As I sit here clacking away on my keyboard, I’m enjoying a tradition that hasn’t been able to happen for several years. Thanks to the wonders of science and the fact that they released the vaccine for 5-12 year olds, my sister, brother-in-law, and niece made the trek all the way down to NC (and I do mean trek. None of us felt safe flying yet, so they bundled into the car and zoomed through 13 hours of pavement and rest stops).
When I was a kid, we had this massive purple lilac bush in the backyard. I can vaguely remember stepping off the back porch in late Spring and being hit with that immediate, sweet scent, a wall of purple calling me forward. There are a lot of memories of my childhood that linger. But few are as powerful as olfactory memories – one whiff of lilac and I can literally feel the start of summer.
I will very likely be dating myself here, but something I have always been grateful for is being one of the last generations to grow up analog. Truly, the internet wasn’t really a thing in my teen years. Home computers had only just started to become normal, cordless phones were the newfangled modern technology (call waiting? What?!!), and to get the movie times you had to dial a number and drum your fingers on the countertop while a recorded voice droned on through your options.
Probably the most common question I’ve gotten since I started this blog (other than, “Are those your real clothes?”), is “How do you get your skirts so gloriously full?? I have my standard response, which is that I have always been a two-crinoline minimum kind of gal. But, much like every vintage huntress out there, I’m always in search of the next magical solution to the full-skirted glory I crave….
I feel like it was only about two days ago I was bemoaning the start of the new semester. Like most of my colleagues (and profs in solidarity worldwide), I felt burnt out before it even began. And suddenly I blinked and found myself on the threshold to October. I guess if there’s one thing you can count on, it’s that time chuggs steadily and relentlessly forward to the next station, whether we like it or not.
I’m teaching neurobiology this semester and we started to dip our toes into the wonderful world of neurotransmitters last week: those magic little chemicals in our brain that allow for our neurons to transfer information to one another. One such neurotransmitter is dopamine – it’s historically known as the “pleasure neurotransmitter.” When we experience something unexpectedly awesome, our brains get a burst of this feel good substance.
Generally, in my daily perusals of IG or some other addictive social media platform, I will occasionally come across the original ad for dresses that I own. I swear it never gets old to see a garment hanging safely in your closet on the pages of the vintage Sears Catalog, imagining a time when I could simply order my dream dress in multiple for 3.99 a piece…
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, Sunday was Candy Day. We weren’t allowed to eat candy any other day of the week, so this day was held with a special reverence. On Candy Day, my sister and I would be given 50 cents a piece and were allowed to traipse two blocks to a local general store. Even though the selection never changed, we spent ages poring over the choices every time. Candy, gum, chocolate – before you officially made your selection, there was always this unbridled anticipation in knowing you could have anything in the aisle.
Have you ever noticed that it’s human nature to be drawn to things that are bad for you? Be it an ex-boyfriend, a bad habit, a vow after a particularly raucous night to “never drink again,” only to find yourself woohooing on the dance floor a week later. Despite seeing many who have flown to their fiery doom before her, the moth simply can’t ignore the allure of that bright, magical flame beckoning her to a promise of intrigue and light (and occasional debauchery).