Christmas shopping with my mom has become its own kind of holiday ritual: equal parts sparkle, sentiment, and a slow-burning test of patience. She’s 87 now, her memory softening at the edges like an old cashmere sweater, and yet she still insists on dressing up for an outing at . Yesterday, she wore a pair of Chanel sandals she “borrowed” from me five years ago. We eased into the day over popovers and a salad we shared because she said she wasn’t very hungry, then promptly forgot we ordered it. And yet: there was a fleeting moment, when she grabbed my hand and squeezed it as if remembering everything at once. I’m learning to live for those flashes. And not mourn their quick disappearance. Post-lunch, I tried on a pair of Chanel boots I absolutely do not need (yet absolutely adored along with the ballet flats (above), and slipped her Cartier watch—the one I “borrowed” to complement the I’ve been wearing nonstop, below. This is the season of mutual borrowing, I suppose. And, in true Le Catch style, buying into more wallet-friendly finds that pass the cost-per-wear test with flying colors: (also ) that won’t require a second mortgage, that look EXACTLY like Chanel, striped because they do double duty as loungewear and daytime “running to get coffee” attire. And framed photos—personal, lasting, forever-keeping ones—because this year, more than any other, I want to preserve what’s slipping away: the moments, the expressions, the pieces of her. Trust me, is the way to go here--so easy, it's almost addictive! The gift I’m giving myself this season: patience, presence, and acceptance that beauty shows up in many forms—sometimes in the imperfect, irreplaceable person walking beside you in borrowed shoes!

P.S. My skin needs to borrow from the fountain of youth, still so dry from my trip to NY, so I just dipped into .