jam jam jammies, or, flannel becomes you
"I have about 100 pairs of pajamas. I like to see people dressed comfortably." ~ Hugh Hefner
"The sky was the color of Edgar Allan Poe's pajamas." ~ Tom Robbins
Baby, it's cold outside!
Wintry winds are howling, snow and ice rule the day. Fine weather for polar bears and Nanook of the North. But there's no need to stand out there shivering and stressing over your New Year's resolutions, or lack thereof. Come on in where it's warm and cozy.
Vintage 1950's Maxwell House ad from Christian Montone's photostream.
Yes, we're in our pajamas. It's the official writer's uniform, after all. Squeezing out those words in some kind of coherent order is hard work. Might as well be comfortable. And happy. And well fed. ☺ I don't know about you, but I think better in flannel and fleece, and have been known to exceed earthly boundaries when polka dots, stripes, or glow-in-the-dark elements are involved.
Illo from "Bedtime Stories" (Birn Brothers,Ltd.). Source: Heart felt.
The resident bears were threatening to hibernate (wonder where they got that idea?) -- but I convinced them it would be much more fun to hang out, nosh on pizza, popcorn, salted nuts, cookies, and obscenely expensive chocolate, not to mention the requisite hot drinks: coffee, tea, cocoa, and steamy bowls of soup. Yes, Lord, let there be soup!
photo by averagebetty.
Something about winter makes me want to laze by the fire, reread Little Women and Anne of Green Gables, watch "Gilmore Girls" reruns, write real letters on real stationery, and take some of those nebulous ideas simmering on the back burner, stir in a fresh batch of whimsy, and cook up some chewy stories. Something about winter also makes it hard to get out of bed in the morning -- my soft flannel sheets with plaid trees on them really like me and want me to stay stay stay. When I stumble downstairs to breakfast, I can hear them calling, "Come back! Come back!"
But I have it on good authority that great works of literature have been created by those inclined to recline while writing. Mark Twain was famous for writing in bed. He even liked to greet visitors in his pajamas. Ernest Hemingway wrote in bed when he was suffering from insomnia. Voltaire often spent up to 16 hours a day in bed, scribbling madly. Edith Wharton? She once threw a tantrum because the bed in her hotel room didn't face the light.
Vivian Leigh in "Anna Karenina" (1948). Source: mondas66.
French novelist Colette absolutely adored her bed -- she made it into a raft, where she read, wrote, ate, made phone calls, and entertained guests. Those scandulous Parisians! And of course there was Truman Capote, who claimed to be a "completely horizontal author." He wrote on yellow legal pads, with his stash of cigarettes, coffee, tea, sherry, and martinis handy. First and second drafts were done in longhand, and then he balanced his typewriter on his knees, still in bed or on a couch, for subsequent drafts. I imagine he owned a nice smoking jacket or two.
Truman Capote photographed by Arnold Newman (source: j_naturalia).
So, whether your "writing uniform" consists of flannel pjs, a wispy peignoir, yoga pants, sweatpants, footed jammies, a granny gown, a terrycloth bathrobe, a Manchester United jersey, a ratty sweater, Scooby Doo boxers, pink babydolls, a one-size-fits-all owly nightshirt, or your birthday suit (hee) -- I hope you'll join us here at alphabet soup for our Winter Pajama Party. We'll be serving up lots of warming food, fun and
Paulette Goddard in "The Torch" (1950). Source: mondas66.
Winter doesn't have to be cold and barren. A new year with its fresh challenges doesn't have to seem daunting. Let's inspire each other to take each day as it comes, express gratitude for what we have, and like Maira Kalman said in her final "In Pursuit of Happiness" blog, SAVOR THE MOMENT (and celebrate with a lovely lemon layer cake).
In our pajamas, of course.
Note: In deference to the one typing these posts, "pajama" will henceforth be pronounced "pah-jay-mah." Toodle-oo! ☺
All Pajama Party posts can be found here.
"One morning I shot an elephant in my pajamas. How he got into my pajamas, I'll never know." ~ Groucho Marx
Copyright © 2010 Jama Rattigan of jama rattigan's alphabet soup. All rights reserved.