Archive for August, 2010

funky cushion designs

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  • Simplicity. Simplicity is probably the

    most important part of life balance. When

    you build your life around simplicity you

    reduce the number of out-of-balance

    things that can disrupt your happy living.

    In balance everything is simple. There are

    two opposites (like black and white) and

    you just have to pick something in the


    • Simplify you work schedule so that you

      do not have to think about a hundred

      things at the same time.

    • Simplify your relationships by

      connecting with people you truly care

      about and getting rid of the ones you


    • Simplify your diet by choosing simple

      healthy ingredients that are part of

      balanced nutrition.

    • Simplify your social media exposure

      and enjoy living life and getting things

      done rather than wasting time online.

    Simplicity makes life balance simple.


“Live a balanced life – learn some and

think some and draw and paint and sing

and dance and play and work every day

some.” – Robert Fulghum

Marc Jacobs Fall 2010 Ready-to-Wear

nice boots

Marc Jacobs Fall 2010 Ready-to-Wear


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Heartbreak is a curable condition. And remember that your ex is only your ex because he’s wrong for you otherwise you’d still be together, right? But it’s not easy getting over someone, ‘ I went on, thinking of Ed with a vicious stab. ‘So you need a strategy to help you recover. Now were there things about him you didn’t like?’ ‘Oh yeah!’ she exclaimed. ‘Loads!’ ‘Good. Then make a list of them, and when you’ve done it, ring your friends and read it to them, then ask them if you’ve left anything out. Get them to add their own negative comments, and ask your family as well. Then ask your next-door neighbours—on both sides—plus the people in the corner shop, then post the list up in a prominent place. Secondly, get off your bum! Get down to the gym, like I did, and take up kick-boxing or Tae-Bo. Kick the shit out of your instructor, Fran— believe me it’ll lift your mood. Because it’s only when you’re feeling happy and confident again, that the right man will come along. ‘

True, Henry had never really lit my fire. He was the human equivalent of a lava lamp—very attractive but not that bright.

‘Thanks. That’d be nice. So where do you do your… star-watching?’ I asked as he got down twoglasses.’The best place is Norfolk—I used to go there with my grandparents. You can do it in London, but you have to choose your spot carefully because the sky-glow’s so bad. ‘ ‘The sky-glow?’ ‘The light pollution. That awful tangerine glare. I’m involved with the Campaign for Dark Skies, ‘ he went on as he poured out my beer. ‘We ask local councils to install star-friendly street lighting which throws the light down, where it’s needed, not up. It’s tragic that people living in cities don’t get to see the night sky—they miss so much. I mean just look up, ‘ he said suddenly. He switched off the light, plunging us into darkness, and I peered up through the conservatory roof. Through the glass I could see five, no… eight stars twinkling dimly against the inky night and a sliver of silvery moon. ‘City folk miss so much, ‘ he repeated as I craned my neck. ‘How often do they see the Milky Way and the Pleiades, Orion’s belt, or the Plough? You don’t even need a telescope to be an amateur astronomer. You can see so much just with your eyes. ‘

‘She felt I was letting her down. She’s a solicitor at Prenderville White in the city, ‘ he explained. ‘She’s very driven and successful, and she expected me to be the same. She wanted me to put everything into my accountancy career to match her success, but I couldn’t. I did all the exams but by then I’d become far more interested in astronomy than in spreadsheets. So I left Price Waterhouse and took an undemanding book-keeping job so that I’d have more time to write my book. Fi said I was being self-indulgent and that I should knuckle down to my career. She kept on and on and on about it, but I couldn’t bring myself to go back. So five months ago she said she wanted out. ‘ Poor bloke. There were tears in his eyes.

