My pretty patent chopines

I had a very bad beginning to my Easter, so instead of chocolate, I rewarded myself with this pair of modern-day chopines by Zoe Wittner.

Chopine, possibly 1740s, Venetian, Silk cut velvet with gilt-metal lace trim and linen lining, silk satin ribbon, metallic woven trim, metal nails, wood, and leather. Ph: © Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.Nothing better to cheer me up than French toast with bacon and maple syrup in the company of a good friend, followed by a little browse (and purchase) in the Wittner factory outlet in East Richmond.

Made from deliciously soft and shiny leather, these little beauties are precariously high… which makes them perfect for me. It’s only flat shoes that give me blisters. As the leather wraps high on the instep – almost up to the ankle – they are quite supportive, but they look best with shorter length skirts or pants. I was wearing my pink velvet flares when I tried these on, and had to roll up the pant legs to my knees as I did the catwalk for my friend (and looked very fetching as you might imagine). That’s called buying shoes on faith!

…these little beauties are precariously high… which makes them perfect for me.

Turkish Woman with Slave, late 18th century Jean-Etienne Liotard © Musée d'art et d'histoire, Ville de GenèveI have not yet stomped them through the dirty streets and christened them like their antecedents, but I do love the chopine-style platforms. Chopines were originally worn to protect the shoes and dress from the dirty street; later they came to symbolise rank and wealth. The higher they were (and some rose to 20 inches), the more important was the wearer. Mine however are pure decoration, and certainly not so high as to inhibit my usual speedy gait.

Geta-inspired shoes, Alexander McQueen, 2007.Although today’s haute couture designers delight in shocking the press with extravagances of fashion, (see Alexander McQueen’s examples from 2006) there would be few women so determined to display their wealth and status they would be willing to risk life and limb. Leave that to the suckers – excuse me, models – on the catwalk.

Much simpler to wear a Cartier panthère brooch.

Persephone’s pomegranate

Apparently, it’s all Persephone’s fault we have winter. If only she hadn’t been tricked by Hades into eating those six or seven pomegranate seeds! As the embodiment of Earth’s fertility, she was thus forced to go to the Underworld for a few months every year. In her absence, the earth is a cold and barren place, and thus we have the origin of the seasons.

Persephone lived a peaceful life before she became the goddess of the underworld, which, according to Olympian mythographers, did not occur until Hades abducted her and brought her into it. She was innocently picking flowers with some nymphs in a field in Enna when Hades came to abduct her, bursting through a cleft in the earth. Life came to a standstill as the devastated Demeter, goddess of the Earth, searched everywhere for her lost daughter. Helios, the sun, who sees everything, eventually told Demeter what had happened.

Finally, Zeus, pressed by the cries of the hungry people and by the other deities who also heard their anguish, forced Hades to return Persephone. However, it was a rule of the Fates that whoever consumed food or drink in the Underworld was doomed to spend eternity there. Before Persephone was released to Hermes, who had been sent to retrieve her, Hades tricked her into eating pomegranate seeds, (seven, eight, or perhaps four according to the telling) which forced her to return to the underworld for a season each year. When Demeter and her daughter were united, the Earth flourished with vegetation and color, but for some months each year, when Persephone returned to the underworld, the earth once again became a barren realm.1

I can’t blame her for being tempted by the juicy deliciousness of pomegranates as they really are the food of the gods…

‘Proserpine’, Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882). Oil on canvas, 1874Those Greek gods! They were always misbehaving, causing trouble for us humans. I can’t blame her for being tempted by the juicy deliciousness of pomegranates as they really are the food of the gods, but didn't she know that very important, golden rule about eating in the Underworld? (Or maybe Hades was just really, really hot?)

Some of my readers may be aware I have a slight obsession with pomegranates myself. The one in this picture was in fact one of five, delivered to me by a handsome young man I know, straight from his parents’ farm in the country after he visited them during Easter. There were no bursting-through-the-earth scenes at the time so I’m pretty sure I’m safe from abduction. And I’m going to eat every single last seed.

1. Excerpt from Wikipedia.

“Pashmina, pashmina?”

In a post a while back I mentioned the ubiquitous cry of merchants in the souqs of the Middle East: “Pashmina, pashmina?” I heard it wherever I went.

In actuality, although I already owned several that I had bought years ago, I was not hostile to the notion of purchasing a new one. I simply objected to having them foisted upon me as though I should be expected to buy one simply because I was a Western tourist.

I left it til late in my trip to take the plunge. Whilst trawling the upper floor of the fascinating Blue Souq in Sharjah, a striped red and white shawl hanging on a display in a doorway caught my eye. Accustomed to looking and walking on, I had already breezed past it before my steps slowed and I went back.

I was shown a large number of other striped pashminas, but none were as striking…

Entering the shop, I looked around, pretending to browse while the Indian merchants eagerly showed me their goods. They proffered a multitude of pashminas, before I finally admitted I was only interested in the red and white striped shawl that was folded over the ladder by the door. I was shown a large number of other striped pashminas, but none were as striking as the red and white cashmere shawl. I didn’t care about the fact it wasn’t pashmina, it was the graphic stripes that appealed to me.

I asked the price; I bargained him down; we struck hands. I can’t recall the exact price now, but it wasn’t inexpensive by any means. However, months later I absolutely adore it still and it goes many places with me, rolling up easily to fit in my handbag. So soft and warm, it is easily one of my most loved and used souvenirs.

Evil and hungry moths ate my cardigan

One cold day recently I entered my walk-in robe in search of a favourite cardigan to cosy up into. It is the sartorial equivalent of huddling under the doona on a winter night, listening to the patter of raindrops on the roof.

Imagine my horror when I pulled it out and discovered that evil and hungry moths had lasciviously dined upon it! This was no small hole either: the greedy insects had ravaged an enormous wound upon the silk-and-wool-mix yarn as the garment hung blamelessly on the rail. Couldn’t they have gone for some lesser item? The cardigan had been rendered completely unwearable. I am no darner either – who is these days?

I had to instantly bundle up the lovely wrap-around Obüs cardie and stuff it into a bag full of other items designated for the charity bin. I couldn’t even look upon it any longer: the sight was too painful.

…the greedy insects had ravaged an enormous wound upon the silk-and-wool-mix yarn as the garment hung blamelessly on the rail.

I suppose I had only myself to blame: the moth repellent had run out. The little cage swinging on its hook was lamentably empty. In my drawers I keep cedar balls (see figure 1); they can be renewed with cedar oil when the wooden balls dry out.

Failing prevention, I am rather fond of the cure (see figures 2–4). The illustrations are rather graphic, so I urge all tender-hearted mothologists not to scroll down.

(N.B. No actual insects were harmed during the making of these illustrations.)

Insect spray: also useful for the immediate eradication of huntsmen spiders and blowfiles, spray does have the potential drawback of asphyxiation. Recommended for serious infestations only.

The makeshift swatter: any reading material ready to hand can be swiftly rolled up and applied with a quick thwack to remove the offending insect.

The used tissue: my personal favourite, for the obvious benefit of recycling. Additionally, one can immediately wipe away any residue from the scene.

Poppies for Remembrance

It’s Anzac Day. Today we honour the 60,000 Australian and 18,000 New Zealand men who gave their lives for their nations during the First World War.

When I was in high school the World Wars were a theme in my English and history classes over the last three years of my schooling. I read so many books and poems that moved me to tears; the horrifying numbers of the dead were drilled into us so that we wished we could forget.

Another Anzac Day tradition is the footy match between Essendon and Collingwood, which is a little more cheerful. Go Bombers!