It’s three days after Christmas. I’ve got to sit down and write a few more Christmas cards, wrap one more gift, and wait for the green light to travel and gather with our northwesterly kids who are trying to get over Influenza A. I love Christmas, not just for the…
But the line of us is beautifully consistent. Last night’s texts: one exclaiming over a beautiful home on a holiday tour; one showing a beautiful winter container holding the line between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Both prompting a return early this morning to previous holidays through my phone’s photo library. Our…
This is your hotel? he asked. Looking around with his sharp, almost-5 eyes: You brought your house with you. Serendipitously, I encountered the author Fiona Davis, of so much great historical fiction, like “The Address,” about iconic NYC high-rises, who writes as though she lives in my head. It is…
It has taken me a lot of a slow lifetime to be ok knowing that we must find ourselves inside the fence instead of over it. I have asked myself a dozen times over a month, during which we have mostly lived out (J.’s goal … or was it prophesy?…
We’re doing it again. Moving. From woodland with its glorious silver coyote that runs creekside each morning. Back to concrete and steel. The photo here, which we printed to make a card for a nephew at Christmas, captures nearly perfectly what we see from the crest of a favorite street.…
And there is not so easy. I gave a month’s notice yesterday on the Juliet Rome space at Glenwood Antique Mall. Somewhere along the line, I promised a reader I would be honest about the journey of it. Many time-worn clichés come to mind: endeavor to do what is best…
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