On my birthday, Mr. Magpie presented me with a series of thoughtful gifts, and the last one was a large square box. I tore into the wrapping paper and it was —– a $20 Target desk lamp.
Hm.
“Oh,” I said, scrambling to find something praiseworthy about it. I looked up at him, and he burst into laughter.
“It’s a placeholder. I want you to pick one out from ABC Home downtown, a special New York lamp,” he explained. He paused. “I thought it was time for my writer to have a little more light.”
#Dead.
It was an incredibly generous and thoughtful gift, but what slew me the most was imagining him observing me in my little dim nook, pecking away at the keyboard in the shadowy light that filters through from the back window of our living area, which is, incidentally, where I am perched now, my visibility at about 50% if I am honest. And his engineer-like mind thought: “She needs some light.” (It is, after all, one of my resolutions for my thirty-fourth year of life to write a draft of a book I have been kicking around in my mind for the last decade, so I have been spending a lot of time at this little desk.) And then he carried that idea with him around for — a week? a few months? — before searching for a specialty home decor shop in the heart of this new city of ours from which I could pick something special. I would later find out he’d already been to the ABC Home store in search of something, but had decided it would be better to bring me along.
I’m heavy on the hunt, but I turned first for inspiration to the insanely talented interior decorator Amy Berry, whose work is shown in the photo at top and below. I dream of having her decorate my forever home. Until then, we’ll focus on an Amy Berry-inspired desk lamp. She has such a good eye for proportions and textures and shapes. (In the photo at top, she’s using a Robert Abbey Double Gourd lamp — I have these in gray on our nightstands. Such a chic pick.)
+As it turns out ABC Home, did not have a ton of ideal lighting options — a lot of them have exposed bulbs that would be cloying, I fear, if I am sitting and writing and staring them in the face. This one looks really cool when illuminated, though.
+This “artichoke” lamp is MAJOR — a work of art! — and would add such a statement to my desk without shocking the world with color. It’s probably too big for my desktop, but I’m smitten.
+I like the airiness of this glass lamp — it won’t clutter the space.
+This alabaster lamp is probably the ideal proportion for my desk — tall and narrow, with a small footprint, so it will lend my desk space a ton of light and add some height to the overall setup without taking up too much real estate.
+I love Jonathan Adler, and this head lamp is bananas. I wish the shade were a different color, though — that taupe isn’t what I’m going for. But maybe…and this style is super fun, and I kind of love it in that bold lavender; it would match the purple ikat pillow in my writing chair.
+I’ve always loved the architectural quality of Kelly Wearstler’s lamps — they’re like pieces of art! This or this would be stunning.
Finally, a couple of other household items I’m drooling over right now:
+These nesting baskets as an upgrade for mini’s toy and laundry storage in her petite bedroom — I love that these stack, keeping a smattering of baskets to a minimum.
About half of my closet is blue and white stripes. That does not mean I’m not still in the market for some new additions in the same vein — namely the breezy apron Sezane dress shown above. (Ooh la la!) I have been agonizing over whether these are stupidly impractical given the infrequency with which I wear heels nowadays (but they’re so cute!!!) and I’m dying over this maxi, which looks kind of like MDS Stripes and Dodo Bar Or had a baby. Meanwhile, this gives me major Brock Collection vibes and I think I need it. Below, a couple of my favorite finds du jour…
I would also love to treat myself to this crisp nightshirt and a new pair of jeans — these by Rag & Bone. I’ve heard the best things about their denim!
A girlfriend of mine recently introduced me to the phrase “let’s have a kiki.” Even before she fully elaborated on its origin and meaning, I had read between the lines: she wanted to vent/gossip/chit-chat in only the way good girlfriends can, preferably around a bottle of wine and assortment of snacks, usually punctuated by laughter of increasing volume and frequency, and always without inhibition or judgment. How many times have you called up a girlfriend or sister and started in with: “Oh.my.God.” and then proceeded to unravel and overanalyze a crazy story, often ending up in tears of laughter rather than anger? Or spun into a gathering of close friends in a fit of frustration or excitement or giddiness that only understanding, we-got-your-back, ride-or-die girlfriends can match and somehow amplify until suddenly you realize you are in the midst of a shrieking mass of femininity and it is kind of the best thing ever?
That’s having a kiki.
And my God, what sweet, joyous catharsis! The next time you are getting together with your girlfriends or dialing a sister in a fit of rage, be sure to wink inwardly at the glee of having a kiki.
#Shopaholic: The Fall Find.
