There is something sincerely magical about crossing the threshold into Spring. I suddenly find a new bounce in my step, an extra twirl in my skirt. The scent of the air is somehow better, and the birds chirp merrily as I make my way towards the end of the semester. And for whatever reason, that extra bit of sun shines a new perspective on things, reminding me of the many things I have to be grateful for.
I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels this way, but I swear summer days move more quickly than winter days. And I don’t just mean in a daylight savings type of way, but more a blink-and-you-miss-it-because-summer-is-much-more-fun type of way. Summer afternoons zip happily by in a fiery swirl of lazy cocktails, BBQs, and travel, without a care in the world. On the other hand, winter days crawl forward inch by frozen inch, reaching for a tomorrow that always feels just out of reach.
There is no season I welcome more than Spring. I love the scent of azaleas and honeysuckle that hits me when I step out of the house. I am here for the sunshine that starts to peek through and hang around until early evening. But, most of all (and I know my fellow educators can relate), I’m pretty sure I wait for Spring with baited breath for the simple fact that I can see the light at the end of a very long semester…
I’ve always had a bit of a “Life Imitating Art” fascination, especially when it comes to fashion. I don’t know why, but I will forever be enamored with handbags that look like storefronts, or necklaces that look like rhinestone bagels, and shoes designed to mimic cake. Be it edible or not, I can’t get enough of a comestible lifestyle.
Have you ever had an idea that, when thinking about it in retrospect, you realize if you had known then what you know now, you never would have started it? (the wave skirt comes to mind…) That’s a long winded way of saying my latest sewing project started as a sketch that seemed very doable, and yet took more hours and more steps than should ever be humanly possible.
I’m an 80’s baby, which was all about color and exuberance and some seriously poor fashion choices. There is something about stone washed jeans and puff paint that makes me both nostalgic and horrified at the same time. And I must admit I was definitely one who gleefully joined the splatter paint phase, unapologetically adorning my clothes, my version of “art”, and even my bedroom walls with color.
There is something truly captivating about a city skyline at night. Looking out across the sea of buildings, feeling so far away from the world, but somehow still seeming connected to everyone and everything. I always loved how the lights blinked on slowly as the sun set, hinting of the lives within those windows. Both mundane and magical.
Isn’t it funny the way nursery rhymes stick in your head? I mean, I know they’re designed that way…and never mind the fact that when you’re a kid, your synapses are strengthening rapid fire, so we remember all kinds of crazy things with alarming specificity from our childhood. But, it is still kind of remarkable to me that I remember every word from the Farmer in the Dell, even though upon further reflection, I realize it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.
I know for most of us, 2021 was a bit of a dumpster fire. It can be a relief when that calendar flips to the next year, feeling as if we are shaking off all that’s happened and moving forward, refreshed into a new year’s renaissance. But, even as I took that step forward, I did so with some trepidation for what 2022 might bring. After all, they say you should stay with the devil you know…
Some days (or years, really) can feel a bit like a house of cards. You know what I mean – where you are managing to keep everything together, stacking each day precariously on top of the next. But you know that one wrong move – one exhale in the wrong direction – and it will bring everything a tumbling down.