Everyone thinks I’m so brave, ‘ she sobbed, her face red and twisted with grief. ‘Brave Bev. Battling Bev. But I’m not like that inside. I’m not like that at all. Don’t tell anyone this, ‘ she confided with a teary gasp, ‘but I get so upset sometimes. ‘ ‘Do you?’ I said. ‘Yes, ‘ she murmured with a sniff. ‘I do. But I can’t help it because I know I’ll never—uh-uh—walk, or run again: I’ve got to sit down for the rest of my life. And I tell people that I’ve— uh-uh—got over it—but the truth is I haven’t and I never will!’ I thought again of the suppressed sobbing I’d heard through the wall and of the hockey sticks she’d burned on the fire. ‘And all these paintings of these lovely—uh-uh—women with their— uh-uh—lovely, perfect, strong legs… ‘ Bev I know you’ll be… ‘—my throat ached: I find crying catching—’I know you’ll be fine. ‘ Her sobs subsided, and she looked up and wiped her eyes. ‘Yes, ‘ she croaked. ‘Maybe I will. I’m sorry, ‘ she said, ‘I know things could be worse. The way I hit the ground I’m lucky not to be a tetraplegic, or dead. Perhaps I should go to the ball as a still life, ‘ she added with a bleak smile. ‘I mean, there is still life. ‘

I have agony aunted myself to the conclusion that although I behaved very badly I can’t put the clock back so I might as well try and forget. In any case I’m very good at not thinking about unpleasant things. I shut them away in my mind. I neatly compartmentalise them and lock the door: a skill which I learned as a child. So I’m not going to dwell on my humiliation: it’s over: what’s done is done. In any case some good things have come out of that evening and so, despite everything, I’m still very glad that I went.

There was a card from Pyschic Cynthia with my astrological chart for the coming year. Thanks to ‘generous Jupiter’ I could look forward to ‘stunning changes ahead. ‘ I don’t want any more stunning changes, I thought, I’ve had more than enough this year. I’d moved house twice and my marriage had failed. I needed only a death to complete the hat trick of traumatic life events.

I think it was the twins’ sense of completeness which drew me to them—the way they belonged together, like two walnut halves. Whereas I didn’t know who I truly belonged to, or who I was related to, or even who I looked like. Nor did I know whether my real mum had ever had any other children, and if they looked like me. But Bella and Bea were this perfect little unit—Yin and Yang, Bill and Ben, Tweedledum and Tweedledee. Like Tweeldedum and Tweedledee they argued a lot, but the weird thing was they’d do it holding hands. They’d been coupled from conception, and I’d imagine them kicking and kissing in the womb. And although their mum would dress them in non-identical clothes every day, they’d always change into the same thing. They did absolutely everything together. If one of them wanted to go to the loo, for example, the other would wait outside; and their mum couldn’t even offer them a piece of cake without them going into a little huddle to confer. Sometimes I’d watch them doing a jigsaw puzzle, and it was as if they were almost a single organism, heads touching, four hands moving in perfect synchronicity. And I found it deeply touching that they were so totally self-contained, yet wanted to make space in their lives for me. I was mesmerised by their mutuality and I deeply envied it—the power of two. They’re thirty-seven now, and very attractive, but they’ve never had much luck with men.

‘We can’t find anyone, ‘ Bella sighed as we sat in the kitchen. ‘It always goes wrong. ‘

‘Men don’t see us as individuals, ‘ said Bea.

‘Hardly surprising, ‘ I said. ‘You look alike, sound alike, talk alike, walk alike, you live together and when the phone goes at home you answer ‘”Twins!”‘ ‘We only do that for a joke, ‘ said Bea. ‘In any case there are huge differences. ‘

‘Like what?’

‘Well, Bella’s quieter than I am. ‘

‘That’s true, ‘ said Bella feelingly.

‘And we went to different universities, and until now we’ve had different careers. ‘ Bella was a financial journalist and Bea worked for the V and A. ‘Plus Bella’s hair is short and mine’s shoulder length; her face is a tiny bit narrower than mine, she’s left-handed and I’m right-handed, and we have different views on most things. ‘

‘Too right. ‘

‘We’re not one person in two bodies, ‘ Bella pointed out vehemently, ‘but men treat us as if we were.

And the stupid questions we get! I’m sick of men asking us whether we’re telepathic, or feel each other’s pain or if we ever swapped places at school. ‘

‘Or they meanly flirt with both of us, ‘ said Bella crossly, ‘to try and cause a rift. ‘

And there’s the rub.

The twins may complain about their single status but I have long since known the truth; that although they both say they want a serious relationship, the reality is that they don’t; because they’re very comfortable and compatible and companionable as they are, and they know that a man would break that up…

After a nasty break-up it’s a good idea to put a few postcodes between yourself and your ex. The further the better in fact. There’s nothing quite like it for distracting you from the fact that you’ve just been given the push. Dumped in Devon? Then why not move to Dumfries? Given the big E in Enfield? Then uproot to Edinburgh. You’ll be too busy focusing on the newness of your environment to give a damn about Him . Not that I am thinking about Him. He’s history. My campaign to exorcise Him is going well. It’s already eight weeks since we split and I can barely even remember Ed Wright’s name. I’ve done what I advised that girl Kelly to do—I’ve neatly excised him, like a tumour; I haven’t even sent him my new address. So I think it’s all going to be plain sailing from here.

