A few weeks ago, while I was browsing one of my favorite blogs In A Nutshell, the fabulous Sara Lily unapologetically announced that her closet could be mistaken for a fruit salad. And I had to laugh out loud. One glance towards my own wardrobe, and I can safely say we’ve got an ambrosia situation threatening to jump out of the fruit bowl and onto my person. Well, if you can’t beat em…buy more fruit themed things!
Part of what makes vintage amazing is the hunt – wondering where the next gem will be hiding. It’s the thing that keeps us digging through racks of consignment stores, feverishly browsing our tried and true vintage shops, and “just having a quick look” as we pass through Small Town, Population 50, thinking this could be the place that holds the illusive Holy Grail.
Well, day we have all been dreading is nearly upon us: the End of Summer. I know for many of you you’re staring at your screen in disbelief. “Ummm, Kara? You know it’s only mid August, right? We’ve got weeks of summer left!” Sigh. If only. Tomorrow officially marks the first day of school. It’s back to writing lectures, proctoring exams, and seeing far less of my comfy bed than I’ve grown accustomed too these past few months…
Although I realize I am embarrassingly late to the party, I never managed to watch the Emmy winning show Mad Men when it was on (I know! don’t judge). While we lived in Australia, we were very much out of the loop with regards to when new shows were airing, because most things were many months behind, and got into a general habit of streaming old favorites and not really paying a lot of attention to shows that were au courant.
It’s impossible to be stressed when you’re staring out to sea. For some reason, it always gives me perspective, the feeling that I’m just a tiny boat on an enormous sea, bobbing in the waves. It reminds me to surrender to the forces that pull me forward, and let go of the things that are being pulled away. And when I’m a headless chicken and can’t find my way to the coastline, a 1950’s seaside print dress will do just fine…
Lately, I’ve felt an irresistible pull towards creating the perfect home. I browse home decor websites, vacillate between different color schemes, and spend hours looking for my dream countertops. This will come as no surprise if you’ve been following along lately, because Mr. Dressed and I have embarked on the dizzying adventure of buying a home. As I’ve said before, despite my love for adventure and seeing the world, the thought of putting down roots and having some stability is more than a little appealing. Weekends are now full of open house viewings and I spend about as much time on…
One of the hardest parts about living overseas was definitely being so far from family. Missing the big moments and the little moments. Knowing that a hug would take 36 hours of exhausting travel time. Now that we’re home, the hardest part about not living overseas are the friends we had to leave behind. The world can feel very big when there are so many people scattered to the far ends of it to miss.
Some days are about practicality (if we’re being honest here, most days). Although it’s pretty obvious my day-to-day style veers towards most people’s fancy, my version of “practical” is a cotton sundress, some sort of sparkly belt, and 40’s inspired heels (which tend to be a bit easier to race around in). But every now and then, I’m in the mood to dress up like a frothy, floral cupcake fantasy. And I’m not sorry….
It’s safe to say I’ve moved around a lot in my life. And I’m not talking about the within-city moves (though we’ve racked up a fair few of those too). I’m talking about the uprooting your life, move to another country, then four years later do it again (cause it was so fun and stress-free the first time!) Truthfully, I wouldn’t change those experiences for anything in the world. Living in other countries has given me perspectives I never would have gained otherwise and afforded me insights into new places and new cultures. I know I wouldn’t be who I…
Time is such a funny thing in summer. The first half for me is always gloriously endless. Weeks of sun drenched months stretch before you, with any thoughts of autumn and all of its responsibility feeling safely tucked away in The Future. Time moves lazily forward, days blending into the next, with travel and sunset strolls and late night cocktails. Then, I crossed the invisible threshold that is July 4th. Every year, without fail, I awake after a night of BBQ and fireworks to that quiet feeling of dread. Within the span of a single night’s sleep, the fall semester suddenly…