March 2016

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We think it is calm here, or that our storm is the right size.

William Stafford




A fun Sunday afternoon in Manitou Springs, a twenty minute drive and decades leap into the past, reminding the hubster and I of every Western tourist stop of our childhood. We wandered and admired the eighties style arcade, old-timey thrift and gift shops, and scads of silver and turquoise (Squee!). Ravenous, we ate at one of those restaurants that just can’t manage to get it together. They were out of cheese dip, smoked trout, three kinds of beer, and quite possibly dropped the hubster’s smoked elk brat on the floor. Thankfully, all tasted delicious and no one fell ill!

Oh, and the spring water was delightfully fizzy…


In the morning, we walk in the thin cold air, marveling and giggling, at blue sky and wondrous sunshine, overflowing from every possible angle, inside, outside. No, we didn’t forget to turn off a light. Even our our basement is aglow in afternoon. This is our life now, the smell and feel of childhood with the wisdom and appreciation of age. Mountains, hills straw yellow and sun bleached, life at 6200 feet. We are here but were elsewhere for so long, or maybe just a moment, it sometimes seems.

Last night, I remembered our Portland house. The kitchen cabinets that we painted the color of water, the window that was half sun and half shade of the patio. How I watched the birds at the bath: hawks, robins, scrub jays, finches & sparrows, bush tits & chickadees. Paris stretched and yawning. Milo catching flies. Our first November, the yard downright boggy and my shoes nearly sucked into the squelch of muck. Sixteen years in that sweet house, every shade of grey and green, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

And this mess of boxes, wreck of a house and yard, washing dishes on our knees in the shower, I wouldn’t trade for anything either. We are home again.


People usually consider walking on water or in thin air a miracle. But I think the real miracle is not to walk either on water or in thin air, but to walk on earth. Every day we are engaged in a miracle which we don’t even recognize: a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the black, curious eyes of a child — our own two eyes. All is a miracle.

Thich Nhat Hanh



Hello dear reader! I’ve come up from under a mound of boxes to say hello!

We are in what we hope to be our forever house now (at least till death do us part), and I am running around like a crazy person trying to establish a sense of order. The house is filthy and shabby, some places downright gross, and no matter how much I mop and clean, it remains stubbornly dirty. Fear not, I shall reign victorious!

In between my mop and sponge wielding, I unpack, lose and find things; look for electricians, plumbers, woodworkers; pick out windows, doors, cabinets, tile, counter tops, paint, and floors. Not one room of this house will be forsaken.

In other great news, we are sleeping in our own comfortable bed! I am taking fantastically long and guilt-free baths in a temporarily pink tub! We are now proud citizens of Colorado Springs, which, if you didn’t know is a pretty¬†snazzy place.

We remain absolutely awestruck that we chose such a magnificently beautiful patch of earth, with the stunning views above a mere ten minute walk from our house! Over the coming days, months, and years, I will do my best capture it all and share it with you.

But for now, I’m pooped. See you later…


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