A couple of New Years ago, I declared I was changing my stars. I was no longer a “pastry person.” I made up my mind to steer clear of sugar and become more of a chips, pickles, and humus person. It’s difficult to recall what stirred this proposed metamorphosis, only that I wanted to change…
“I sometimes delude myself about why I keep a notebook, imagine that some thrifty virtue derives from preserving everything observed. See enough and write it down, I tell myself, and then some morning when the world seems drained of wonder, some day when I am only going through the motions of doing what I am…
I bought this lamp on 1st Dibs. After reviewing the pictures, I decided I had to have it. It was delicate and spoke to a part of me that always longed for sophistication, if only on my nightstand. I imagined the tiny fairy lamp next to the yellow tray where I put my earrings before…
The fruit in my kitchen looks nothing like a Cézanne. It’s different. Bruised a bit, with a couple of rogue produce stickers and a suspicious soft spot on the bottom lemon. My avocados are too ripe or hard as rocks, but the apples and bananas are delicious. It’s just fruit. Cézanne’s peaches are always stunning.…
I have this gorgeous journal. The pages are soft and a lovely shade of ivory. The cover is patched together textiles and embroidered seams. There is a pocket in the front to tuck treasures and inspiration. If I could dream up a journal, this one would be the one. I have a beautiful fountain tip…
I have reached this interesting place where I’m not willing to share all of myself. That may be because I am working on things that can get ugly, or I’m simply changing. Whatever the reason, more of my writing ends up in a notebook or a journal these days than online. It’s not that what…
How much more life will I live before it’s time to change the head on my electric toothbrush again? Time is visceral these days. I’m parsing out my life in an effort to make a day, a month, a year meaningful. Life-affirming. I like to think things are not just slipping by for me. No.…
We moved to Venice, CA, when we left the desert. On our second day in our new city, I saw a woman on a bike in the middle lane of traffic. She was probably in her sixties. One pant leg rolled to reveal blue and white striped knee socks, her curly gray hair secured in…
Yesterday, I fell on my face. For real. This isn’t some lavish metaphor. I walked Jack, helping him navigate his usual sense that the other dogs were out to kill me or destroy the world, when a rogue Boxer came out of nowhere behind us. The rest of the memory speeds up from here. Jack…
