Monday, May 30, 2011

Rip! R.I.P.?

She is rent in twain.  IN TWAIN!  I am beside myself.  BESIDE MYSELF!  Whatever shall I do?  SHALL I DO? 

I have learned through life's trials not to put much stock in The Material.  I have learned not to lay up treasures on Earth.  Where moth and dust doth corrupt and thieves break through and steal and beloved vintage dresses give up the ghost without warning.

The Material cannot bring happiness. 

UNLESS, of course,  The Material is fashioned into a Magical iridescent powder blue handmade dress that whispers the mysteries of the Universe with every rustle of her skirt.  Magic material CAN bring joy, I tell you!

"I love this dress," said I prior to her destruction to no one in particular.  "She is magical.  I'll save her forever."

Moments later I climbed up into a stage coach pumpkin.  The hem of my skirt was caught by the greedy, jealous hands of wicked step sisters.  Or maybe I just exhaled precariously. 

She had promised to be mine forever.

"You promised to be mine forever!" I exclaimed.

"Pie crust promise," she sighed.  "Easily made.  Easily broken. ...In addition, if you hadn't eaten so many crusty carbs...then perhaps...  But... you did..."

"WHY OH WHY must I be so weak in the flesh?  Why does sin and carb so easily beset me?  And since when do vintage dresses quote Mary Poppins?"

In reality, I have always fit this dress by the skin of my teeth.  Gluttony has nothing to do with her demise.  She just wanted to make me feel badly. 

I wore her to my son's baptism and my grandmother's funeral. 

And then I sneezed.  AHHHH CHOOO!  Guzuntight.  (How do you even spell that word?)  Bless you.  RIPPPPPPPPP!  R.I.P.  Gasp.  Sob.

She is 1940's Vintage.  I knew one false move and all would be lost.  There would be no breathing Or Else.  I dared breathe.

As you can see breathing can have dire consequences.

Before Or Else, however, I sang my lil heart out at Abuelita's funeral on Friday morning. (She would have absolutely loved everything about this dress.)

This is rehearsal. 

You can see how she fit like a glove.  When my husband zipped me up I was Scarlett O' Hara clinging for dear life to the bed post.  I'm no 18 inch waist.  The rent is an 18 inch waste.

"You sound awful!"  said my Coral.  "What is going on with you today?"

Clearly lack of oxygen was a factor.

But come performance time all was well.  I sang with Angels.  Both Visible and In. 

I have no doubt an unseen (mischievous) cherub snipped my threads. 

OK. So seriously.  Now what?  What should I do?  Is she fixable? The fabric is super delicate.  And she is torn where there is no seam. 

Or should I cut her up and make a rad skirt and totally unique top?  I could make a table cloth out of her or a throw pillow.  An oven mit.  Or a voo doo doll.  Or a rope swing.  Or a guitar string.  Or a baby sling.  Or... ?

Any ideas?  I can't just let her go...