Umbrella, ella, ella
I once read that nobody ever really owns an umbrella, we merely borrow them for a time. I love the poetry in that line of thinking because I really love a beautiful umbrella and yet I don’t own a single one that’s more than a few years old. I still miss a big hotel umbrella that a friend nicked/borrowed from the Mark Hotel on New York’s Upper East Side. That umbrella made me feel like Holly Golightly, living just beyond my means and dreaming big in New York City. My heart still beats for a big red ruffled umbrella that I once owned that looked like the inside of a can can skirt. That umbrella made me feel like singing — and dancing — in the rain.
It’s because they are this fleeting commodity in our lives and yet so infinitely utilitarian that I love to give (and receive) umbrellas as gifts. Recently two dear friends of mine gave me this beautiful Wardell Milan umbrella from the Studio Museum in Harlem:
This Soul Cycle umbrella with the Wheel underneath is another rainy day favorite of mine. I love the graphic yellow against the charcoal grey:
I grew up in New York City and I remember being a teenager and taking the subway to school so I’m always a fan of Subway map gear like this umbrella:
I could write a whole post and will, one day, about kids’ umbrellas. But let me start with this lovely one with illustrations by Eric Carle: