Time

The pace of everything seems to have accelerated this week in the thoes of the (near) end of the semester and cyber week shopping/last minute grading. Amidst all this, I was fortunate enough to spend two afternoons with my old university friend, Tim, who was in NYC for work this week. He's one of the nicest people in the world, a positive force, full of joy, decency and positive energy. It was a true pleasure to spend time wandering around the city with him, sharing meals, and ssheltering from the cold, over cappuccinos in Maman. As we were walking down (or up) Elizabeth Street in the suddenly biting cold, the kind of NYC weather that I thought climate change had forever changed, I looked carefully at each tiny storefront north of Kenmare, scrutinising each one to find the space that used to house Lyell. I think I found it, but with different paint jobs and the passing of time, it wasn't quite the same. Rather than spending time in Nolita visiting clothes, I now go down there for French conversation classes, which is probably a more productive use of my time.

It's bitterly cold here right now, the kind of dry, windy cold that cuts through you as it funnels through the urban canyons. For the first time in several years--for probably most of my life as a mother of two--I dug out old tank tops to add more layers. At this time of year, thoughts naturally turn to nostalgia, which manifested itself for me, this week, in old friendships, the ghosts of shops past and the very materiality of clothes as a shelter against the elements--and as a way to softly coccoon myself during these frantic final days of the semester. Amidst the frigid weather and in the spirit of old friends and old passions, I dug out my old, warm and barely worn cream-coloured Mayle coat (I think it was Olympe) and remembered to be more kind to my younger self and my former obsessions.