between the saturdays and sundays are a handful of days that crave routine and progress. these days passed, filled with inspiration. early in the week, she spent an entire afternoon penning her dreams. inspired by another dreamer, she penned blank page after blank page after blank page with thick cursive in black ink. she described her ideal life: dreams for her business, dreams for her home, dreams for her love, dreams for her art. a bookclub met in their flat and passed walnut-basil pasta around the table as they explored conversation & debate. they all wondered at the evolution of language, of art into the future. the following day, there was rising early to catch a train out of the city, to cradle a baby girl, born only nine days before. she held and photographed those six pounds of sweetness. the darling's mama shared the story of her natural water birth; both parents simply radiated with joy. she was inspired by their simple, calm parenting, by their hopeful hearts. many evenings, she wore black silk lounge pants around the home, indulging in the soft, slippery fabric brushing against her skin; a gift from her love. she began a space to capture the inspirations that she finds. happily there is inspiration everywhere -- the tulle, tiaras and graceful movements at the ballet; eggs benedict and mimosas over sunday brunch; glittering stars in the late-winter sky; vintage shops and art galleries; breathtaking coral-colored sunsets; morning coffee over glossy magazines, and most of all and always, traveling... (this is glamorous for high gloss). midweek, they ordered indian food: paneer butter masala, chilli mushroom curry, bowls of fluffy basmati rice, soft and flaky naan bread. they curled up with indian and blankets and films and chai and one another. they finished the evening with gulab jamun -- his favourite. he craves gulab jamun so often, the indian milk balls have nearly weaved themselves into his identity. he is her love, a man who loves a glass of bordeaux, indie films, local coffee roasters, ayn rand's work and gulab jamun. when she is overwhelmed, he is the one who takes her into his arms in the kitchen, holds her hands in prayer position and breathes with her. ooommmmm, they chant together on the same exhale, the energy vibrating around them and within them. one evening, she brought a novel to bed, and began the first chapter. she read and sobbed and was absorbed into the story, long after he had fallen asleep. she did not close the pages until she had reached the last one. one book, read, in one evening; after some months with only a few books, she felt like herself. a lover of literature, a reader of words, in the secret quiet space of the night. as she finally drifted to sleep, she could smell the space behind his neck that is all at once sweet and salty, like dark chocolate with fleur de sel. she met with the associate editor of parlour magazine, caroline. over italian coffee, their conversation wandered around the publication world, from magazines to online glossies to the thickness of paper. from fashion shoots to creative direction to make up artists. the curation of their aesthetic visions. they discussed a collaboration -- a fashion or beauty photo shoot for the pages of parlour. they shared inspirations and aesthetic directions... she left the yaletown cafe glowing -- a creative collaboration in the fashion industry, to be published; she picked up sushi and shared it for lunch with her love, sharing her elation. the following afternoon, she met with another inspired beauty, sarah klassen of haute design. they met in a trendy cafe in kitsilano. from the moment they met, they were inspired. it began with fashion, back and forth. nude pumps, heeled oxfords; pearl earrings, romantic ruffled cardigan; audrey hepburn-styled hair piled on top of the head, perfect manicure. they both carried a piece from michael kors, a mutual love. two pots of tea, one jasmine, one rooibos. over the next hours, they sipped and shared the beauty of life, letting the afternoon slip by without one quiet moment. their conversation ebbed and flowed from travel in italy and france to tiffany engagement rings to local boutiques to chilldhood and family to collections by chloé and chanel to relationships and love. they connected over their loves of travel, of art, of simplicity, of luxury and simply of life and love. sarah exuded positivity and sweetness and elegance, in her soft laughter, in her reapplication of cinnamon-hued lipstick. she left hoping that this new-friend would one day become a cherished old-friend, and felt so blessed to have encountered her. as the week came to a close, she put her work aside and made more moments for play. she walked on a rainy friday morning to main street to meet a lovely friend. her grey wool socks peeked out of her croc wellies. she hugged her long grey cardigan close for warmth. she arrived first and observed the scene in gene cafe. an indie vibe. loafers with socks; plaid; muted colors; organic coffee; lively meeting place where many faces recognize others; a queue fills the small space between communal tables; rituals of americanos and almond croissants and macbooks; concrete floors. the two girls sipped chai in tall glasses and enjoyed the retreat from the rain behind the walls of windows. her friend wore her curls in a braid on one side of her face, revealing mismatched earrings: one long, rich brown feather and one simple golden jewel stud. the elbows of her blazer were patched. they shared the stories of how they met their loves. soon, they ventured into the rain to wander in used book shops to discuss literature and art; to wander in a shop filled with records. her friend left with a suitcase record player and some iron & wine to play on it. they parted with a kiss on the cheek, she hurried home to warmth. when her love returned home in the evening, he drew her a bath. he had picked up a bottle of organic lavender bubbles for her to bathe in. the bubbles were mounded over the edges of the tub and filled the home with the scent of provence. she sank into the hot, fragrant water. as it cooled, she used her toes to turn on the hot water tap, filling the space with steam. there were candles lit for her at the edge of the bath and she relaxed in the near darkness, eyes closed, light flickering on the glittering edges of the foam. she slipped out of the bath and into a black silk night dress with bare feet for dinner. she still wore her pearls. he made salmon, filleted by his own hands and caught in the wild by her father's. salmon on toasted sourdough with ricotta, wildflower honey, chopped fresh parsley. they turned on a film she loves, they went to bed with hearts full of laughter, playfully pulling on the duvet. when she had written her dreams at the opening of the week, she described a life that had space to explore galleries, to sip in cafes, to photograph the world, to read classic literature, to taste local wines, and to connect with those who inspire her… in the days following those words, she was sincerely so inspired. when i meet you, in that moment, i am no longer a part of your future. i start quickly becoming part of your past. but, in that instant, i get to share your present and you, you get to share mine. (sarah kay)