Having my marital rows re-enacted at top volume by a bird had shaken me to my core, so I did what I always do when I’m feeling upset—I got out the ironing board. And as the iron sped back and forth, snorting a twin plume of steam, my heart rate began to subside. I find there’s nothing more therapeutic than a nice pile of pressing when I’ve had a nasty shock. I iron everything, I really don’t mind—tea-towels, knickers, socks. I even tried to iron my J Cloths once, but they melted. I’ve never really minded ironing—something my friends find decidedly weird. But then my mum was incredibly house-proud—’a tidy home means a tidy mind!’ she’d say—so I guess I get it from her.

. I suddenly felt that I’d been born to be an agony aunt: at last I’d found my true niche. It was like a revelation to me—a Damascene flash—as though I’d heard a voice. ‘Rose! Rose!’ it boomed. ‘This is Thy God. Thou Shalt Dispense ADVICE!’

I’ve been screwed up anddiscarded. You might find that weird, but after what’s happened to me I see rejection in everything.So to keep negative thoughts at bay I started doing the crossword, as usual tackling the anagrams first. The skill with these is not in rearranging the letters—that’s easy—but in spotting them: you have to know the code. ‘Messy’ for example, usually indicates an anagram, as do ‘disorder’, and ‘disarray. ‘Mixed up’ is a good anagram clue as well; as is ‘confused’ and also ‘upset’.Doing anagrams makes me feel oddly happy: I often anagrammatise words in my head, just for fun. Perhaps because I was an only child I’ve always been able to amuse myself. I particularly enjoy it when I can make both ends of the anagram work. ‘Angered’ and ‘Enraged’ for example; ‘slanderous’ and ‘done as slur’; ‘discover’ and ‘divorces’ is a good one, as is ‘tantrums’ and ‘must rant’. ‘Marital’, rather appropriately, turns to ‘martial’; ‘male’ very neatly becomes ‘lame’, and ‘masculine’—I like this—becomes ‘calumnies’, and ‘Rose’, well, that’s obvious. ‘Sore’.

Looking back, the only thing that gives me any solace is the knowledge that I retained my dignity. It’s only in my dreams that I throw things at him, and swear, and rage and hit. In real life I was as cool as a frozen penguin, which might surprise people who know me well. I’m supposed to be ‘difficult’ you see— a bit ‘complicated’. A rather ‘thorny’ Rose—ho ho ho! And of course my red hair is a guaranteed sign of a crazy streak and a wicked tongue. So the fact that I didn’t erupt like Mount Etna in this moment of crisis would almost certainly confound my friends. But I felt oddly detached from what was going on. I was numb.

Serena, let me tell you, inhabits Cliche City: she could win the Palmed’Or for her platitudes. She’s one of these people who are perennially perky; in fact she’s so chirpy I suspect she’s insane. Especially as she invariably has some dreadful domestic crisis going on. She’s late thirties and mousy with three kids and a dull husband called Rob (anagram, ‘Bor’).

My practised eye had already identified from the writing the likely dilemmas within. Here were the large, childish loops of repression, and the backwards slope of the chronically depressed. There the green-inked scorings of schizophrenia and the cramped hand of the introvert. While Serena logged and dated each letter for reference, I sorted out my huge index file. In this I keep all the information sheets which I send out with my replies.

At parties people often ask me what other qualities are required. Curiosity for starters—I’ve got that in spades. I’ve always loved sitting on trains, staring dreamily out of the window into the backs of people’s houses, and wondering about their lives. You have to be compassionate too—but not wet—your reply should have a strong spine. There’s no point just offering sympathy, or even worse, pity, like that dreadful Citronella Pratt. What the reader needs is practical advice. So that means having information at the ready: information and kindness—that’s what it’s about. Having said which I’m not a ‘cuddly’, ‘mumsy’ agony aunt—if need be I’ll take a tough tone. But the truth is that my readers invariably know what to do, I simply help them find the answer by themselves.

