with for 18 months, so that's all right. When we did eventually meet again on my 23rd birthday, we had next to nothing. In fact he came here with $45.00, one bag, and one guitar he could only play three chords on.
I will never forget the vision of this young man making his way toward me in a big Navy coat torn off jeans, walking boots a goatee and a guitar strapped to his back, he was last off the plane having been detained by customs for quite some time.
I knew right then that somehow we'd be Ok. (We spent the 45 bucks on a hotel.)
His bag contained a Sylvia Plath book, a Navy coat (one for him and one for me, actually), our love letters, a few bits of clothing, and a book titled "Living Cheaply with Style: live better and spend less."
It was a long time coming, but the next bit is about him.
