What is it about Sundays? Why do they always seem so slow, but still not quite long enough, why do they seem like life in a miniature form? To have breakfast without a hurry, to have all the time you want to read the paper, to do a bit of laundry, to read a random passage in a good book one has forgotten about, listening to Neko Case.
I went to see my mom at the hospital today. She was rather drugged up, waiting to have surgery, but she was in a good mood despite the fact that her knee was the size of a football. Oh I love my mom. She is such a fighter.
I was flipping through the May issue of Amica, and came across a couple of really cool images. I love the blue sunglasses in the first one, as well as the combination of two different flower prints. What caught my eye in the second image was the sequined top combined to a very romantic-looking skirt - very modern, yet soft.