Zilli Knits??!!

Zilli rifled through the pages of her journal looking over her writing.  There were only six empty pages, and then she’d slip into a new one, with a cover decorated in dried and pressed flowers. This Spring flowers would embellish every outfit and accessory.  Zilli kept an eye on the NYT fashion pages and felt  gutsy knowing she would be wearing her jeans with a wardrobe of striped shirts this season.  Full of confidence she chose to peruse a two year old entry from her journal written at a time when she wondered if she’d ever write for publication.  Here’s how it went:

A stay-at-home Saturday last week; Zilli’s favorite.  Sleep in, love up, afterglow (pink apple cheeks), oatmeal with fresh blueberries and strawberry applesauce, brush teeth, climb back onto bed beside Mac, admire the view, the birds, the white sail sailboats, start to read, fall asleep in the Saturday sunlight with some of the windows open to the sea breeze, wake up one and a half hours later, make lunch; big plate of fruit using one pear that tasted like liquor, a cara cara orange, grapefruit, cameo apple, and a mandarin orange…

Zilli and Mac ate sunflower seed butter on ancient grains bread made with spelt and kamut, lightly black salted, and served open face.  The French music radio station played fifties jazz. Incongruous as it seems, Zilli started to knit the pink mohair pullover she’d seen displayed at the wool shop in her neighborhood. Four double-size cotton candy balls of wool, bamboo needles, and a printout of the pattern were tucked into a clear plastic bag with a black shoulder strap and a smile. The only reason Zilli knew how to knit was due to her maternal grandmother who the family called, “Chickie,” so Zilli and her younger brother did too.  Chickie made heavy wool jackets with zippers up the front for each member of the family.  The Canadiana-style patterns always included snowflakes, deer, or elk on either side of the zipper; each above a knit pocket, and below a full collar. The jackets became a trend; smart looking, warm and beautifully made.  Quite the opposite of the relationship occurring between Zilli’s parents.  The  more the tension increased the more Chick knit, and knit, and the relationship still came unravelled.

The daylight dimmed and Zilli got up and washed all the dishes including the ones used the night before.  Why, she wondered could she not keep up with cooking and cleaning the way other people do?  This transitive thought did not stop her from making snacks for the movie at eight, her choice: “American Cousins.”  She couldn’t remember it now but had written, “loved it,” at the time.  She washed her face, made triphala tea, and sat down to write thinking maybe she should write for other people and stop writing for herself. Perhaps that’s waylaid thinking:   Zilli wondered if that was the reason her blue pen got damaged and had to be returned to France for reconditioning.  Very little had been written in her journal since she decided to stop whining in it.  Zilli stopped writing down her dreams once she noticed them becoming repetitious.  She was dreaming a lot but not taking a pad to bed to capture them.

It’s been suggested that a person write for 5 minutes as soon as they wake up.  She would try that for a change.  Change is what she felt she was about now.  Finally the old habits of mind just don’t work any more; they were stalling her and she knew it.  In order to gear up for progress in life a person has to think new, be fresh, open and eager to be the change they’ve made. “Be the change I’ve made!!” said Zilli to herself.  She came across a directive in a small coiled book from 2002 telling her to write a story and it wouldn’t have to be a story about her.  She gave this some serious thought.  She would buy a book, any drama in print, and alter the cover.  This would be her story:  appropriated, altered on the outside, and just like any other on the inside.

Satisfied with herself she got out her handbag, daubed some glue on the front and stuck an old metal belt buckle to it.  That would do until she went shopping in the morning for faux flowers to attach in a frame-like manner around the ornament. The keys to the Benz glinted against the white marble countertop, they knew Zilli would take them for a drive tomorrow.

Copyright © 2010 Nicole Rigets

Fur King Fast Food for Moths

I was buzzed into the apartment building and I barely got my foot in the door of the suite before Zilli pulled me into her diningroom to show me the ‘National Post’ laid out on the table. There was a picture of a male model:  white boy from White City, Saskatchewan: Population 1,000. “Oh boy, white boy, white city boy, be my boy; My Boy Toy,” Zilli chants. “Forget the Love Shop Stop… how can I get one of him?!” Zilli demands, and quickly adds, “Look at those eyes… those lips!” “A little too photo-shopped for me,” I respond.  I remind Zilli that I like a rugged male with a slight odor of danger around him; like My Guy. Feigning disbelief in my conviction, Zilli turns her attention to pulling on her driving gloves and black belts the keys to the Benz into her Birkin.  She commands me to go shopping with her. What a surprise!

White City Boy

Zilli and I zip into a vintage shop on Main Street and 22nd Avenue where I spot a photograph of Elvis on a high shelf – his sulky features are all I need to trigger a string of fantasies; those sexy eyes and lips… and hips which were censored on ‘early’ Television Shows (no low camera shots).

Elvis Aaron Presley
Fifties Sexy

Sex aside we kept busy looking and saw a faux leopard three-quarter length coat that looked just like the one Zilli has.  We suddenly spotted the ‘frowzy fur’ and howled over which one of us should buy this bargoon and transform it into a “look.”  I wouldn’t even embarrass a stuffed animal by making it out of this coat.  Who had been the owner??

Fur King Fast Food for Moths

I pointed to some dresses standing apart on display and said, “This looks like something Miss Cain would have worn.”  She was the fearful grade four teacher.  Zilli said there were stories of her outbursts; some weren’t true, but she did throw chalk.  When Zilli and I graduated into the next year’s grade five class, Zilli’s Dad told her Miss Cain was a cousin of his – she was quite a bit older I think or maybe she just got that way from her mind… and her ‘old bird’ hats and shoes and dresses.  We killed ourselves laughing when we looked at these:

Miss Cain's Original Suit
Miss Cain's Evening Wear - Blouse Never Worn!!!
Miss Cain's Summer-Weight Suit - Worn on the Last Day of School Annually
Pot-Shaped Hat worn Regularly

Zilli and I  know how to laugh together, shop together, and even how to end up agreeing with each other:  Zilli would remain a ‘White City Boy Woman’ and I’d stand firm on Al Pacino.

http://www.nationalpost.com/news/story.html?id=517346 Link to:  Taylor Fuchs from White City

“Baby Man!”  Wet your pants, man!  Not for me though.  I like the Al Pacino type:  a guy who looks like he’ll rip your blouse off once you’ve given him the look – the visual yes! White City white boy does not look like someone who would rip your blouse off.

Jack the ripper.  Did he begin his career in life intending only to rip off women’s blouses and then depravity pushed him to extremes. One rip led to another, and another, until it all became, R-I-P, R-I-P.

Copyright © 2010 Nicole Rigets