Awhile back in February (feels like a hundred years ago in COVID-years), the lovely Amy of Miss Hero Holliday and I embarked on a joint sewing adventure. We decided to each create our own take on Simplicity 4784 for Valentine’s Day, zipping photos and ideas across the pond as we went. I have to admit, even though I am usually a solo-sewist, it was one of the most fun sewing projects I had tackled in ages.
You know when you see someone – either while scrolling IG or walking past you in the street – and they’re wearing something that stops you in your tracks? Where you can almost feel yourself start to salivate and it’s taking everything in your being not to chase them down and demand to know where they got it? I mean, I’m sure we’ve all experienced that special sartorial greener-pastures lust, where you truly believe for a minute that life would be perfect if only you could find that garment. Yeah well, what happens if the woman in question you’ve walked…
There is always a certain time of year that feels a bit like the eye of the storm. While summers are supposed to be relaxing, mine was chock full of book chapters and editing and teaching a summer class that nearly did my head in (but I can’t even ask you to feel sorry for me…it was all totally self-inflicted). Grades for the summer class were submitted last week and our fall semester doesn’t start until next week. So, for today at least, there is an eerie, blissful calm on the surface of the water…
When I was young, my sister and I would go away to camp every summer for a week of morning calisthenics, capture the flag, and (to this day) some of the best food I’ve ever eaten (I think food just tastes better outdoors). This one summer, my sister was assigned to be counselor for the same cabin I was assigned to. And, while you might think chaos would ensue, I think it was one of the most magical weeks of camp I could ever remember. We had that perfect combination of people bunking up to our cabin, where everyone got…
One of the reasons why I love vintage so much is because I feel like, in many ways, it finds me. Although I am always on the hunt, finding the perfect dress in the perfect moment never feels like an accident. Rather, it always seems fated that we would meet. Like I was somehow cherry picked from the crowd to be her temporary guardian, before she gently passes to the next chapter of her story.
I’ve always been a huge fab of florals – giant rose border prints, floral appliqué, vines snaking up a bodice. I want it all. So it’s only natural for me to drool all over uniquely floral pieces from vintage past, particularly those that have dotted my Pinterest wishlist for years.
Have you ever noticed that a certain degree of frenzied madness is almost always followed by what I will affectionately call The Blob Phase. I’m sure you know what I mean… Where you push yourself to the limit, shocked at what you are able to accomplish, only to subsequently devolve into a pile of goo. On such occasions, I find myself with my head in the clouds more often than not, where even the thought of writing an email feels like too much.
During quarantine, I think it’s safe to say a lot of us have taken to our creature comforts. My weakness has always been wine – I love coming home from a long day to a beautiful glass of cab sauv, kicking off my heels and sharing my day with my Mister. Now that we’re home all day, there are no shoes to kick off and Mr. D already knows the happs because…well…he was there. But, there is still that perfect glass of wine….
We are creatures of habit. I am definitely one who likes to have a rhythm and a routine, with a clear order to the way my world is structured. And even if the order is less than ideal (aka, months and months of isolation due to a pandemic), I will always find away to work within a certain set of parameters. But, I admit I’m less adept at the shift change…
When I was little, one of my favorite books was The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein. If you’ve never read it, it’s a story about a boy and a tree who are the best of friends. As the boy gets older, he spends less and less time with the tree, only to return at subsequent intervals to lament his life and seek happiness. The tree gives and gives of herself to the boy…from her apples, to her branches, leaving nothing but a stump at the end for the boy to sit on. But, with each gift, it ends with the…