"sapeuses"

 I came across this article as I was searching for information on the "sapeuse" or African women who, like their male counterparts, the "sapeurs," like to dress in European high end clothing as a way to make a statement about their social identity. Now that this blog is ten years old, I have decided to turn it into a book, which is leading me down new unexpected paths, including this one. Again, it was my friend Sandra who explained to me the importance for some African women to look well dressed and to show off high end brands as a way to demarcate themselves from the rest of the crowd but also to elevate their country's reputation to something that does not say "poverty." 

The article states, "Spending money on ornate umbrellas and silk socks might seem surreal when almost half the country’s population lives in poverty, but the SAPE movement aims to do more than just lift the spirits. Over the decades, it has functioned as a form of colonial resistance, social activism and peaceful protest."

The photos are real eye openers. I love these African dandys!

Littleton NH

My friend Sandra was curious to see what all the Polyanna fuss was about up in Littleton, New Hampshire, so we drove up there for the day. Indeed, the author of the Polyanna books was born there, and the town is milking that connection to the utmost in order to attract tourists. Wave while you cross at the many crosswalks with Polyanna's white shadow printed on the asphalt. 

It's an old mill town on the edge of the White Mountains with a river flowing through it. A brewery was doing good business on a June Saturday, with its deck facing the Ammonoosuc River, and most delightful of all was "Just L," a two level vintage furniture store where I found a water pitcher that has a cylinder in the center in which one can place ice cubes. My friend found an almond grinder and three Martini glasses. 

The covered bridge over the Ammonoosuc River

 I end with a photo of a new gallery in White River Junction, Vermont, called Kishka. The linoleum floor is original, in both senses of the word. It houses art books that one can check out, along with selling contemporary art and a small selection of new books that are related to art in a very open way. 

Hot and humid in New York City

On this, my final full day in New York, as we slowly emerge from a year of pandemic isolation, the temperatures were not as hot and humid as they had been on previous days. No thunderstorms were in the forecast either, so I decided to walk to a vintage hub of sorts, in the East Village near Gramercy Park. I used to live in the city, and have visited countless times, but I have no memory of the blocks between Astor Place and 23rd Street along Third Avenue. They are unremarkable except for the smattering of good vintage stores, including one that was selling everything except for the jewelry at a deep discount. I wish I could have brought home a full length mirror. Instead I bought a tiered black summer dress which I will probably send to my daughter in Scotland who loves to wear black. 
 

Much to my relief, on my walk back to TriBeCa, I was able to stop into the Housing Works Bookstore on Crosby. It had finally reopened. I love the double staircase and the connecting walkway on the mezzanine. A Paul Bowles memoir was waiting for me. 

"Cure" on East 12th Street. All was on sale, including the full length mirrors and a green printed silk dress that was absolutely gorgeous. 

I also wish I could have picked up this pair of chairs for our back yard in New Hampshire. The store is on Third Avenue just south of 23rd Street. 

And of course, I must end the post with a visit to the Strand, still reliably filled on three levels with all kinds of books. 

June commute

My last trip on the local bus to get from home to work. I am done with the teaching part of my life. 

I snapped a photo of this rider whose outfit had caught my eye and struck me as original. The shawl was probably originally made by her. She was also reading a book. 

My last class. At the end, a student stayed on Zoom only to show me a book her friend had bought her at the local used bookstore. It was one of mine, with my name still handwritten on the inside page, to mark the ownership status. We had come full circle. I had written my dissertation on French women writers, and the book was an anthology of... French women writers.  What a great way to end my era of teaching French language and literature.