The Dreamer's Pen

Fall is here and the days get shorter, I naturally slow down. Fall and winter have always been seasons that invite me to slow down my pace, to notice, and of course, to make things cozy. I don’t crave anything glossy or modern this time of year. It’s the mismatched, the handmade and the old that feels the most comforting.

Growing up nothing in our house really matched. We had pieces from Germany, secondhand finds, cozy quilts piled on beds, and doilies under lamps. My mom was always making throws, sweaters, scarves, and blankets. They carried her warmth and care in every stitch. I still have them and when I wrap myself in one, I feel her presence and also that strange comfort of having grown up with so little and somehow feeling surrounded by richness. We didn’t have abundance but we had texture, warmth, and history in the things we did have.

That mismatched coziness stuck with me. Even now, I love pulling out soft sweaters, thick socks, and scarves big enough to double as blankets when the weather turns cold. I love curling up under quilts and vintage blankets, surrounded by pieces that don’t necessarily go together but create a kind of imperfect beauty. It all reminds me of my childhood home and, oddly enough of the 1930s.

I didn’t live through that era, of course, but I’ve always been drawn to it. Maybe because it was a time of hardship and I grew up knowing what that felt like in a way. When I picture the 1930s, I think of families gathered around wood stoves or radios, doilies and handmade things softening simple rooms, meals stretched and shared, and a kind of resilience wrapped in coziness. That spirit really feels familiar to me like I’ve carried a little of it into my own life.

For me living simply now isn’t about recreating the past, but about borrowing its best parts. Lighting candles instead of harsh overhead lights. Reaching for a book instead of a screen. Simmering soups and stews on the stove. Wrapping up in quilts layered with history. These small choices make my life feel slower, deeper, and more grounded.

And sometimes that love of the old shows up in unexpected ways. Like at the end of this week, I’ll be going to the opera, and instead of shopping for something new, I went to the back of my closet and pulled out a gown I haven’t worn in years. My mom scraped together money to buy it for me back in 2001. We picked something timeless: a classic black velvet gown with feathers along the neckline. She wanted me to have a dress I could wear into the future. And here I am, 24 years later, pulling it out again.

I am learning that fall and winter aren’t just seasons to endure, they are seasons to savor. The glow of a lamp, the softness of wool, the sound of the wind outside, the mismatched coziness of a home that feels alive with memory.

Maybe that’s why the 1930s linger in my imagination when the air turns cold. In a world that moves too fast I find comfort in living just a little more like that: cozy, resilient, and beautifully simple.