The Wrong Longing

At the gym last night, I said to Husband Mike, “I’m really looking forward to fall.”

“Not me,” he replied. “I know what comes after fall.”

And he’s right. Fall means winter. And winter in MN means long, cold, dark, bored, frustrated, cold, dark, and cold.

But I meant that I was dreaming of this:

And this:

And this:


I’m not a huge fan of actual hot weather, but due to long experience with the aforementioned winters, I do value being warm. Even so, summer starts to poke at my bizarre sense of modesty after a while. In May and June, it feels liberating to prance about in tank tops, miniskirts, and strappy sandals. But I tire of showing so much skin, day after day, by late July.

Ya know, nowish.

Nowish is when I’ve had enough of feeling exposed, and instead want to feel cocooned. Nowish is when I long for cozy sweaters, layered tees, colored tights, and tall boots. Nowish is when I wrongly begin to long for fall. And I feel guilty for being utterly incapable of living in the moment. Ungrateful, even. But I can’t help myself! Summer may not be done with me, but I am done with summer.

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This week I love …

… quasi-DIY.

I’ve already professed my love of the beautifully crafted, build-your-own Mohop sandal line. This week, I’m drooling over Freddy & Ma‘s adorable custom purses, and even more mix-and-match options from 1154 Lill Studio. I am unable to actually PURCHASE any of these items in my current financial state, but it’s fun to surf, and design, and dream.

I don’t possess the skillz to make … well, anything.* Every bracelet I’ve ever strung has fallen apart after three wearings, and all my custom tees shed their iron-ons and embellishments in the wash. I’ve finally embraced the fact that I’m just not going to learn to do things right. So this you-pick-the-materials, we-do-the-work setup appeals to my desire to customize, yet neatly circumvents my total lack of craftiness.

Would you invest in a customizable? Or just make it your damn self? Pass in favor of the pre-fab?

*Possible exception: Kick-ass quesadillas. But ya can’t wear those.

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