+Fall is a stone’s throw away. Do your autumnal wardrobe a favor by snagging this or this, both of which are ridiculously discounted and insanely chic!
+Lots of Self-Portrait on sale all over the place — love this and ordered this!
+This striped dress would be an instant wardrobe staple. (And it’s under $40!)
+Finally tackling our unwieldy spice collection — ordering a couple sets of these and these to contain everything. Side note: these are a brilliant idea for maximizing a small storage space! More of my favorite small apartment gear here.
I recently had a long catch-up with a girlfriend struggling through some personal turmoil, and she mentioned something that has lingered with me in the days since our conversation. She said that she’s not particularly happy with her current job, but that she’s also grateful for it, as its flexibility with working from home and somewhat lax work hours have given her the space to attend to herself during this bumpy personal time. She said something like — “I know I’m supposed to feel bad about not being personally defined by my job, but right now, that’s just what it is: a job.” She added that this New Yorker article by Toni Morrison had helped her come to this perspective, and to feel OK about it. In the article, Morrison explains that she had come to dislike a job she’d had owing to its unexpectedly and increasingly difficult demands, and when she returned home and complained to her father, he replied plainly: “Listen. You don’t live there. You live here. With your people. Go to work. Get your money. And come on home.” Morrison explains that she interpreted his straight-forward reply as follows: “1. Whatever the work is, do it well—not for the boss but for yourself. 2. You make the job; it doesn’t make you. 3. Your real life is with us, your family. 4. You are not the work you do; you are the person you are.”
I’ve been turning this over in my mind since our conversation. I was intrigued by and empathetic to my friend’s seeming reluctance to accept Morrison’s Baby Boomer-esque approach to work, wherein (dramatically oversimplifying here) work was perceived as a financial imperative rather than a mode of personal expression. Work is work, home is home, and never the twain shall meet. Nowadays (again dramatically oversimplifying), those of us in the millennial set are led to believe that work should be meaningful, self-defining, fulfilling. Workspaces have evolved to look and feel like homes, with couches, ping-pong tables, open kitchens, and even, in some cases, nap “pods” (beds at work!) And do any offices have a dress code anymore? You can roll right out of bed and into your cube — or open workspace, more likely — without raising any eyebrows. The subtext is that we should be our true selves at work, and that the old distinctions between work and play have dissolved. Many of my friends have absorbed this new mindset readily, hungrily, possibly unquestioningly. They take it as a point of pride when they are stuck at work until 11 p.m., or when they need to duck out from dinner to take a work call, or when their bosses are texting them on a Sunday morning. I’m not saying that they aren’t expected to participate in those interactions — it’s not feigned, and I have been required to do the same during various parts of my career — but that it’s done with flourish, with showmanship, a sort of “look at me; I’m important!” This, to me, is the unhealthy aftermath of a dramatic change in the way our generation views “work.”
But there is something else. There is a falsehood that our generation has absorbed that suggests that all work must be meaningful, important, and magically aligned with our truest passions from the minute we graduate from college and somehow polish ourselves up to appear borderline respectable in an office setting. I’ll never forget when a college-aged intern of mine came into my office one afternoon, heaved a sigh, and said that she just didn’t like the work she was doing right then. “Honestly, it’s boring,” she intoned. “Can I do something else? I want to do something that matters.” I was simultaneously pleased with myself for currying her confidence as I had never had a boss that had seemed to care about “my personal journey” and baffled by her perspective. “But it does matter,” I replied. And I explained how her seemingly menial work checking online courseware for various standards and requesting permission to republish certain works from authors were ultimately enabling us to provide free educational opportunities for those in need. She didn’t buy it, I don’t think, but it was a bluff anyway, if I’m honest. While it is true her work was contributing to a greater mission, my most authentic self wanted to say: “Yes, it’s menial. That’s because you’re an intern and I’m the director. Someone needs to do those things so that the higher ups can tackle the strategic work. But if you do your job well, you will move up quickly. Do you know how many hours of brainless data entry I did for $8/hour for four consecutive summers of my life? A lot. Like, a lot a lot. Everyone pays their dues. Even though data entry was the intellectual equivalent of writing “I will not be late again” three hundred thousands times in a row on a chalkboard, I learned how to set myself apart. I was pleasant, punctual, polite. I learned keyboard shortcuts and hack-y ways to navigate the clunky software more efficiently. I challenged myself to complete my daily workload as fast as possible. I was noticed. It’s the way of the world.”
