good things

as Martha Stewart the Omnimediapotent* would have it:

1. The monstrous heat has broken, and the molten puddle in the bottom of my brainpan has begun to reconstitute into something once again capable of thought.

2. It's Friday.

3. A package from Julie, my friend since we were 14, who lives in Paris with her husband Nicolas and son Damien. J and I feel a strong kinship with this family, even though J has only met them a few times – likewise I, Nicolas – and despite distance and different languages. Among other kindnesses, Julie has supplied Iris with the most beautiful French clothes since she was a mere papoose.


Iris wanted to model her new dress immediately. Yes, it fits, and roomily enough that I suspect it will fit the three-year-old she'll be next summer, too.


And the details! – the ruffled straps! – the pintucking!



Even the tag is pretty.


Thank you, Julie! Merci, Nicolas and Damien!


*I'm not speaking to her since she chucked Martha Stewart Kids for this froufy new folly, "body + soul." J says she's called a bunch of times, weeping and apologizing, but I won't come to the phone – nor darken the doorstep of any of her houses – until I get my subscription back.