Warm Tones

Well, we've definitely gotten to that point in winter where everyone is just over it and kind of grumpy and bleh and uninspired.  With a bit of effort, I can still find plenty to smile about, of course, but last week's warm snap (is that a thing?) was a mean tease. I'm readier than ready for spring.


I can't get enough of warm tones lately.  I used to stay strictly in the neutral zone, speaking in terms of color.  But for the past month or so I just want all the reds and yellows and oranges all over me all the time.  Especially that warm mustardy yellow that is everywhere lately.  It's delicious!

Once in high school, I came home from the thrift shop with a v-neck velour sweatshirt in that shade and when I showed my mother she exclaimed, "Oh my god, I donated that to Goodwill last week and you just paid for it!" Not entirely sure of the lesson, except possibly that my mother and I have, against all odds, similar taste in shirts, and/or we need to work on our communication.


I used to spend a lot of time in Los Angeles in the winter, when the sky is clear and you can see far, far, far into the hills. We caught that kind of day in San Francisco when we shot this look. There is something so primally satisfying about a long, clear view of the land.  I suppose we have winter to thank, at least, for that.


Cheers to Thursday! Thanks for reading.

Levi's Shirt // Target skirt (old) // Clarks sandals

Break Ups

Well here I am in pink velvet and lace, and I'm feeling like the obvious choice would be to write something romantic, something about love, some kind of Valentine's Day inspired post.  I'm not exceedingly inspired in that direction, though, even though I enjoy the holiday plenty and already have my deep dish pizza dinner and tickets to hear Tavi Gevinson talk about her new book all lined up to celebrate.


Let's talk about city romance instead. Some of my hardest breakups have been with the places I've lived.  Honestly, I didn't have a super difficult transition from East coast to West coast living because I was, like so many eighteen-year-olds, ready. Bring on that adventure.

My first hard city breakup was with the town where I went to college: Santa Cruz, California.  Man, that beach life is the best.  But the recession was a real thing and there were no jobs to be had.  So my then-boyfriend and I packed our 1974 VW beetle (if you didn't own one, you never really lived in Santa Cruz) to the brim and went over the hill to spend the next three ho-hum years in San Jose.


San Jose was pretty easy to leave.  It was kind of like one of those filler relationships you do between the good ones just to avoid feeling alone.  We lived near Whole Foods back before anyone (except for people from Santa Cruz) really knew what organics were.  So I guess that was a highlight.  I was chronically overworked during that time. I was enrolled beyond full time in graduate school (yes, that is possible) and working as a nanny and an aerobics instructor 50+ hours per week. At the time, it felt like a ton, but honestly, it was just practice for being a mother, where you do all that plus wake up four times per night to be projectile vomited on. But the joy of children fuels you on and on and on.


Moving to San Francisco was the most fun.  San Francisco is still my favorite place to be.  I spent three wonderful years in Noe Valley, and had I never divorced my first husband, I'd probably be living the good life in one of those converted-warehouse places in Dogpatch.  All San Francisco-living dreams aside, thank goodness for that divorce.  I cried hard when I moved to the peninsula, but honestly, it is a great place to land, and San Francisco is only a half-hour away (actually it's an hour away because of traffic but let's pretend that's not true).


City breakups can be so rough! But like the relationships we have with people, city relationships, even the ones that end sadly, teach us lots about who we are and help us become who we want to be. Thanks for reading!

Agent Provocateur kimono (similar) // Banana Republic jeans // Fleur du Mal bodysuit (similar)

Special thanks to Julia O Test and Peerspace for this photo set!

One Art

Everyone's got a different emotional vulnerability.  It might be pride, or failure, or judgement.  For me, it's profound sadness.  When something is just too sorrowful to bear, I really freeze up.  Especially since I became a mother, the weight of the world just feels so heavy.


I lost a good friend ten years ago, and although I've gotten used to carrying that loss through life, the grief is indelible.  It isn't the deepest loss I've suffered, nor the most recent, but something about the shock of it never wore off.


I've found comfort in Elizabeth Bishop's poem "One Art" time and time again:

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;

so many things seem filled with the intent

to be lost that their loss is no disaster.


Lose something every day. Accept the fluster

of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.


Then practice losing farther, losing faster:

places, and names, and where it was you meant

to travel. None of these will bring disaster.


I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or

next-to-last, of three loved houses went.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.


I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,

some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.

I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.


—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture

I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident

the art of losing’s not too hard to master

though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.


Treat yourself and your own vulnerabilities gently. There are so many moments left to enjoy.  Thanks for reading.