Becoming untethered

This is a print I bought from Alexandra Miller, a young artist I met in 2015. I remember her being almost painfully introverted as we completed the transaction, perhaps surprised that I’d taken such an interest in this print. It’s a piece that I imagine most find heavy, almost grotesque.

The second I saw it, I told others that I saw hope. 

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Sipping a little memory each morning

Each morning I’m home, I follow the same ritual. I clean the coffee maker, grind the beans, fill the water reservoir, and press BREW. I reach into the cabinet to choose from double stacked memories, from coffee mug mementos that remind me of events, experiences, and eras of my life.

Aside from photos, I don’t keep many physical reminders of my past, but the coffee mugs are an ever-present exception. I wake up my brain and fuel my morning from these vessels, sipping from the emotions and lessons they still hold.

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Missing my snowy garden

I woke this morning to a fresh coat of snow on my balcony that sculpted the pots from my summer garden into frosted cupcakes. It reminded me of how my former garden would look covered in snow. I could almost feel those virgin steps into a pristine tundra full of serendipity.

For the first time in a while, I missed having a garden whose winter bones called me into the cold to capture its quiet beauty. Someday soon, perhaps I’ll have another plot to call my own. My soul seems to be beckoning nourishment from the soil once again.

Recipe: Blueberry Serrano pork chops

When I’m cooking for myself, I usually take one of two extremes — scrounge for leftovers or make something new and off-the-wall. Tonight, as a new dusting of snow started to fall, I chose the latter. My taste buds were calling for sweet and spicy. I had the Red, White and Blueberry BBQ burger at Scotty’s Brewhouse on Friday night, but it left my taste buds wanting something similar, but spicier. After that monster of a meal, I also needed something healthier — the boneless pork chops in my freezer fit the bill.

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Making room for what’s next

For most of my adult life, I thought I possessed a critical character flaw because I don’t have close, lifelong friends. I’d look at people whose inner circle of friends knows what they were like in grade school, high school, or even college — and wonder what was wrong with me.

I look back on the ages of 20, 25, 30, 35, 40, and 45, and my inner circle looks completely different at each milestone, with very little thread between. I remember the moments of the purest, most intense connection with people who now exist mostly in memory or the periphery of life. I’m often overcome with a nostalgic sadness and regret that those moments are no longer on the center stage of my life.

It’s taken me nearly 47 years to understand, but the impermanence of nearly all of our connections is a good thing. 

Continue reading Making room for what’s next