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?…
Sharing with you this morning a little of what you will find from me if you subscribe also to lauriecarney.substack.com: So, I did: remain very still. It’s predictable, what happens when one is still. For me, all the good stuff that happens inside of it is matched head on with…
Before bed and again before first cups of coffee, we played across the paper cards with them: the little people taking turns calling. How at 3 can he read his audience and build excitement for the possibility that he will call the animal they have learned only in story? So…
The memory is now vague, but I retain two things from the day in a hard chair next to my mother’s at a conference paid for by her, gleaning the late author/speaker’s wisdom: (pulling the thread here on the gist of what she said, in my 2025 words), you can’t…
The play of morning light on the unlit tree and the master violinist behind it put a fine point on something I’ve been thinking about. Preparing for a Christmas gathering last week, I pulled out the red accordion file I’ve used for decades to store recipes and tasting notes. Too…