Setting aside my crotchety “when I was your age…” musings, upon reflection, I realize that I have toggled between both perspectives (we’ll call them “baby boomer” and “millennial” for the sake of simplicity) at various times in my career. There have been jobs that I treated as pure work, completely separate from my own interests and ambitions, a paycheck when I needed it. There have been other jobs that have been “more than,” that have shaped my identity, kept me up at night and woke me up in the morning, felt so deeply personal and so aligned with my passions and interests that I’ve had trouble separating “work time” from “personal time.” And it may come as no surprise that those jobs tended to pay less and require more. And you know what? It’s OK, I think, to switch between perspectives. I think there can be courage and strength in muscling through only-a-paycheck kinds of jobs, especially when they are undertaken to make ends meet or afford a better lifestyle or help us up a ladder. And I think there can be serious growth and self-illumination that comes from jobs that challenges us and enable us to work on meaningful problems.
I realize the irony of my writing this piece right now, as I am decidedly out of the working world, spending half my week as a stay-at-home mom — and yet I am contributing to our household income and building a business, while refining a craft I have been practicing since I was a child. I am straddling the lanes of “passionate hobby” (dare I say “art,” in its own way?), “entrepreneurship,” and “homemaker/mother,” and the concerns of my friend feel so distant from my own at the moment. But hearing her thoughts on the topic of work versus real life brought me right back to the intensity of the many situations in which I found myself during my 20s and early 30s. It made me realized that of course we’d all love to have jobs that pay well and empower us to be our best selves, all while solving a meaty world problem. But the truth is that if a job is any one of those things, I’d probably consider it seriously. And I might prioritize certain elements over others given the circumstances of my personal life at a given time. For this reason, I found Morrison’s formula oddly comforting, a panacea I hadn’t quite known I’d wanted; she says: “I have never considered the level of labor to be the measure of myself, and I have never placed the security of a job above the value of home.” It comes as a reassurance to those of us feeling like our work worlds are all-consuming, or that conflicts or stressful tasks or long hours in the workplace are sucking us dry, or that we should feel guilty for some reason for not being as obsessed with our jobs as everyone else in our generation appears to be. You are you first.
What do you think about the dotted lines between work and personal life?
+OK, I am absolutely DROOLING over this tote. It looks like it’s Celine or something — but it’s a fraction of the price. I love its roominess and versatility (note that there’s an extendable shoulder strap!).
+Even on sale, these are pricey — but how GROWN UP AND CHIC!??!?!
+This would be a super cool gift for a wine lover.
By: Jen Shoop
I spent my first two nights away from mini last weekend while at a bachelorette party, and though I had a little trouble getting out the door (tears were involved…on my end, not hers), once I was nestled on the train in my window seat with my split of wine and my fully loaded Kindle (I read this from cover to cover and it was a grand, vapid escape), it was glorious, just as so many of you had said it would be. I had a wonderful time at the bachelorette reconnecting with old friends, sailing, eating crabs and oysters, and enjoying a healthy amount of sparkling wine, but I have to say I treasured the train trips themselves the most. When I’m at home and mini is napping or out of the house with her nanny, I am still in mom mode: I am filling the dishwasher, folding laundry, picking up toys, thinking ahead to dinner, wondering if the nanny remembered to apply sunscreen, uploading a picture to send to her grandparents, scheduling her next playdate, mapping out the rest of the day, texting the nanny, all while trying to focus on writing. On the train, on the other hand, I felt weightless and solitary in the loveliest of ways. I felt like there was nothing I could do even if I wanted to — I had to surrender my sense of responsibility to my very capable Mr. Magpie. As I sank into this odd feeling of independence, I realized I could do whatever I wanted without over-logisticizing or coordinating with Mr. Magpie. On a phone call the day I left, my mom had said: “Just think: it will be time for you to just be you.” I had hesitated over her comment — but aren’t I always me? — but I knew what she meant: it was an opportunity to be entirely selfish, answering to no one but myself. And it was divine. Of course, I was more than anxious to get home (I borderline sprinted the last block and I don’t think I stopped staring at her for the four hours between my return and her bedtime), but I’m so glad I made the effort. It wasn’t nearly as traumatic as I had anticipated, and I returned with a new sense of appreciation and vigor for being the best mom I can be.
Now I’ve just got to figure out how to get away for a weekend with Mr. Magpie, which is seeming increasingly unlikely given that we’ve just lost our nanny. (Sob. Sob. Sob. I will need to dedicate an entire post to the art of finding and retaining a nanny. Incidentally, if any of you readers in NYC have leads, please email me!) And so it looks like I will be a full-time stay at home mom for the near future, so forgive me if the posts are shorter than usual…!