‘Of course it is, ‘ he guffawed, ‘that’s exactly what it is: other people’s problems give us all a lovely warm glow. ‘ I suppressed the urge to club him to death with Secrets of Anger Control.

‘Goodbye, Ed, ‘ I said firmly. ‘I am ex-iting from you; I am ex-pelling you; I am ex-cising you. You are ex-traneous, ‘ I added firmly. ‘You are ex-cess. I am making an ex-ample of you, because I do not want you any more. I do not want you any more.

I enclose my Confidence leaflet and the number for your local community college,and I wish you really good luck. I felt so sorry for him that, on the spur of the moment I added: PS. If you feel you’d like to, do let me know how you get on. But as I sealed the envelope I realised that this was unlikely, and that’s the weird thing about what I do. Every month over a thousand total strangers tell me about their problems and their intimate affairs. I give them the very best advice I can, but I rarely, if ever, hear back. My replies go out into the void like meteorites hurtling through space. Did what I write help them, I sometimes wonder? Are things going better for them now?

BOUGHT the razor’s edge

FINALLY !!!!! BOUGHT the razor’s edge TODAY

unexpectedly ,( after searching for ages – at  landmark , walden , hyderabad book fair  – luv u    A.A.Husain & company booksellers, abids )…………@ Rs.346.………………

All Stella had learned from reading Lacey’s columns was that if you wore clothes to express who you really were inside, you were in fashion and all was forgiven. Stella liked to broadcast her inner vixen through her clothes. Lacey realized that the “dress-to-express” side of her message resonated with Stella’s rebellious little inner vixen, but the other side of the message, the “dress-to-respect” side, wasn’t what Stella wanted to hear.

They’re big-time flippant.” “At least organized sports help keep dangerous felons off the
streets during games.” “That’s true. Most of the dangerous felons are in the game.

Writing about fashion is just a drain on humanity in these times of dire emergency. Clothes should be functional and protect us against the elements. And against deadly solar radiation from the hole in the ozone layer created by Western civilization’s short-sighted reliance on fossil fuels. That’s all.”

Felicity politely offered a gingerbread man to Lacey. It looked delicious. Alas, Lacey had to be thin to enter France; it was a matter of French law. So she resisted.

A corsetiere knows all your secrets,” Magda had often said to Lacey with a wink. “The secrets you keep and the secrets you give away, all the secrets you hide beneath your clothes.

A corsetiere knows all your secrets,” Magda had often said to

Lacey with a wink. “The secrets you keep and the secrets you give away, all the secrets you hide beneath your clothes.

. Her

short curly brown hair, shot through with gray, perpetually resisted

all her attempts at taming it and was now sticking straight up.

Oddly, Magda looked at peace, the jumble of jewels and all.

Magda was probably between sixty and seventy, but looked

older. It isn’t the years, it’s the mileage, Lacey thought. Magda’s

upturned cat eyes had always sparkled with a bit of humor, as they did even now.

The heaviness of death settled on her shoulders, leaving her with a melancholy that bore into her bones. She knew she would cry later, in private.

