Whatever you are best at whatever makes you "you" the shape of footprints when you walk the void when you leave a room Your smile and your laughter your sorrow and your tears what you've done and want to do what you've regretted, and your fears Whether loud or quiet the you that you call "mine" is yours and yours alone so, darling, let it shine.

When I was nine, the secular celebration of Christmas was banned in our home (for well intentioned reasons). I was devastated. I knew that my grandparents would most likely continue to give me gifts, but the idea that I wouldn't be able to give anything back or participate in the rituals and liturgies of the holiday was crushing. The one aspect that was left to me was the one I would have willingly sacrificed in exchange for the others. Lighting candles. Considering the handmade gift that would best suit the recipient, and then making it. Sending cards. Driving around neighborhoods in our pajamas, sipping cocoa and questing fabulous light displays. Baking and sharing special treats. Decorating the tree as a family, while listening to Vince Gill sing "let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me." The gifts of time and joy and love, wrapped in tinsel and circularly given; the process and practice that lead to the products; these are things I knew I needed in order

I've been on a sparkle kick this month, embracing wonder and shininess wherever I can find it (which is surprisingly everywhere, given the pandemic and all). I redid my  tile mat (click that link at your own risk) with an appropriate sentiment, and my projects ended up more themed than usual this month. I may not be able to extrovert with people like I'd like to, but I can extrovert my spaces! One thing I did was create a sewing corner in our living room. We've rearranged it twice in the past few months (Adam did it once, while I was gone on a solitary birthday/convince-the-toddler-to-stop-nursing-by-removing-the-temptation outing, and then I redid it a few weeks later) and one result of the final redo was a nice corner by a big front window opening up. I got a reasonably priced writing desk from Target, hung a mirror behind the curtain, and  dragged out my old sewing machine from where it was mouldering in a closet (I haven't used it since Tobin was a toddler, when he

I have always loved to read. As a kid I devoured books at a rate that ate through our small town library's collection rapidly - but I didn't mind, I just read them again. Part of the joy of a story, to me, is sharing it, so I followed my mum around the house and recounted everything I read. I'm not naturally good at summarizing (didn't Flannery O'Connor say something about the story having the necessary words?) so she knows a lot of books she hasn't technically read herself. Since what is endearing in a child is frowned upon in an adult, I mostly keep my bookish thoughts to myself (with the exception of a monthly book club). But after being a part of a few protests in June, I saw a use for my speed reading and book sharing - book reviewing. There is a dizzying selection of literature that can help us (that is, white people) navigate the racial issues that plague our society, but it can be hard to know where to start. We're also all unique in how we process n

For a long time, I got my identity from knitting. That was straightforward and generally obvious (I'm rarely without a project), but it was also very incomplete. I like Making of all kinds - things to beautify my space and myself, and things to give to others. But there is yet more (I am, after all, a whole human). So what are the sparks that comprise the fire? I'd like to begin looking at that, together. Because I do best with unfettered creativity within a set boundary (the fence keeps me from running off and getting completely lost), I'm going to start grouping posts like a magazine: introduction, themed pieces, conclusion. Hopefully that will keep me both organized and accountable, and writing (which is a direction I'd like to explore more deeply, anyway). Let's start with externals - the outworkings of the inner person. I'm sure this will likely go in a different direction than I imagine it will in the moment, but I'd love it if you'd join me for th