new york city

In early May I flew with two dear friends to a third dear friend’s wedding. It was the most beautiful wedding I have ever been to and the joy of getting to be a part of it is still with me. The delight of being surrounded by those who love and support someone I so dearly love still brings me comfort months later.

On our way back home, we stopped in New York City for bagels, lush greenery, some life-list birds, and the Guggenheim. First, bagels.

Altogether we walked twelve miles that day meandering through Central Park and finding ourselves at the Guggenheim. Rain followed us the whole way as we wandered under the trees and arbors, spotting birds in the underbrush and buildings among the clouds.

The Guggenheim was everything I dreamed it would be and has re-invigorated my love of Frank Lloyd Wright’s work. Every surface and join is deliberate and simple resulting in an exquisitely balanced, gravity-defying space.

When the water fountains are as worthy of a photograph as the artwork, I sit up, take notice, and start planning my next visit to one of his buildings.


On the third floor we stumbled upon a vibrant gallery of art by New York City students. The time, care, energy, and hope that it took to place their art on the world stage makes me shaky with hope of my own. I believe so strongly in the importance of encouraging, listening to, and honoring children’s art work that walking through the midst of so much of it awed and delighted me.

Our time filled up quickly with second bagels, Chicago on Broadway, a peek at Time Square in the dark, a rooftop cocktail bar, more wandering, the bustle of Grand Central Station (a lesson in exorbitant and unapologetic taking up of space), and the New York Public Library.

A joy, a pleasure, a blur.

cross stitch

Here’s a cross stitch doodle I did recently to celebrate one of Roommate’s works in progress. A few years have passed since I last spent time doing cross stitch and I have missed it. Embroidery is a delight and the projects I dream up usually call for its freer form, but the calm and predictability of cross stitch never gets old.

The piece is of the twelve characters present in the show, all of whom are actual historical people. For each one, I looked up old photographs, self portraits, and letters describing them and chose the colors, style of dress, and height as accurately as I could.

our little treehouse

The last of the January light always pools on the apartment floor in the morning, finally growing warm after two months of sharp chill. This has been yet another unseasonably warm month which has added spring bulbs, profuse jasmine flowering, and birdsong to these first days of the year.

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This little place feels as though it has finally found its balance. There are no more tricks or trials, everything fits together just so, and provides all of the functions we want. Except the biggest one, which is collaborating with other artists and comfortably seating more than four people.

But, looking around, for these past four years and all that we’ve done and seen and discovered, we couldn’t have asked for a better nest.

The loft my father and I built has decidedly had the most impact. Especially now that we have finally gotten a little club chair to go underneath. A tray slipped next to the chair can be pulled out and placed on the bed so that morning reading can include coffee or tea.

It isn’t until I go back to previous pictures of our kitchen that I realize how much has changed. It’s been a slow, quiet, yet deliberate shift towards wood, ceramic, terracotta, white, and green. We’ve now created so many of the things we use day to day from dishes to the utensil pot to our ramekins that the whole place feels alive.

I will absolutely mourn leaving this place. It’s been the first space that I got to craft with someone else and discover the synergy of weaving two lives together. I will miss the simplicity of cleaning such a small space and being able to reach anything I might want in five steps or less. I will miss walking out onto the street on a cold day and heading off towards a favorite haunt. I will miss being two blocks from some of the best fresh produce in the city.

I will not miss the panicked feeling of my heart syncing to the leather bar’s incessant bass while I’m trying to fall asleep. I will not miss being heckled by neighbors or having my packages opened. I will not miss the oppressive summer heat magnified by the glass, concrete, and smokey surround of the city.

But this place. This little piece of the city that we’ve cared for, crafted, and loved…I will miss this little treehouse dearly.

we're going on a house hunt

January brings sharp cold air, fresh starts, new semesters, and, this year, a big dollop of house hunting.

I’ve been working on finding/building/making/conjuring a house for a few years now. I haven’t said much before because it’s always been just about to disappear. But now, with an income that banks consider as existing (turns out contract pay does NOT count) and pre-approval under my belt, it’s time.

With the majority of the planning done it’s down to actually doing things now and the stress has definitely gotten to me. There are big, many-years-compounded dreams for what this home will become and a few adults besides myself who will call it home BUT! It’s one of those times when I can lean in hard on the joy of being cared for by someone way bigger than me who has my (and my loved ones) best interest in mind.

I have also been coping with spreadsheets. Lots of spreadsheets. Color coded ones too, which always gives my heart an extra little flutter of joy.

So here I sit with a candle burning, my tea brewing, pretty markers to play with, refreshing the MLS feed and dwelling in the gift and comfort of knowing that all will be well…all manner of things will be well.

decorating for christmas

Here in our little apartment, the Christmas box comes down from high in the coat closet the day after Thanksgiving. After hunting down our tree with biscotti and apple cider and decorating my parent’s tree with decorations and memories collected over decades, we climb our stairs with our own tree and begin decorating. As this is our fourth Christmas here, it’s a cozy, predictable affair with a Christmas record on and a warm dinner in the oven.