Little walks to nowhere.

[Stoops meant for stoopin’ on. Daughters of the Revolution dress + Urban Outfitters bra + Sam Edelman Louie boots + ShopBop Bop Basics hat.]

As a kid, I had a thing for really tangible, purposeful aberrations in the landscape. Things practically meant for clicking little kid shoes on: stones carefully placed in an arc through my grandparents yard, where I’d stand and watch their Westie root around for chipmunks; patches of marble floor between carpets at the Greenbrier, begging for me to tap dance on while waiting for the maitre d’ to seat us; bumpy brick sidewalks, Block Island’s stone walls, and cement blocks on Marjorie’s side yard she told me her soul was buried beneath; even the 3-inch-thick, dirt groove worn into the grass that circled around my best friend’s house next door. Their Springer Spaniel, Oliver, was so diligent in his perusal of the perimeter, he’d cut a perfect path. We’d run along it with our arms stretched out, singing songs about his stubby tail.

[V&T and mags on steps. Mail forwarding brings goodies in heaps, apparently.]

[Remember this dress? It was something like $10? Last seen up in NY during brunch in this post, in an outfit I have to say I still dig pretty hard on. I miss layers.]

I have to hope that, if I ever have kids some day, they’ll be as endlessly entertained by simple things like I was. Paths and bridges over creeks, little signs in gardens that say “Elephant Crossing,” and billboards with 3D things on them, like bananas. Although roadside, Florida attractions are better left pined after, I’ve learned—as up close, there tends to be a universal grey dust covering things like stories-high soda cans and fake mermaids that leaves little kids disillusioned and quiet.

Anyway, my love of these kinds of things carried over into my adult life. I like how somehow the idea of going downstairs to get the mail tonight became an exercise in appreciating our new way of life. I grabbed Rob by the elbow and dragged him down with me.

You can sift through the mail on the steps, with the beverage of your choice, watching dogs and runners pass by. This way, you slow down; the mail doesn’t end up in a 3-day-deep pile next to the car keys. It’s awesome.

[That’s the “I’ve spotted something YSL” face.]

To Rob’s chagrin, when we’re on bikerides, I force us down bumpy, cobblestoned alleys rather than smooth, paved streets. Boy bike seats already look like mild torture devices, so I can only imagine.

I’m curious; what were your little fascinations? Stickers? Glitter? Cats? Building blocks? Unicorns…well, obviously.

I don’t ever want to lose sight of the spirit of being a kid; I’m almost greedy about it.

-Carey