Jason Brooks’ elegant illustration entitled Lipstick for Vogue’s Art in Fashion (Vogue.com UK)
(Source: allwehaveisrighnow, via savetheman)
Something you only begin to realize once you hit a certain age is how bittersweet it is that, in most circumstances, we’re almost never aware of the last times. If we knew - while in the moment - that it would flee us so suddenly, there’s no doubt we’d get a little closer, listen a little longer, hold on a little tighter, let go a little slower. Still, the beauty of it all is we’re continually offered up new moments while we almost don’t even see “the last times” roll by.
This beautiful post this morning echoed some of my own thoughts lately when she asks:
when was the last time my father put me on his shoulders? did he know it would be the last time?
when was the last time i slept in the same bed with my big sister - talking late into the night and laughing at the silliest things?
what was the last bedtime story my Grandma read me?
when was the last time i caught a night train? took a midnight swim in the ocean? slept outside in a hammock? will i ever do those things again?
The dream was always running ahead of me.
To catch up, to live for a moment in unison with it, that was the miracle. — Anaïs Nin
fruit & veggie run and a couple of new reads.
about around this time the coast starts calling for a visit.
Our gorgeous flowers 💚 (at Notre Dame Church)
I think my memoir would be called The Art of Being Dateless: One Wedding At A Time
The groove is so mysterious. We’re born with it and we lose it and the world seems to split apart before our eyes into stupid and cool. When we get it back, the world unifies around us, and both stupid and cool fall away. I am grateful to those who are keepers of the groove. The babies and the grandmas who hang on to it and help us remember when we forget that any kind of dancing is better than no dancing at all.