'Twas the Saturday Before Christmas

Panettone, 2012

Thick slices toasted, with butter.  Music.  Books.  Rain.

If I Had A Boat  -Lyle Lovett

all you want it to be

Lucky, 2012

I'm not sure why, but it just started feeling like Christmas today.  There is enough chill in the air for knit hats and scarves, and the sky is bright blue.

I'm taken back to my time in the Midwest, where I spent my best childhood winters.  Especially the first snow of the season.  Waking up to a neighborhood blanketed in white, all sounds hushed.  Oh, I miss it.

But even without snow, I feel lucky.  I have those memories, today, and tomorrow.  This isn't the case for everyone. 

I hope this season is all you want it to be. 

A December List

Satsuma, 2011

little postcards: a december list  (yes, it's a link.  click on it.)

Inspiration for reflection. 

What She Wears

What She Eats, 2012

When I returned home last week I took a quick look at what I'd missed on Twitter and was stopped by this tweet.

I've accidentally come into town dressed as a 45yo and I'm getting "madam"-ed left right and centre.    

I thought of replying to ask what she had worn.  My birthday this month had just let me into this year of my life and I wondered if there were certain garments I should be wearing.  Then I recalled a rule my friends and I had when we were in our mid-twenties. 

Once you see a fashion reach the 35 year old moms, cease wearing it immediately.  It's over.   

Oh my.  I've exceeded this grim and tragic age by ten years now.  I felt a little jab in my heart.  Time does pass quickly.

I momentarily longed for those mid-twenties, and my invincibility,  but quickly remembered I was even more fragile and susceptible to such little jabs in the heart back then.  Wisdom is strength.

I looked down at my jeans and my fresh-from-the-wash unironed oxford, and then into the mirror at my subtly glossed lips and my ponytail.  No need for guidance.  I like what I wear.

In a Glass Jar

 Pina, 2012

I will drape these thin lenses over my eyes for a month, and then they will go.  Does a part of what I've seen leave with them?  The clean slate for new impressions does excite, but the loss is something I haven't thought of before.  I'm considering saving each lens, from here on out,  preserving them in a glass jar.  I might need to retrieve a memory, the visual aspects.  Words don't always suffice.