Well, I’m writing a book. I’ve been writing it for, oh, five months, and I have nearly one month to go, and whoa, that is soon, isn’t it? I will not stop blogging. Writing in these wee hours of the morning is the best thing for me, it is just the best thing for me.
1. Turn off your phone. 2. Head straight for Otavalo and book a room at Casa Mojanda. Room 1 is rad because it has a fireplace and is closest to the food. Also, the llama. If you’re coming in around midnight on a Saturday, you might catch an indigenous rave and smile at the baby
When half of the town is out of power, when trees have landed on sidewalks, when another storm threatens the evening, it only makes sense to throw a cook-in: 1. Gather ribs, burgers, hot dogs from the fridge and freezer. They will go bad, you cannot eat them all, and so, a text chain is
We rise early and squeeze ourselves into a day packed for adventures: play dates in the backyard painting rocks, a turkey lunch on the patio, hunting for fresh mint at the farmer’s market, swimming late into the afternoon. It is humid; the perfect weather for memory keeping. Everything sticks. We pause often to search for
Well, let’s just get down to it. Last week, while Bee was napping a bit longer than usual, I headed to the bathroom for lotion and promptly decided to reorganize. Reorganizing, purging, editing, culling – these are all of my love languages, and had I been able to register for my wedding at The Container
A lesson from last year: just because you can be a leader, just because you own a business, just because you have one good idea, or a string of good ideas, and just because your title has the word “executive” in it — you do not have to enjoy being a boss. You do not
My server – the wizard behind the curtain of this corner of the Internet, what I anticipate to look like very much like an industrial Rube Goldberg machine with switchboards and buttons that glow and dim, I don’t know, I’m likely wrong here – has been down for three days. Last week, it was up
It was this: a rusty U-Haul truck smelling of dog breath and vinyl. Six, seven years ago, maybe more? Ken and I were somewhere near Arizona, moving our hearts and our dish towels from Los Angeles to his Midwestern hometown. My father-in-law was sick, we’d learned two weeks prior. We’d need to come home soon.