last glances

In the last three months life has changed drastically. I bought a house, we said goodbye to our tree nest, moved out of the city, and moved into a new (larger) nest with two other artists (and a fifth part-time).


The first month was intense work on the house to fill holes in the walls, get a functional laundry room up and running, and preparing for our two new house mates (so much painting). The second month was filled with learning about our neighbors, setting up house systems, and slowly knitting two households together. This third month has seen the end of the school year for me and really soaking up what we want to do with our yard spaces and digging in the dirt.


The transition has been extremely difficult to keep a handle on. One moment is sheer excitement and energy, the next is a bone-deep homesickness. I’ll be standing in the kitchen trying to figure out why my gut is hollow and aching only to realize that I miss what home used to be, that I can never go back to it, and that I wouldn’t have it change.


Now with a little time and distance (and a loving, creative, restorative home slowly growing in around me), it does my heart good to glance back at my previous home.

* For those of you wondering, I will be posting more about the house, projects in the works, our growing community, and many of our hopes and dreams for this space. Right now we’re still in the settling-in phase and learning what we want it to be. I took and collected photos when we moved in so don’t worry about missing the before/after love. <3

the winter storm

It kept preschools closed for nearly two weeks and reminded me of just how lovely it is to be within walking distance of a grocery store. The storm certainly seemed to wake people up to some of the biggest social justice issues in our city, from winter rescue teams for the homeless to newspaper articles about long-standing special education busing issues that were exacerbated by the storm. Now that the sidewalks are filled with sheets of ice instead of snow, it’s nice to look back and remember that it was beautiful as well as destructive.

snow day

Late last Sunday night saw the first big snow of the year and covered Seattle in a slippery, icy hush. With schools and the bakery closed, we got the day at home to read, eat muffins, avoid the internet, catch up on magazine cutting, and move the plants away from the windows so they wouldn’t freeze.

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.