If you couldn’t tell, I’ve been trying to blog more. It’s been both easier and harder than I thought. Easier, because I love blogging and writing and it is easy to do things that your spirit requires to feel most like itself. Harder, because I’m so out of practice, and sometimes I don’t know what to say or how to say it. Sometimes I don’t believe that I have anything to offer; sometimes I spend time crafting posts, but dither over publishing them. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve hit the zenith of any talent or ability I had, and it’s
Last weekend my sweetheart and I took our first little getaway without the baby in quite awhile. It was pretty simple, just a night at The James in downtown Chicago — dinner, a little shopping, walks by Lake Michigan to enjoy the first burst of springtime weather that we were lucky to get. I just appreciated seeing all the people and having all these possibilities laid out in front of me: restaurants, cafes, shops, bars, spas, museums, galleries, Eately. (I also was incredibly psyched to go to Trader Joe’s — people who live in places with Trader Joe’s, do not
I spent the last day of 2015 like many other nights during the year: I got home from dinner at my parents’ house, got the baby down to sleep and then retreated to my bedroom. Then I read books, listened to music and watched some Netflix. (“Making A Murderer,” a strange way to end one year and begin the next.) And then I crashed out just after midnight, waking when my sweetheart came home from work so I could welcome him and the new year. I’m glad 2015 is over. It was a beautiful year, the first year of being
What else is blogging for if not the daily, seemingly inconsequential minutiae of everyday life?