Hello there,
We hope this email finds its way to you. We’re sitting in the corner of the couch, balancing a laptop and a mug. The mug is empty, but it’s the promise of a coming cup of tea that’s keeping it here. For a more specific visual, Andrea Joyce Heimer painted the current mood quite well.
We’re a little drained, a little hopeful, and full of daydreams. It’s been a minute. You may have noticed we released our spring collection, “Mentally, I’m Here,” this week, so in keeping with the theme, we’re sending you some things to help you move toward whatever mental state you’re craving. We hope you like them.
If mentally, you’re headed for a new life as a reticent cowgirl on a ranch in New Mexico:
- You could pick up Death Comes for the Archbishop, which follows a priest making his way through mid-nineteenth century New Mexico. Written by the fantastic Willa Cather, its descriptions of the landscape are evocative and transportive.
- You could make very strong coffee at noon, because now that you live on a ranch, you want to stay up late enough to watch the stars come out in strength. You could listen to this playlist while you make that coffee.
If mentally, you’re on your way to meet a paramour in Paris:
- You could pull up this site, which drives you through the city of your choosing. Or you could watch C’était un Rendezvous for a slightly speedier route through the city, filmed in 1976.
- You could put on some silk and act out an argument with this mysterious lover in half-forgotten, but dramatic sounding French (Ça, c'est ridicule! Je suis calme! *flings hands in the air, elegantly).
- You could poach a pear, which will be perfect to carve up and will also make your kitchen smell both spicy and sweet.
If mentally, you’re sitting curled up on the floor of the kitchen:
- There’s no shame in that.
- You could put on some really soft socks, which might be a tiny thing. But enough tiny things can help, sometimes.
- You could fry a single egg in olive oil, and make a piece of toast to go with it. You could butter the toast, dash hot sauce on the egg, sprinkle salt on both from an improper height, and then sit back down on the floor and eat it. The egg is perfectly cooked.
And no matter where you are, here’s a Mary Oliver poem for good measure.
We’re going to go make that cup of tea.
Warmly,
The M.M. Team
