Artful Dodgers

November was slowly creeping towards its end. For the last nineteen years, a bittersweet end indeed, as the 30th of November marks my late Mum's birthday. She would have been 85 this year. And even if I miss her more with each passing year - especially as more and more, it's her face that looks back at me when I look into the mirror - I can only be thankful that she and my Dad are spared these trying times. 

November's final days were a mixture of dull grey and sunny days, with the temperature slowly but surely making their descent into single figures.

Friday 27th of November fell into the former category, but with Jos's weather app declaring it would remain dry all day, we dressed up warmly and went for a bracing walk.

I topped my black floral dress with a vintage belted Tweed jacket, wrapped a red and purple scarf around my neck and plucked a burgundy beret from the hallway cabinet drawer. Oh, and finger-less gloves, I was wearing those too!

At first, we were well-behaved and kept to the paths, but then we decided to take a short cut, sinking ankle deep into a deep-pile carpet of leaves. 

Patches of fungi were scattered at our feet and colonizing the dead and decomposing tree branches half-buried among the crispy layer of brown foliage. 

We crunched and plodded onward, wondering where the abundance of leaves had come from. Then all was revealed when the relative quietness of the park was disrupted by the rumbling sound of machinery, as a leaf-blowing tractor was rounding a corner of the path we were heading towards. Drifts of swirling leaves were swept up from the paths and deposited in the clearings, where they indignantly lay down in haphazard heaps.

We walked away from the almighty noise and I sat down on a tree stump to recover. 

We were in the sculpture park, but so far we'd dodged the works of art, pretending we were in the middle of a forest, the leaf-blower rudely shattering our daydreams.

The leafless trees were silhouetted against the dull, sunless sky, displaying a tangle of tiny twigs. Some of the lucky ones were still proudly bearing red or yellow berries to temporarily make up for the loss of their foliage.

Embracing rather than dodging the sculptures by now, we were transfixed by the eerie apparitions in this shiny red ball (Yayoi by Corey McCorkle (USA), 2005).

Being in a reflective state of mind meant that we couldn't pass up the opportunity to turn into ghostly reflections at Belgian Funhouse, by artist Dan Graham (USA), 2004.

The massive untitled work (1993) by Danish artist Per Kirkeby, a brick-built cross between a maze and a castle ruin, offered the perfect sheltered place to show you what I was wearing underneath my jacket.

One of my long-sleeved black floral frocks had come out to play that day, accompanied by a red vinyl belt and a green, charity-shopped Mango cardigan adorned with a yellow hearted brooch.

Then I went one step further and turned into art within art, joining Young Girl Skipping by Robert Couturier (France), 1951, on the left and King and Queen by Henry Moore (UK), 1952-53, on the right.

I still need to think of a suitable title, but Mature Girl Acting Silly is a strong contender.

On our way back we were amazed to see this tree clothed in premature Spring blossom, juxtaposed with the golden yellow Autumn foliage of its neighbour. Fooled into flowering by nature's topsy-turvy behaviour, it was a freakish and disconcerting sight.

To tie in with the artfulness of this post, I was truly honoured to have been illustrated by my talented blogging friend Ivana in her post of last Sunday. Above you can see her fashion sketch and the inspiration side by side. Isn't it wonderful?

Bright sunshine cranked up the thermostat a couple of degrees on Saturday, briefly re-entering the double figures.

I'd been meaning to wear this black, blue, white and yellow tartan skirt for a while, so that morning, with plans afoot for another nature walk, I finally got around to it.

You'll be getting to see what I wore it with in a moment, but first up is my outerwear, consisting of a fur-collared teal new wool jacket, with a yellow beret and chunky knit yellow scarf to tie in with the yellow bits of the skirt.

On this sunny Saturday, we weren't the only ones making the most of the glorious weather, and had to artfully dodge quite a few fellow walkers, some of whom didn't seem to have grasped the concept of social distancing. Most of the time, it was up to us to step aside and politely wait until any oncoming traffic had passed, while the latter kept walking two or three abreast. At one point, I stepped out of the way so that a lady could safely walk past, but instead she walked straight into my direction. I'm sure this wasn't in the least intentional, but I was still inwardly seething.

We soon left the well-trodden paths and ventured between the trees, finding a suitable tree to lean my walking stick against, to be used as a clotheshorse for my jacket and scarf.

Here's the vintage blue and white flower patterned and diagonally striped blouse I teamed the skirt with, and the chunky cropped yellow cardigan I wore on top. Accessories were an orchid brooch and belt in caramel colours and a wood and metalwork necklace I found in the to-be-sold-on boxes.

While Jos was taking photos, he'd brushed against a small tree, its few remaining leaves turning out to be inhabited by tiny creepy crawlies, ending up with one of the leaves inside his duffel coat’s hood. 

We managed to remove most of the small fly-like creatures, but apparently not all of them, as he kept scratching his neck and back during our walk. Back at home, he stripped down and we found at least ten more the pesky creatures, most of them still very much alive!

November's final Sunday dawned dismal and chilly, with the temperature dropping to a mere 6°C.

It was another day of faffing about, catching up with blogland and finishing all of Lucinda Riley's 800 plus page blockbuster, The Sun Sister.

The dress I was wearing that day is another second-chancer plucked from the flea market boxes. 

What was I thinking? An old Think Twice find, its thick polyester and wool blend fabric kept the chills at bay all day, while its Art Deco style orange on blue print went a long way in boosting my mood.

I added more orange in the form of my opaques, belt, beaded necklace and vintage flower wreath brooch.

My blue ankle boots were only worn to step outside for photos, as I was in socks an slippers all day.

In spite of the greyness of the day, the garden was providing fireworks with the fiery red of the Cotoneaster leaves and berries and the last of the Gaillardia flowers.

And with that cheerful sight, I am putting November to bed. About time too, I should think, as we're heading towards Mid-December!

I hope you are all well and are sensibly keeping safe!