Well, here we are. 2019. While I know that time is a construct and nothing is fundamentally different than it was at 11:59 on December 31, 2018, I've grown to appreciate the symbolism of the new year. After our endless scribbling and tweaking on the etch-a-sketch that was our lives in a given year, we … Continue reading Freshlike!
I have always loved Christmas. As a child, there was the wonder of bringing a tree inside the house, adorning it with baubles, and watching them glitter in the tree lights. There were nighttime celebrations that took me outside where the lights glittered across the snow. The world itself seemed to twinkle. I still like … Continue reading Christmas Ghosts
It recently occurred to me that my memories as conveyed on this blog often involve driving through and around the different landscapes I've inhabited. "The verdant hills of Vermont." "The expansive plains of the Midwest." And so on. I guess this is partly because I'm from a driving family. Gotta get to college in Ohio? … Continue reading Just Passing Through
Yesterday I had the delightful experience of seeing a painting for the first time and being absolutely sucked into the painting. If you don't already know him, let me introduce you to native Seattle artist Jeremy Mangan. I discovered Mangan's work at the Tacoma Art Museum, which is one of my favorite museums in the … Continue reading Jeremy Mangan’s Desert Island
Here's the thing. I am not, nor have I ever been, particularly cool. If you've read any of my blog posts, you have no doubt picked up on the fact that I am sentimental. I appreciate life's simple beauties. Without sarcasm or cynicism. Though I am a bit of a pessimist, I'm not jaded; my … Continue reading Sunny Days & Lonely Times
I was glued to my TV last Thursday when Christine Blasey Ford and Brett Kavanaugh appeared before the Senate Judiciary Committee. I found her sympathetic and credible, and her testimony has had me thinking about memory. It's strange that those attacking her credibility seem to think that either you wholly remember something or you don't … Continue reading Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives.
How is it that I haven't written about old houses yet? My first love. Maybe old houses are so in my blood that I take the subject for granted, like breathing or sleeping... You see, although my father made his career as a journalist, the family business was really remodeling old houses. I guess I … Continue reading Houses, Old