The other morning I left our house wearing my biggest coat that zips up to my nose and drapes down below my knees. I was wearing a hat, sunglasses, and giant boots. I looked like a cross between Frosty the Snowman and the Michelin Man, all hint of womanhood completely hidden (unless you count the Kate Spade sunglasses, which when it’s the only scrap of femininity left in your ensemble, I do). But dang-it, I was prepared for those 15 degree temps.
I have a lot of puffy-heart feelings about New Jersey, but her antique and thrift stores are life-giving. Living in New York nearly killed me, not because on any given day a tiny old man might hock up a big snot ball and spit it onto my boot (that really happened to me), but because there weren’t any good thrift stores. A vintage plate in an NYC Goodwill might cost $20. To add insult to thrift injury, I couldn’t bring home curb-side finds because not only were they few and far between, and not only did my arm muscles prove to be weak and incapable of dragging furniture half a mile (that happened once), but those curb-side treasures were likely hosting a multi-generational housing complex of bed bugs ready and willing to party all over our apartment (that also happened and my eye still twitches when I think about it).
Lately I’ve been cross pollinating between my Instagram photos and blog photos. I read recently that that wasn’t “allowed” in good social media management, that all photos on your blog and Instagram account and Facebook should be separate and unique. But then I pulled up my sweat pants and remembered that I should probably put on deodorant while reading an article about fashion do’s and don’ts. There’s a theme of not doing stuff in my life. And also laziness.
She’s here. The very best month of the year. The heat starts to break, the leaves start to fall, and I get to drag all my Halloween decorations out of the box. I used to make a day of it. I used to bake and leisurely decide where to place all the things, but now there’s a new element in that equation. The element’s name is Jane. And she does not give one hoot about my day of baking and organized decorating.
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