new place: living room

Do you love your home?

I live in an apartment (which is fine) with my pup (which I love), but I am itching to make a move.  Since I’m not in a place where I can buy a house, I’d like to move to an apartment closer to work.  I want to downsize my stuff (because, sheesh, it’s just me and a dog!) and go from a 2 bedroom to a 1.  (If I’m honest, this is also so I don’t have to keep track of so much stuff and feel like I need to fill an empty room.)

I’d like my new apartment to feel lighter.  Airy.  Open and clean.  Here are some of the “pieces” I’d love to have:



Right now, my furniture is very hobbled together, sort of a post-college-survival mode.  I’m looking forward to deciding and refining a style for myself!  A few months to plan…here we go!

hello, stranger


It’s been awhile since we’ve talked.

I think that it has to do with the parts of my brain that work during the day, during the year.  (This is not actually my idea, it belonged first to my father.)

I think that teaching uses up the parts of my brain that I use to write.  Write stories, write blog posts, etc.  I’m always more creative during the summer – that’s when I can write thousands of words every few days.  Right now…it’s amazing if I can write a few hundred words of a story every few weeks!

That’s why I’m writing to you today, actually.  I transcribed one of my handwritten story beginnings into Scrivener and could feel the obstacle of continuing on my head.  (Perhaps that’s exhaustion?  Sometimes I get them mixed up.)  I wrote some ideas down and then decided to come back here.

I don’t have new pictures of Dixie for you.  Or new recipes (though I’ve used my stand mixer quite a few times and can’t wait to share something in a few weeks!).  I can feel it building, though, that creativity that calls softly as you fall asleep.  Speaks volumes in the seconds before you wake up.  I can feel it.

Summer, when you are a teacher, means so many things.  For me, it means time to dig deep into that which I love the most.

I can’t wait.

Why I will never leave this place


Off on the west coast of Ireland is the lovely city of Dingle. It is filled with charm, sheep, and places to eat. Also, places to buy sweaters if you happen to travel during a cold spell.

I will be going to Dublin soon, and while I know I will love it, I doubt I will be charmed by it. Here, dogs have run to me begging to be pet. Baby lamb have come bleating at the edge of fences to capture my attention, and goats have interrupted all the others, pawing at the slats for food they hope I hold. I’ve talked with an old man as he led his sheep down the road, my car in the way but a wide smile on his face nonetheless.

The wind blows fiercely as cold ocean waves lap the land by my feet, but I swear that the air revives me. I catch myself singing silly rhymes and skipping down the sidewalks, smiling at everyone I see. I reach for my camera at every turn, wanting to save each moment.

I dream of a three room cottage with field animals behind: sheep, chickens, and goats. I imagine a garden of kale and radishes, and my dogs running wild as they herd the animals and look for visitors to scam into rubbing ears and bellies.

Then, as night makes the bravest, heartiest shiver as temps drop near freezing, fireplaces are lit and wool blankets tossed onto beds. Mugs of tea and hot whiskey pass into eager hands. Bows are drawn, strings are plucked, and stories are sung into the night.

To call this home: how grand a life that could be.