Last week my husband’s younger brother, Paul, died of cancer.
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cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
Last week my husband’s younger brother, Paul, died of cancer.
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Sometimes it feels like Thanksgiving gets overlooked on our way to Christmas.
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The crispness of that October morning swiftly reminded me that I was no longer in Texas.
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I’ve been reflecting lately how over the years I’ve felt like a pioneer woman.
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I’ve had a bolus of change in my life with a consistent dosing over the last year that has not always felt beneficial.
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Fall comes slowly—the temperature begins to drop ever so slightly, the days feel a bit shorter, and one leaf turning color becomes more leaves turning as the trees begin the process of a slow, beautiful death.
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The first time my mother in law came to visit us she brought “freezer jam” with her, strawberry freezer jam.
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Around the edge of our house, in the side garden, there rests a weatherworn fence. And lounging against this fence you’ll find two hydrangea bushes.
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