Home is an idea, I think. It’s not a building. It’s not even people. It’s the feeling that you can rest, without trying to be too much or too little, and just be.
During every Thanksgiving since I can remember, I’ve eaten this jam.
When I arrived at Bucknell as a freshman 9 years ago, I never imagined that I’d someday be moving back to Seattle, driving through campus with a dog and a husband in tow.
Yoga is my temple, my happy hour, my gym, and my therapist. No matter what’s going on in my life, yoga is home.
Isn’t it wonderful to watch someone you love find their passion in life?
A yummy hostess gift that goes hand-in-hand with stories of my husband’s late-night snack obsession.
On the morning of our second day in Thailand, we found ourselves in a disastrous state.
As I return to a place I used to know well, most things remind me of other things I thought I’d forgotten.
For two years, during summers and Christmas breaks, I sold women’s shoes at Nordstrom.
We’re saying goodbye our first Gritty Kitchen this week.
If you’re going to live in Boston forever, summers are your reward and seasonal amnesia is your coping mechanism.
I love camping. I love it when things go wrong but you stay anyway. I love setting up a little home in the woods, not showering, sitting with a book in hand and knowing that there’s nothing to do but read.