Before we moved to this house, the family before us had marked their history on their wall.
They didn’t just pencil it in. Oh no, they carved their lives right into the wood. I found this fascinating. This was not to be painted over. This was the story of their lives, permanently etched into their walls of their home…
Having a place for the dough to rise may very well be my favorite thing about the woodstove
Thank you, Adrienne Rich
This is an excerpt from “Part II: Twenty-One Love Poems” in the book The Dream of a Common Language: Poems 1974-1977. I had the wild notion that I would read all of it last night before bed — this was before I went on a drive, came home, and spent the next 3 hours editing my feature article, rewriting sentences and moving paragraphs like a mad scientist. But I plan to read more today.
I learn a great deal by merely observing you, and letting you talk as long as you please, and taking note of what you do not say.
Your soul doesn’t care what you do for a living - and when your life is over, neither will you. Your soul cares only about what you are being while you are doing whatever you are doing.
Train tunnels in the Enchanting Forest, Ukraine.
Sometimes you imagine that everything could have been different for you, that if only you had gone right one day when you chose to go left, you would be living a life you could never have anticipated. But at other times you think there was no other way forward—that you were always bound to end up exactly where you have.
How to make your own book bag. I love the library card pocket.