As the velvety richness of October creeps in, I am once again, enamored by the romance of the season. Enchanted by the golden light and memorized by trees ablaze with amber leaves, the air spiced with cinnamon, nutmeg and the damp of a withering and exhausted garden. To me, this is the beauty of Halloween. Haunted, misty forests, lingering roses slumped and blackened by an early frost and shadows of bare branches playing tricks in the night as they dance in the moonlight. For me, this is the frightful fascination of the season – Elements collected and gathered from a once vibrant garden, bent and shrivened to an unrecognizable state and tales of vintage ghost stories with spine shivering morals. Building from beauty something that is captivating and yet, not quite right. This is how one can play chic against eerie… This is my version of Halloween.

I think I must have been an odd child. I believe that my Halloween costumes are proof alone of this. I was seemingly always coming up with crazy ideas and falling in love with fanciful tales and characters that were well beyond my childlike comprehension. As an adult I watch some of the Halloween movies I was enamored with as a kid and I have no idea what my parents were thinking. But hey, it was the 90’s and early 00’s so things were different and maybe they just knew that all of it was going over my head. I simply went to Hollywood Video and picked out a VHS tape and watched it over and over again, becoming obsessed, hoping to emulate my favorite actors and characters as much as possible and Halloween was definitely proof of this. When I wanted to be a Vampire for halloween I watched Dracula Dead and Loving It – It is not a great film, or even a good one, really, but I loved it (and still do) for some unknown reason and was somehow allowed to watch it which is truly the more confounding part of this tale. And I simply had to be one of the floating, bed post rocking (you will only get this if you know the film) sexy female vampires. So I studied and memorized and plotted and designed. And off to goodwill I went to get an ivory neglige or some kind of wedding dress for the costume party and my makeup was done in a moody vampire fashion and I was adamant that my artist father paint realistic puncture marks on my neck so I could really be the bride of Darcula. I was at the most, 10. 

I have long been in love with autumn. A most elegant season, all dressed up in chocolaty jewel tones and perfumed with the scent of damp earth, decaying leaves and wood burning fires… It is no wonder that, once again, October has completely captivated my attention. With its effortless beauty and the forever shifting scenes of golden light and transforming foliage, I find myself melting into fall’s misty mornings and wind whistling nights. Tempted into candlelit, novel reading hibernation by steaming cups of tea and bowls of homemade soups, falling in love with longer shadows and the song of the rustling leaves that lull us into this cozy state. A period of rest, a time to recharge. It is a season of cozy charm and of chic richness. It is a time of year that simply feels like coming home.

For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to be a witch. Wished that one day, my magical powers would reveal themselves and I could step into an unknown yet perfectly familiar place. That I would eventually live in a little cottage in the woods with a leather bound spell book, a roaring fire and a silky black cat, casting broomstick silhouettes over full moons and lighting candles by gently blowing on the wick – It is a whisper of a wish always in my heart. A magical dream that is forever etched onto my soul, no matter how impossible or impractical. I simply have always known that I was meant for magic.

As the September light washes over the lingering days of summer, I am reminded just how perfect each season can be. The final flush of the garden with its determined blooms and the concluding burst of produce all write the closing sentences to the chapter entitled ‘summer’, a season facing its final bow of the year. These quiet days before the arrival of autumn are full of splendor and reflection. A collection of moments to be transformed into memories, flavors begging to be preserved and safely tucked away, patiently waiting to be cherished once life has settled into the depth of our upcoming season of hibernation. September is a beautiful finale… A golden tasseled curtain call for summer.

The heat of August is inescapable. It lingers and swelters and leaves you in a sundrenched haze. As temperatures continue to climb over the sprawl of concrete that I, at the moment, call home, the desire for a sense of escape is profound. Slow, intentional moments dripping with nostalgia become the main ingredient of my existence this time of year. Behind sunscreen smudged sunglasses I find myself lost in daydreams of a childhood spent on slip and slides, running through front yard sprinklers and my parent’s wild idea of a crab boil for my sister’s 5th birthday party. These memories come in flashes, spinning into sunflared souvenirs of long lost carefree summers. Bright colors of plastic pools, grass stained cut off shorts and chalk drawn bike courses on the burning asphalt of the cul-de-sac – These are the echoes of my very early childhood. One that feels so impossibly far away, and yet still manages to wash me in a sense of timeless joy and adventure. I wish that I could bottle up that feeling of an innocent, wide eyed summer. The feelings of long lost days full of wonder and possibility. The days of skinned knees and the call of ice cream trucks. A time when land lines kept us grounded in reality and stacks of four by six drugstore photos cluttered junk drawers and filled countless shoe boxes. I long for the simplicity of it all. The Kodak tone of my childhood. 

July always feels extra nostalgic for me. Memories of the long days of summer from my childhood sometimes seem to be the most vivid. The scent of sunscreen and a slight tint of green in my hair from afternoons submerged in chlorine, the beauty of sun-ripened strawberries and homemade pies, and sprinklers in the yard and the taste of water from the tightly coiled green garden hose. I can play horseback gallops and diving board moments in my head on a loop as though watching family video tapes with an old VCR. Memories that flicker, at times, so clearly that I feel as though I could reach out and touch them.

I have forever been in love with the classic romance novels, with their tales of wooing and letter writing, dreamy picnics by the sea and petite bouquets of wildflowers gathered on strolls through the countryside, it is as if my dream life is being lived out by these characters. As I have settled more and more into my unconventional adult life, I see how much these fictional moments inspire me. How they have shaped my creativity and my life and how deeply I crave designing imaginative worlds for myself and my guests. It has all woven itself into a space meant for romanticizing seasons and experiences through nostalgia and tales of bygone eras. With summertime creeping in, the desire to build a feminine picnic with classic french faire and bottles of crisp white wine shifted from a faraway fictional daydream to an absolute compulsion. I needed an afternoon of sundresses under the shade of a lemon tree, Parisian inspired sandwiches, a bit of cheese, stone fruit and a salad that would transport me to the South of France.

It is the year of the Cool Auntie. A time to celebrate the childless cat ladies who show up to Easter brunch with a collection of wild tales and a passport that gets more action than Henry VIII had wives. The Cool Auntie is a vibe. She is a lifestyle. An essence. And not everyone appreciates her. Not everyone appreciates me. I have an out-of-the-box kind of lifestyle. I am a childless cat lady. The Cool Auntie to my friend’s kids and my nephew. The black sheep of the extended family who is talked about and most likely judged a little bit and definitely not at all understood. And to be honest, I do not always understand my life myself. It is not exactly what I imagined it to be and yet, upon reflection, I think I have always marched to the beat of an unexpected drum. I have chosen the artist's path, one that has not always been easy, but one that has been filled with exceptional stories and a lifetime of memories. I am not always sure of the life I lead. I have doubts. I have had dreams of a family life, oftentimes I still do. Planning kids birthday parties and holiday traditions, visions of family life, it all swims around in my mind from time-to-time. But ultimately, the universe had other ideas, other plans.