On writing, or creating an all-compassing piece of art, craft, work: “Embrace this selfishness, for now. Wrap it around you like a quilt made of air… Don’t leave that essential place. Be a good steward to your gifts.” -Dani Shapiro When I read this, I was in bed. It was January, on a chilled but
Another week, another slew of outfits. Want to hear something funny? I talked to my dad on the phone this week (Hi, Dad!) and he says to me, while I’m chopping carrots, something to the effect of: You know, Erin. If you were living a long time ago, you’d have one outfit that you’d wear
I do not profess to dislike the Internet. This invention – if you can even call it that, being that its advance has changed our entire world in such a short time and is actually more of a movement, an evolution, no, a revolution – is a gift. We can tap on the keyboard and
I am a woman of my word, mostly, except for the one time I lied to a pug-loving co-worker and said I had a pug, hoping she’d be my friend, but it turns out she had a pug, too, and wanted to set up a dog playdate and was I available next Saturday? And then
And just like that, just like a snap of the fingers and a flip of the page, the basement is finished. For those of you new to my psuedo-neighborhood, Ken and I (the “and I” should be loosely referenced), have been renovating our home in the Midwest for oh, five years now? We shared two
It’s an interesting thing, to watch your child grow from baby to toddler to altogether person. The very core of their soul is discovered more each day – a layered onion, revealing, eyes watering – until you’ve unearthed the person who lives in your home; the one sleeping just a few rooms away. She wants
Last week, amidst glittered business cards and sequin headpieces, I was asked for my advice on blogging. I had hopped a flight to Salt Lake City to spend a whirlwind 48 hours manning the blogging mentor table for Altitude Design Summit, a conference that will always be dear to me in that it was the
There was a time when the cookie sheets were not burnt and rusty, when the diamond was new, shiny, sparkling. We were young, and tan, and overly analytical. After we married, we disagreed about whether or not we should paint the walls in our Los Angeles apartment satin or eggshell. Both, we’d decided, and we