I am terrible at cutting hair. Once, I took my friend Kate’s long blonde tresses and turned them into a jaggedy bob. She did score a modelling gig at the salon who salvaged the hair style, so it wasn’t totally disastrous. I cut my own hair a few times, and I’ve given my son the wonkiest bangs on earth, but generally I steer away from salon scissors. I love this image of Carl M. Dunrud giving his friend Amelia Earhart a haircut. It was taken at in Wyoming in 1934. He looks like he knows what he’s doing.

Leslie Williamson photographs homes, many of which appear in her book, Interior Portraits. She also photographs people. It’s these pictures that I really love, people caught in a moment, talking, laughing, reading, eating, thinking. Williamson’s photo of Irving Harper at his home in Rye, New York has such a warm and natural feel to it, as does her shot of sculptor, Maria Moyer in her studio. Take a look, they’re all quite lovely.

One of the things I love about my neighbourhood, is how quickly and spontaneously a Wednesday evening turns into a party. And by party, I mean two women, 6 children, some fajitas and a bottle of Rosé. I am so grateful for such evenings. They remind me of the impromptu gatherings I grew up with, playing dress up way past sundown at the batty French house up the street, or quiet Sunday lunches at home, that turned into a feast for fifteen. As of late April when the snow finally thaws, you can always count on finding a neighbour to shoot the breeze with at the end of the day. And isn’t that great.

I always get a little sentimental on the last day of school. It’s pride in my children, how much they’ve grown –– bigger hearts, bigger minds, bigger teeth –– but it’s also a whiplash back to my own feelings at the end of the school year. There was excitement for the fun ahead, but also melancholy in the clearing of desks and the farewells to friends and teachers (for what seemed like an eternity). Endings, beginnings, endings, beginnings. It was all bitter sweet. But how fast children move on. Within a few days I was barefoot, eating chunks of watermelon a million miles away from my little wooden school desk.  And so mine will be, too.