019: LOST IN SUMMER, PART ONE

It has been an aggressively hot summer, punctuated by days of rain that feel like you’re breathing under water. The heat makes walking the dog feel like a chore, which Aubrey has graciously taken on most days, leaving me to hide happily indoors, dressed in layers, basking in the AC.

We’ve been taking her to the dog bar once a week to burn off some energy and mingle with canine friends. She’s a social girl with needs. On the Fourth, they threw a puppy foam party, which was just as ridiculous and adorable as it sounds, while the humans were handed frozen watermelon margaritas. Everyone left happy.

In June, I spent 12 hours in the car driving to Florida to reunite with Darrell, whom I love so much. It was only the second time I’d set foot in the Sunshine State since leaving in a hurry seventeen years ago. Driving through Tampa Bay came with a side car of heavy emotion, but the nostalgia was soon overpowered by laughter with a dear friend that feels like home. Healing happened. The sample dress I made was put to the test against the Florida humidity. New memories took the place of old ones.

I drove down with friends and their daughter, Olive, who happens to be a dog. The twelve hour drive wasn’t bad when I was behind the wheel. I’m not a passenger princess. We rented a house in St. Pete two blocks from a row of shops, cafes, and good coffee. I never made it to the beach (I’m not a fan). Instead, we ate tapas near the water and I waved hello to the sea.

Darrell brought me my favorite sandwich from Lonni’s: the Sunny Bird. I’ve thought about that sandwich an embarrassing number of times since I moved away. It’s an odd combination of flavors and texture that somehow work well between two impossibly soft slices of rye. I want to recreate it at home, but fear my sourdough won’t measure up.

We packed as much as we possibly could in that short string of days: thrifting at my old haunts, wandering the farmer’s market where D sells his preserved flowers, tiny martinis and fresh conversation with friends of friends, sake and plates of oysters at In Between Days, a front-row drag show, and late nights chain smoking Parliaments, laughing, crying, and marveling at how quickly life ticks by. ‘Twas good for the soul.

I came home to smiling faces, freshly washed sheets, and an entirely unexpected gift from my husband. He bought the sofa I’ve loved and admired for the better part of a decade. The very one that belonged to old friends. I’ve spent countless hours on this Italian beauty, usually with a glass of wine in hand, and I expect I’ll spend countless more doing the same.

Please ignore the current rug situation. A much larger one from Nordic Knots just arrived, which I plan to photograph soon. The color is one I wouldn’t normally choose, but I think it works well in the space. It’s the sort of neutral that I, hopefully, won’t grow tired of over time.

To hang above the sofa, I tracked down an original print by Walassee Ting from an art dealer in Paris. It was a hell of a deal because it had been folded away into storage years ago, causing deep creases and minor damage. After a deep-dive of Reddit research, I attempted the repair by myself. Partly because I love a project. Partly because I love a challenge. Mostly because I was not prepared to spend a small fortune on a full restoration.

It isn’t perfect, the repairs are subtle, and you can still see some imperfections, but I don’t mind them. The print is old and shows it’s lived a little. Now it just needs the right frame.

Speaking of projects, I have owned several sc103 bags since the pandemic. I’ve carried them into the ground, having to replace broken links over time, which got me thinking, I can make this.

So I did.