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A final look at our Pittsburgh house. It was that first glimpse of the fireplace in the living room that made me want it. I was house shopping without the hubster, and he, much to my great wonder, is a rather big J.R.R. Tolkien fan. He’s read all the books, in English and in French, and seen the movies, too, even “dragging” me to the first fil-um in The Lord of the Rings trilogy, during which I was so bored that I read a magazine in the half light of the theater – different strokes for different folks, dear peeps. Anyway, one glance at that Tolkien-esque metal work and I knew he would love it, that it was the place for us. And it was!

We loved it as best we could in the time we had, with light fixtures, paint and plants, odd repairs and new doors, while squeaking around on century old floors (it’s a rhyme!). We spied birds through wavy glass and marveled at the solidity of the stone foundation, the sturdiness of brick. This great house has seen so much.

And my prediction, that it would all feel like some strange dream, is already coming to fruition. Out walking together, we laughed aloud, “Wow, Pittsburgh! That really did happen!”

And home, again. The Front Range capped in snow and those bewitching Colorado skies. Not for a moment realizing the adrenaline that was keeping me fueled, it took a good few days for me to recover from the trip west. There were many long naps for this non-napper and even longer nights of sound slumber. Thankfully, I am more myself and inching my way out into the world. Maybe I’ll see you around. I’m the one with the camera, gawping at mountains and blue skies like they were only recently invented!

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May the sun bring you new energy by day, may the moon softly restore you by night, may the rain wash away your worries, may the breeze blow new strength into your being, may you walk gently through the world and know it’s beauty all the days of your life.

Apache Blessing


It is a miracle if you can find true friends, and it is a miracle if you have enough food to eat, and it is a miracle if you get to spend your days and evenings doing whatever it is you like to do, and the holiday season – like all the other seasons – is a good time not only to tell stories of miracles, but to think about the miracles in your own life, and to be grateful for them…

Lemony Snicket

Two of my favorite people live here!




Happy 92nd Birthday!

I love you!

And Mari, I haven’t forgotten. Happy Birthday to you, too.

Holiday Lights

Our sweet borough decorations, strung along Lincoln Avenue, our main street. I love their charm and earnestness, their infectious cheer. Cheer that I, at various moments, need desperately. Moving is difficult, dear reader, more than I recalled. Not just the labor of it, the unpacking and sorting and organizing, the literal learning of territory, but the fiddly feeling of discombobulation, of being at a crossroads. I remain untethered, yet duty bound. This house is mine, ours, Milo’s, yet it is so much someone else’s. Whose, I do not know. It’s own, perhaps, biding it’s time, waiting patiently for our stamp, for pictures on the wall, a washer, a dryer, herbs in the garden. Singing. A clothesline strung in summer sun.

Then there is the greater, more complicated question of self. Me. Colleen Sohn. I do not wish to be the person I was in Portland, not wholly anyway. I am eager to shed the skin that held me back, that made friends with malcontents, drama queens, mile takers. And do what, you ask? Write more. Submit stories, poems, drawings, paintings. Be myself. Make friends and lose them when necessary. Rise to meet the sun, the clouds, the stars. Recognize my own value. Make money. Read more. Cook more. Exercise more. Love more. Stare fear in the eye and not blink.

Be the merry mighty light…

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