Bored With Dress for Success?
Try for Adventuress Instead
You dressed for success, but where has it gotten you? Your
own cubicle next to someone dressed just like you in a cubicle
just like yours? You’ve got the same safe suit, the same knock-
off bag, the same pair of pumps you both snagged at Filene’s
Basement at the same sale. You call that success?
The working world is not exactly the fantasy we dreamed
of in college, is it? Once upon a time we thought life would
be an adventure, exciting, stimulating, fulfilling. Don’t forget
fulfilling. Possibly even fun. Well, it can be, if you approach
it the right way. As an adventure.
But perhaps you feel invisible. Your clothes are fading
away and taking you with them. No one can see you, you’re
so well hidden in your dress-for-success camouflage. Your
shoes match the carpet, your skirt blends into the chair, your
blouse copies the curtains. Where’s the real you concealed
behind the corporate camo? Unless your secret ambition is to
star in a remake of The Invisible Woman, you and your
wardrobe need a shot of pure adrenaline.
Need a little adventure? My advice: Dress like an adven-
turess. An adventuress knows that the right clothes can
change your attitude faster than your attitude can change
your clothes. To find the adventure in life, sometimes all you
need to do is dress for adventure and let it find you. Let’s look
at three basics in every adventuress’s rolling suitcase.
•  A trench coat, of course. Well-worn and rakishly scruffy
or brand-new, it should fit perfectly, whether you’re built
like Ingrid Bergman or Sydney Greenstreet. These days
it even comes in daring postmodern pinks and blues
78  Ellen Byerrum
and greens, not just the traditional World War I khaki.
Long or short, the trench coat is dashing, versatile, and
ready for a trip to the office or around the world. Even
to Casablanca. (“For the waters,” of course.)
•  Sunglasses. Every adventure calls for a sleek pair of
sunglasses. They protect your eyes and keep your se-
crets. No secrets to keep? They’ll even keep that secret,
too. Slip on your shades and voilà! A woman of mys-
tery. Think Thelma and Louise or Kathleen Turner on the
beach in Body Heat. Just try to stay out of trouble this
•  A scarf. A sophisticated adventuress needs a bright
and colorful scarf, and she actually knows how to tie it
cleverly. (Or she fakes it.) Not only does it liven up that
same old suit, it blows in the wind as you speed away
in your convertible up the hills of Monte Carlo like
Grace Kelly with that handsome jewel thief Cary Grant
at your side. Don’t have a Cary Grant type handy? Let
your beautiful scarf fly; he may find you.
Adventure is, of course, whatever you want it to be. Liv-
ing your life on your own terms and with your own style can
be the biggest adventure of all. Just imagine looking the way
you’ve always dreamed you’d look when you open the door
to that big moment and say, “Come on in, I’m ready.” And
imagine a confident, self-possessed woman striding down
the street to meet that big moment, so intriguing that heads
turn as she passes by. Who is that adventurous woman? It’s

And you will not leave me alone until you get your way. Like all Americans. Americans must always get their way. Why? Because they are Americans!” Lacey decided to simply stand there like an American who was about to get her way.

Lacey and Brooke followed, ducking on their way down out of the pale Normandy November sunlight.

The restaurant that Vic had chosen, La Something or Other on  the Boulevard du Montparnasse—Lacey missed the name in the  excitement—was very ooh la la in that dazzling French art deco way, from the huge glass dome over the dining room to its tall painted pillars, their murals painted by artists like Chagall in the Twenties, Vic said, in exchange for drinks. Mosaic tiles covered the floor in intricate patterns. The aroma of fresh bread filled the air. After that amazing afternoon with Vic and a nap in his arms, it
seemed to her like a dream, as if they had walked into a French movie set where Cary Grant was about to romance Audrey Hepburn over an elegant dinner.

You don’t want to miss anything, do you? Especially if we have to meet those two at two thirty at Père-Lachaise.”


Attitude, mon cher, attitude.” Lacey wrote a few more notes on her theme that the Frenchwoman had the style war won over the American woman in only one key attribute: attitude. They believe they look great, and this gives them the confidence to look their best, so everyone else believes it too.

Lacey sat on a bench in the darkened circular hall of the Cluny Museum. She was reveling in the exquisite artistry of the brilliant unknown weavers who had created these six vibrant tapestries.

sabyasachi -bohemian indian chic

sabyasachi[sab11[2].jpg][Manish malhotra 14[3].jpg] manish malhotra

[sab19[2].jpg] sabyasachi

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Sabyasachi Spring 2009 Ready-to-wear Collections - 037

fav Matthew Arnold Quotes

This strange disease of modern life, With its sick hurry, its divided aims.

We are here on earth to do good to others. What the others are here for, I do not know.

Joy comes and goes, hope ebbs and flows Like the wave; Change doth unknit the tranquil strength of men. Love tends life a little grace, A few sad smiles; and then, Both are laid in one cold place, In the grave.

The freethinking of one age is the common sense of the next.

Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It’s the transition that’s troublesome.

With women the heart argues, not the mind.

The difference between genuine poetry and the poetry of Dryden, Pope, and all their school, is briefly this: their poetry is conceived and composed in their wits, genuine poetry is conceived and composed in the soul.

Journalism is literature in a hurry.

Truth sits upon the lips of dying men.

The true meaning of religion is thus not simply morality, but morality touched by emotion.

[Oxford] Home of lost causes, and forsaken beliefs and unpopular names and impossible loyalties.

The pursuit of perfection, then, is the pursuit of sweetness and light.