On Friday, I turned twenty-one. I mostly celebrated quietly at home, enjoying simple pleasures, and then went picnicking in the graveyard the following day. As one does.
As a sentimental creature of ritual, I like to wear things on birthdays that wholly represent me -- which is a tall order, to be sure, but I mean: things that I feel most utterly myself in. I've actually worn the same little white dress (styled very differently) several years in a row, and forbade myself to wear it again this year, despite it still being one of my favourite and most oft-used clothing items. Instead I found my other favourite dress (pretty and incredibly soft and cosy), my black bodice for some added edge, and the floor-length skirt I've taken to wearing under the grey dress lately. And those ever-present green boots of mine: I can't help it!
This utterly exquisite necklace was a present from my dear friend Anna, and while I don't usually wear new things for birthday outfits, this was so brilliant and perfectly me that it was beloved immediately.
The clock earrings were also in Anna's package, and they suited nicely. Though wearing clocks and a typewriter proved to give me a peculiar deadliney feeling. I think I should wear them a lot come NaNoWriMo...
And my wee owl was an early birthday present from my best friend Kyra when I stayed with her last month. Have you noticed my fondness for owls? It isn't very apparent, is it?
I trooped out into the yard and set up a picnic under the apple tree -- bacon and cheddar on garlic bread, sugar snap peas, red wine, and the mint chocolates my sister gave me. (They're from the local candy shop, where they make their own chocolates -- fabulous.) Then I spent the next hour basking in the sun, listening to Linford Detweiler, reading Jane Eyre, and fending off bacon-hungry cats. It was a good afternoon.
dress, skirt, bodice: thrifted
shoes: Rue 21
feather clip: a boutique in Philadelphia
jewellery: gifts from Anna and Kyra