Of all the questions I am asked on the regular, my daily routine is (hands down) the most frequent. And oh, how I get it. Daily routines are the structure for everything we do, every habit we establish, every ritual we keep. I believe in routines wholeheartedly, that a good one is as close as
The seasons that run smoothly for me are, unsurprisingly, the ones that involve focus and order. The routines, the boundaries, the guidelines – I’m wired for it all. Once, on a hot July day when I was no taller than her mailbox, my aunt announces a trip to the fair to pet the pigs, try
Well, no, I can’t exactly claim the same perspectives (nor groundbreaking insights) of Virginia Woolf. But truthfully, I’d never deny the beauty of a room of one’s own. A space for writing or thinking, for arranging things just-so, for practicing what it means to make a small, seemingly insignificant mark on this world – or
An excerpt from my latest piece for Fathom Mag: “In this Google-able age, where the very names of our most popular technological resources are rooted in mythology—Siri, Alexa, Amazon—we might do well to remember that our world, mighty and mysterious, is vastly unfindable. That our declinate minds will fail us. That curiosity needs little confirmation.
It’s a running joke in our friend circle that I’m impossible to speed up (surprise, surprise) and Ken is impossible to slow down. A single glance at an empty calendar square and the man’s found a way to fill it with four conference calls, three house projects, two oil changes, one heaping pot of curry
I don’t profess much expertise in the homekeeping department, which is precisely why I so chiefly excel in my role as Ruthless Curator. The less there is to dust, the less there is to dust, you get me? Still, Ken has twice this month complimented the state of our floors and I’ve become no stranger
An italicized passage in Bee’s science book. She and I are weighted under a shared blanket, two dogs snoring at our feet when we read it. Dolania americana has the shortest lifespan of any mayfly: the adult females of the species live for less than five minutes. Is that true? she asks me with wide
I used to be worried about black holes, Bee says as she slices a hard-boiled egg on the kitchen counter, adds pepper. Well, she smiles… I still kind of am. — And there it is, the thing I fully and finally have in common with my kid, this girl who is a mystery, who is