We finish The Hobbit. We bring home a farm mutt called Louie, supply dozens of lone socks for his milk teeth. I drive Ken to the airport at 6am, an errand that feels more familiar than either of us want it to. I attend six weeks’ worth of expected celebrations solo – graduations, birthday brunches,
I order tomato seeds from Italy. I write a poem to my daughter’s friend. I meander through downtown gardens with my husband and youngest, popping in for a London Fog from a boutique hotel a few blocks away. While waiting for the barista, I people-watch, pretending I am just another tourist in a lobby full
A poem for the woman in the co-op fumbling for an avocado, and for the right words. Stage 4, she says into the phone.
In our home, December offers a great pause. Few responsibilities are doled out, save for the finding of a missing puzzle piece, candying the pecans, raveling the yarn ball back into its basket. We read poetry and scripture daily, adding in a beloved picture book from years passed. We work with our hands, topping peg
Tis the season. Last weekend, the kids and I teetered up and down the attic stairs in search of salt dough stars and knitted stockings. Up and down, up and down, many times over, on the hunt for that one box with the Russian tea dolls, no not that one, the one with The Christmas
The weather turned quickly after unseasonable warmth, and last year’s burgeoning woodpile beckoned an early burn. So we burned. Morning fires on repeat, three times over, until the wax preserve drips clean from a child’s leaf garland. A wonderful mess, scraping beeswax from brick. We resign to flameless candles until leaves are swapped for winter
I will start by offering the very blanket disclaimer that we are all in the practice of offering when writing and sharing Anything Online™ : these are my own personal boundaries, for my own personal life, given my own personal limitations. This is not a standard to live by, nor an expectation I believe anyone
Shortly after publishing this post, my inbox became a beautiful jungle of sorts. I heard from hundreds of writers, creatives, and artists sharing a wide range of perspectives and experiences – Leaving social media? Impossible for my business! – to I’d love that. But how? I was curious to notice that, within each email, there