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love, loss + signs of spring

E, a black man with a beard, and Roe, a black women in a lovely white straw hat gaze lovingly into each other's eyes.

(Photo by @brownkids)

I find myself reading through the relationship ups and downs of a couple I’ve never met. 

I scroll easily through their seven-year relationship. It’s so sweet, so tender, and supportive. I love instagram for this, these bits of inspiration and light. 

I’m cozied under layers of cream-colored afghans, and can’t help but drift to thoughts of my grandmothers who knit them, and then back to the lives of these young lovers—E and Roe of @brownkids

I wonder what my grandmothers would make of this moment: me cuddled on the couch in front of a crackling fire, thumbing breezily through the intimate details of another couple’s life. 

E, a black man lovingly embraces, Roe a black woman on a beach with a dune to their right.(Photo by @brownkids)

I lost my paternal grandma, my Oma, this past month. Our family had been losing her for years as her memories slipped—somewhere deep and inaccessible—out of reach.

We’re not the only family who have lost loves—eyes wander back to the screen—

I scroll through and come to the end. The end of E and Roe.

It’s strange when this happens, when someone’s feed just ends—often with little explanation. It seemed as though life was going so well for this couple, but then a final post: they both needed to enter their separate seasons of healing.

Collectively, I think, it’s what we all need. A season of healing.

There’s been so much loss this year. Loss of lives. Loss of jobs. Loss of rhythm.

Sometimes I’m able to convince myself that this is the normal rhythm of the year, that winter is always hard. There’s truth in this. February is tough. It’s cold. It’s dark. But I noticed something yesterday—an opening.

It warmed up a little and the light hung on—and something magical happened.

Everyone came out.

I remember it growing up in Canada. That day, still solidly winter, but ever so slightly warmer where suddenly you’d see people’s socks, snow pants left hung inside.

It was a day with more hope than reality. And it was, dare I say it, universally felt.

We’re all grasping for spring, this season of healing and hope—and it’s on its way. 

Dramatic floral arrangement in cream ceramic vase, styled like a Vermeer painting with dark, moody tones with fresh bright florals.(Photo by Tin Can Studios)

Our calendar at hōm is slowly filling up with springtime classes like, arranging like a Dutch Master by floral phenom, Ingrid Carozzi, of Tin Can Studios

Carozzi's third book is soon to come out—and features our very own Britt Summers creating arrangements in her home using Carozzi's Bloom Box—enough flowers delivered to you to create three medium-sized arrangements with a video tutorial. 

If you find it impossible to wait another month or two for our class at hōm, Carozzi’s Bloom Box is available now and is stunning. 

With an eye to other hopeful signs of spring, I read a heart-warming article in the New York Times about a senior community that is mostly vaccinated and now able to eat and game together after nearly a year of being alone in their rooms.

I also came across this chart that pegged early July as the time when 50% of Americans will be vaccinated, which gives me hope too.

Wil B. and Kev Marcus of hip hop duo, Black Violin, lean casually against a wall that says: Inspire the world to listen better.

(Photo @blackviolin

I’ll leave you with melodic inspiration by Kev Marcus and Wil Baptiste of Black Violin, whose new release, ‘Time to Shine’ is especially sweet. 

Seeing this duo perform live was the last concert my daughter and I attended and it was everything we need right now.

Until next week, stay cozy at hōm—Sandra

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