Monday, March 31, 2014


It's been a pretty great week around here. There's been a thaw--the sap is running and we spend our afternoons collecting buckets and communing amidst the purifying steam of the sugar house. 

There's been an internal thaw, too. Hang out around this lady enough and you begin to believe that you can manifest, via clear intentions, the things you want in life. My rootstock is firmly planted in the soil of pragmatic skeptics, but I'm (again, thanks to this lady) dipping my feet in that different kind of water. 

No matter the source, there's been a thaw. I spent my mornings last week editing someone's novel. My "office," thanks to a year of dreaming/scheming/inention-setting, was my grandparents' farmhouse up the road which our family has just re-occupied after six years of having (wonderful) tenants living there. 

Ty and I hired a babysitter this weekend because, for the first time, we could afford it. 

So. I'm off to work. In the house where my grandma's ghost reflects off every inch of woodwork. She was a badass woman, that grandma, who found a way to make money doing what she loved and was good at. 

Her last words to her three grand-daughters: just do it. Whatever it is: do it. 

Kind of like a Nike add, but very different. 

I'm grateful. 


Wednesday, March 26, 2014

chickadees, a shingle


I set up a website for myself. A shingle. Different than woodbird, but connected. I did so because I want to do more freelance editorial work--work I love, and believe I am good at--in the hopes that I don't have to go back to cleaning other people's toilets for a living.

I'll still use this dream trailer to sing my little morning songs. (I.e. there are chickadees outside my window at the feeder, doing their little chickadee dance, who quickly disappeared when I tried to snap their photo. Smart birds.)

Another way to write this post would have been:

Please check out my new site! Write me if you need or want help!

I admire you all.


Tuesday, March 18, 2014

If you've noticed a lot of pictures of this book in my recent posts it's because I've started a short story book club and this is our group's first selection.

We'll me meeting tomorrow night in my grandparents' farmhouse up the road (sans, sadly, sunglasses). But there will be wine involved, and friends and, hopefully, strong and varied opinions.

This is, in my book, the way to beat the never-ending-winter blues.

What's keeping you afloat, friends?


Thursday, March 13, 2014

avocado honey

My family just returned from a week in Southern California. It looked a little like this, and this, and this. It gave us a much needed fix of Vitamin D, old friends and perspective.

Last night I read this article on place in fiction by Luis Alberto Urrea, a self proclaimed "place-harlot" like me. He wants to live every place he goes. Just as I do. It's one of the reasons I travel--to imagine me (or now, us) in other houses under other trees and other skies. It's also one of the reasons I write: to live those multitudinous lives, under multitudinous skies.

We don't get away often anymore. It had been two and a half years since any of us had been on a plane. We'd barely left the county. (Yes, county, not country.)

But doing so does us well. Seeing the ocean does us well. Dry, desert air does us well. My children's eyes brightened. Freckles popped. Their legs moved.

And then we returned home to our house in its woods: a place we love as much as (or more than) any other. My kids spent yesterday afternoon in the sugar house boiling sap with their grandparents and cousins. Expansion and contraction. Horizontal vs. vertical ways of knowing. Outward and inward. It's snowing now.  There's tea by my side. But it's sweetened with avocado honey, from those other trees, those other bees. Ya know?