+This dress is a fall must-have. While you’re there, check out the sale section — some further reductions happening! I must have this. Would also be a good idea to stock up on these in multiple colorways!
+I am swooning over this floral set from new-to-me eboutique Peggy Green!
+Anyone else a fan of Native Shoes? Mini has been living in hers since we so frequently end up at one of Central Park’s many playgrounds with water features. Nordstrom has a couple of styles on sale!
+Also on sale: this DockATot. I did not have one for mini but I know people go insane over them and they never go on sale! I would snag this were I expecting.
+We’re in the midst of transitioning mini from her bottle (a little late I think, woops), and simultaneously disassociating her milk consumption from sleeptime (and instead serving it at mealtime). We found that the latter hasn’t been difficult at all, much to our surprise. We just took the bottle out of the sleeptime routine and gave her a bottle earlier, just after lunch/dinner, and she was entirely unphased. #WIN! The issue is when we give her milk in her sippy cups — she will not drink it! I think I am going to buy one of these 10 oz Nuk sippy cups because it looks entirely different from all of her other water cups (bigger, and with Pooh on it!) and only give her milk out of it. Then slowly we can swap in other sippy cups until she’s acclimated. Thoughts and advice?
+Mini is quickly outgrowing her 18-24 month pajamas, so I’m now beginning to stock up on 2T. (And BTW, this $17 pair of pajamas is one of my favorites for her right now — very well made, super soft, and so sweet in the stripes!) I’m considering these (love this brand — I brought mini home from the hospital in a supersoft newborn size pair from Kissy Kissy!), these (classic), these (also love love love this brand — the SOFTEST cotton I’ve ever felt), and these (is she really old enough?! wahh). I also might go ahead and scoop up a pair of these for her next birthday, when she’ll probably already be wearing a size 3…
By: Jen Shoop
I’ve noticed a fetching detail on a number of trendy pieces right now: oversized, prominent buttons running straight down the front of a skirt or dress. I like the look a lot, especially paired with airy linen. (And, OK, I’m still not over those Staud net bags, shown above!)
P.S. This is button-less, but shares the casual, breezy vibe so many of the dresses above project. (And that back!!!) And speaking of easy-wear dresses, this sunbeam of a dress from Joie has been marked down to just over $100!
P.P.P.S. My favorite running shoes, in some amazing new colorways, on sale — I like the lavender and the olive green, which feels kinda Yeezy in a cool way to me.
By: Jen Shoop
For many years, it was either too hard or too easy for me to say “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, I’m sorry–” was quick on my my lips when I’d bump into someone with my elbow, or accidentally box someone out while looking for stoned wheat thins in the cracker aisle at the grocery, or — all too commonly — find myself on the receiving end of someone else’s inconsiderateness or lack of spatial awareness. I’m convinced this is a thoroughly female trait, this instinct to apologize for things out of my control or even things that have been done to me. (I’m thinking specifically of a time a crotchety old lady shoved me out of the way at Fairway, and I said: “Oh, I’m sorry.” Then I sat there, stewing, wanting to rescind the knee-jerk apology.) It was especially prominent in the workplace: “I’m sorry to bother you,” or “sorry for the deluge of emails,” or “I apologize for not responding sooner,” or “oops — sorry — do you have a second?”
Civility is one thing; obsequiousness is something different altogether. I have learned over the course of many years that I can come off as ingratiating or unctuous or, worse, dismissible if I am not careful with my words, with my automatic assumptions of guilt or regret over the most minor of infractions or inconveniences. And yet it is still a challenge to suppress the urge to beg pardon.
On the flipside, for much of my early twenties, I found it exceptionally challenging to apologize for the big stuff, the real stuff. There were occasions, early in our relationship, where Mr. Magpie and I tumbled into stand-offs that would last the better part of the day. There were times when I would resolutely avoid an apology I owed to a sibling. And there were circumstances at work where I would flat out refuse to see my colleague’s or boss’s perspective: I only knew I had been slighted and did not care to hear the rest of the story, and would turn to my loved ones for moral support and extra ammo, of course neglecting to share the fullest picture, the possibility that I had been culpable of something in the situation. I dreaded the admission of guilt, the revelation that I, too, was impeachable. It was easy to be generous with apologies for the small things: it implied politesse, concern for others. Apologizing for the big things suggested that I was capable of misjudgment, of error, of unkindness, of selfishness. I didn’t want to see that part of myself, and I certainly didn’t want my loved ones to catch a glimpse either.
