to bring you a post about paint. ing.  Paint and painting. In a post of yesteryear, I mentioned that I’d been wanting to re-paint our red wall. I loved that red wall, loved it well for 4 years, but it was time for a change. Beige did not win. Grey did! Enter “Gray Shower” by Benjamin Moore. With the help of a wonderful paint-and-color-savvy friend, I had it narrowed down to either “Gray Shower” or “Trout...

I’ve been “stalled” this week with a case of bronchitis. I write to you now from the road to recovery… hoorah! For the past 4 days, though, I’ve puttered about in a cloud of semi-coherent thought, the piling dishes and pajamas-past-the-hour-of-pajamas compounding my general feeling of ickiness. Add to that the self-directed shrug of admittance at the end of the day that nothing was accomplished in all those hours...

Those quotes (see title) are intentional. Why are those quotes intentional? Because I’m not fully on board with that phrase. Say the phrase “dead end,” and other thoughts crop up on cue, ready to torment:Wrong turn.                            Mistake.                                                     ...

Ready for another quote from Mr. George MacDonald (are you beginning to see why he’s one of my favorites?)? “It is a happy thing for us that this is really all we have to concern ourselves with- what to do next. No man can do the second thing. He can only do the first. If he omits that, the wheels of time roll over him and leave him powerless behind. If he does it, he keeps in front and finds room to do the next thing and so is...

Do you think this one would be speechless? I think so, but only if the shoes could talk, too. How many people, places, stories, mistakes, victories, tears, peals of laughter do you think those shoes have collectively seen? It wonders me. A lonesome tree, on “the Loneliest Highway,” somehow irresistibly beckoning people to cast off and toss upward their footwear, and drive away unshod. Phenomenon? Yes. Lesson? Not sure… but...

Upon arrival in London many years ago, I was relieved to find that, as my clever roommate put it, “the streets came with instructions.” I did wonder, as I strolled those noisy thoroughfares, why the words were so widely sprawled upon the asphault. Consistently. On nearly every corner (and I think I counted twelve million corners).  I tried not to dwell too much on the events surmised by my imagination that surely caused...