Ten years ago you asked me on our first date and even though I hoped you wouldn’t wear your camo jacket I said yes. Snowfall fresh made the world new again and we walked in the dark with the fluffy white flakes lit by lanterns thinking maybe the world was just created again— a new…
2018 in our household is the year of pursuing dreams. In the fall, I had the amazing opportunity to sign with a literary agent for my book! While I wait for it to sell, which has somehow proved harder than writing the book itself, I’ve decided to focus some energy into another dream…
One is the only number to your life and your body and if I could make a shape for this number and for you I would make it a circle. Here we are again on October 17, where the sun warms up the earth for the middle of the day but it is colder and…
Maybe it takes watching childhood unfold again to realize how much magic was in yours. And maybe the only way to really know it was magic is to watch it as a grown up.
Everyone says, hold onto this time. Don’t let it slip through your fingers like sand, because before you know it, it will be gone, and all you will have are the grainy pieces that stuck to your skin to remember it by. But I look at my parents and Andrew’s parents, and I wonder if maybe the next thing isn’t to be feared as much as I think. Maybe the Neverland Years have even more magic in them as a grandparent. Maybe, when I watch June’s babies, and see their childhoods unfold yet again, I’ll discover that there are more secrets and mysteries that I did not catch because I of the times I was busy catching runny noses and cleaning dishes.
What I am saying is this: maybe Neverland isn’t so much for the child as it is for the parent and the grandparent. Maybe it isn’t so much for the experience as it is for the memory. Maybe it really isn’t so far away.
One of the best parts about our house has been the town we moved into. I am definitely a neighborhood gal— I love that we live in a completely walkable community, that I can go for days without getting into my car, and that the well-maintained sidewalks and underpasses make our town stroller-friendly. June and I have Borough pool passes and library cards which we use on a regular basis.
But the very best part about this town is our neighbors.
We have not met a person on our street that we have not liked. The people immediately surrounding us have gone out of their way to be friendly to us. Recently, Andrew and I have been saying to each other that we want to get to know everyone on our street. We’re realized there are two ways to do that. One is have a baby. The other is to give your house amazing curb appeal.
Which brings us to Operation Front Yard Face Lift.
Easter was always my friend Marty’s favorite holiday. Back in my high school years, when we wrote each other letters that spanned from Portland to Buffalo, he’d start talking about it in January.
Easter Rachael, he used to write me, is the time of year when I remember that there is nothing I’ve done that hasn’t been forgiven. Easter is the time I remember that life can be new again.
Marty was a World War II veteran, a celebrated hero, an honorable, good man, who couldn’t face himself in the mirror when the horrors of the war caught up with him.
It wasn’t until last May, when I began researching for a book that takes place during the Second World War that I began realize just how complicated everything was, how far from black and white. I never understood Marty, when he said he didn’t know if God would forgive him for the things he had done. It’s war, I thought. You followed orders. You were with the Allies. You did what you were supposed to do. You did good.
I discovered Hannah’s beautiful blog over a year ago, and quickly fell in love with her lovely, funny, writing and gorgeous photos. I was thrilled to meet her at a dear friend’s wedding in the fall, and am so honored to be featured on her blog today. This one is on hospitality–and should be a…