The other day, I blundered the communication of something to a loved one. I should have been clearer, had omitted some key details that she deserved to know — and she was rightfully upset. My instinct was self-preservation: “But how could I have known that she wouldn’t read between the lines?” and “Well, it wasn’t that I was hiding anything; I just didn’t think to tell her, ” and “Honestly, she could have asked herself!” But as I stood there, watching her face contort in distress, I thought: “My, my, Jennie. You’re going to make excuses for…for what? To win some meaningless battle over whether or not you intended to omit some details? Clearly you did not do a good job explaining this, and the bigger picture is that she is upset.” And so I let go of the coil of defensiveness that had been spiraling inside me, held up my hand, and said: “You know what? You’re right. I am so sorry.”
And I realized that what I missed during those extended deadlocks in my early twenties was the liberation that comes with apology, even before I’ve earned forgiveness. It takes a minute to work up the nerve, but once I’ve said the words — “I’m sorry. You’re absolutely right.” — it’s as if the world returns to its natural order. Have you ever been on the earthquake ride (it might be a King Kong ride? I can’t remember — but there’s one that simulates an earthquake) at Universal Studios? At the very end, as your little car is leaving the last “scene,” if you watch carefully, you’ll notice all of the bricks slide back into their original spots, and the overturned pieces of furniture revert to their upright positions, and a dangling telephone returns to its hook. That’s what a heart-felt apology feels like to me. It’s a shift from dissonance to order, and it feels incredible — maybe even better than the forgiveness that (hopefully) follows — because I have said something true and deserved, and I like the vision of myself as someone who, though fallible, is fair.
Do you have trouble apologizing?
Post-Script.
+I recently purchased Aerin’s Evening Rose scent for summer — I love floral scents, and this is to die. It’s sophisticated, sexy, feminine.
+It’s that time of year where I stock up on my favorite bra (somehow even the white looks non-fuddy-duddy, and I’m normally allergic to white bras…also, they are so comfortable) and underwear (I love the bright colors, but will probably buy the “sand” color in multiples — so practical) — finally on sale! Also, these joggers have made their way into my cart.
+MEEEEP. This is now marked down to $120. To buy or not to buy…(I’m in love!)
+How fantastic are these personalized mules?! They look so much like the Gucci Princetown, but cost less than half AND come with a monogram! I like these ones in white, but the black are a bit more practical.
+In my quest for more practical daytime dresses to wear while chasing mini through splashpads and sandboxes, I came across this cotton style from Everlane. Love it in the lavender, and — I don’t think I will take the plunge, but I have to say I think it would look chic with a pair of Birkenstocks in silver. (#thehamptonschangedme)
+Apropos of the previous point, I also tried on this striped dress while at J. Crew buying my newest obsession, and I like it a lot — it’s a nice, thick cotton so getting wet at the park won’t be accidentally mortifying, and the length is unique (it hit me just below my knee). I’d wear with my Golden Goose sneaks.
Love the muted palette of the living room corner above snapped by Caitlin Flemming, especially those grainsack pillows from Diani Living (dying over this monogrammable style!) and the powerful arrangement of all-white flowers in that sleek white cylinder vase (get a similar look with this or these). (Also, overall, the mood of the vignette reminds me of this preppy/traditional rug from Albert and Dash, which I would so love in our dining room — or maybe as a runner in our kitchen?! — and is currently marked down.) Separately, if you arrange your flowers at home, you must buy a pair of these — my mother in law gifted me a pair in my stocking one Christmas and they make my life so much easier. These also get good reviews (and you can buy a coordinating pair of flower scissors) — and they are absolutely adorable. (But, more expensive.)
I love the paper bag waist skirts I’ve been seeing all over — nothing telegrams summer ease better than this breezy, casual style. The skirt above on Jasmine Dowling is MaxMara (available in a blue and white stripe or solid white on sale), but I’m partial to this ecru-colored, linen-effect style from Banana for its Karen Blixen vibes. (That bag tho — get the look with this.)
White eyelet is an eterna-style for me: I can never have enough of it. I love the snap of Ruta En Route above! Currently on my radar: this $60 steal (can we talk about how adorable the model is? Jennifer Garner much?!); this Self-Portrait (on sale!); this $80 romper; and this billowy Sezane (or this one!). Also — the bag the chic pea above is wearing looks startling similar to this, n’est-ce pas?
I’ve lusted after By Tatoufa straw bags for a long while now and wish I’d jumped on the bandwagon before they (understandably) hiked the prices. They are all hand-made by a mother-daughter duo in Paris. Tres chic.
I love the colors of these striped Turkish towels (on sale). I need to find a monogrammer here in Manhattan — then I could buy these in bulk and give as gifts…
I’ve had a crush on Johanna Ortiz’s pieces for the past many seasons. Known for her ruffled off-the-shoulder shirting (I adore this — on super sale!), daring silhouettes, and Latin flair — basically, I’ll have what she’s having. I’m especially drawn to her asymmetric ruffled bodysuits and swimsuits, like this one from a collab with La Perla (va va voom!) and this striped crop top. (Also love her tasseled earrings!)
You can find select pieces on sale at here, here, and here, or get the look for less with any of the styles I’ve ferreted out below;
P.P.P.S. Nothing beats a pair of classic, comfortable pajamas — except for when they are on sale, as they are here, here, and here. One of each pls.
By: Jen Shoop
My Latest Snag: The SZ Blockprints Kitty Dress.
Sorry to beat a dead horse; you probably saw this on Insta, but I snagged an SZ Blockprints Kitty dress from the J. Crew collaboration earlier this week (and wore it to book club!). They keep selling out online, but there were a bunch in-store at the Columbus Circle location, so if it’s sold out online, don’t give up! Call your local shop, or scour eBay (ahem, this — there are tons of pieces with tags still on!). I like the length of the Kitty dress (on me, hits below the knee / mid-calf), so it nails that muumuu vibe I’m going for, but the Leyla is also super chic. (More on SZ Blockprints and alternate styles here.)
I spent a good part of one recent evening going deep into Cup of Jo archives (can you tell — ha!), and I came across this post, titled: “Do You Worry Too Much?” Now, I’ve labeled myself as a crier on this blog. As a Catholic. And many times over as a mom. But I’ve not yet trotted out my persona as a massive worry-wart, unless it stains all of my writing, which it very well might. Most of my sisters are the same way; we routinely pick up the phone when ringing at an odd hour and start in with: “What’s wrong?” I tend to assume Mr. Magpie has been mugged or thrown off the subway platform if he doesn’t text or call by a certain hour of the evening, and I have on more than one occasion made myself physically ill when coiled with anxiety over a certain topic — moving, managing teams, finances, buying a home, selling a home, mini’s first bout of fever. Just before we moved to Chicago so many years ago, I endured a panic attack. It completely caught me off guard; I hadn’t realized how sick with worry I was over the prospect of change, over the logistics and moving parts, over the entirely new routines I’d need to build in a new city in which I knew next to nobody.
A Cup of Jo shares an interesting visualization strategy that has helped her cope with bouts of anxiety, and I clung to it quickly. Though I’m more at peace now than I can recall being for the past many years, we are currently embroiled in a situation with our childcare arrangement that has left me anxious and distracted. Jo’s Grand Canyon imagery has been helpful in repositioning these concerns for what they are: temporary. Funnily enough, there’s a quote my sister and I gift to one another when in the straits of stress that plays at a similar philosophy but hails from an entirely different context. Several years ago, a priest at my Church in Chicago shared that he had been visiting with a woman whose husband was dying of cancer. The priest would stop by the hospital to find the wife dutifully at her husband’s bedside, in remarkably good spirits. She was the buoying force in her family — not chipper, exactly, but positive, calm, accepting. The priest marveled at her composure, startled by her lack of anger and grief. At last, the priest asked her: “I have to say — you are an inspiration. How do you keep it together?” And her response was: “Well, Father, life is bigger than this.”
I play that line back to myself often, or my sister does for me. For someone to have that perspective in the face of such loss inspires me to apply similar logic to whatever itty-bitty-by-comparison challenge I am tackling. But setting relativism aside (diminishment by comparison is rarely the healthiest tonic), the mentality is remarkably helpful, because it is true: the sweep of life is broad and this, too, shall pass.
+For fellow dabblers-in-the-boho-trend: this well-priced dress! Or, more of a splurge, this SEA patchwork dress (on sale!), which would be SO chic for fall with a pair of booties. Sort of like the cool weather response to SZ Blockprint’s tunics!
+I don’t have a Nordstrom card, so I am dying to see whether this sells out prior to Thursday. I don’t need a new raincoat…or do I?! LOVE both colorways. EEEE.
