FAMILY
spilled milk | friend
As infants and young toddlers you began categorizing the world and the relationships around you. “Say mama” or “say dada” we would chime in the soft, high-pitched tones we had sworn never to use. But
a brief mid-day hike
I noticed my shirt was inside out while brushing my teeth the other day and realized this is how life feels right now: the same shape and design only with all the frayed threads exposed.
spilled milk | sleep
We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams. ― Arthur O’Shaughnessy, Ode We snuggled up in my bed for an afternoon nap last week, a rare (and delightful) occurrence these days. With my eyes
spilled milk | experience
Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul. ― John Muir I often wonder what you all will remember
spilled milk | mess
I’m thrilled (and honored and any other exciting adjective) to announce my invitation to collaborate on this beautiful project, Spilled Milk. “Spilled Milk is a collaborative photography blog, featuring a collection of photographs from 19
lately
Everything is a grace, everything is the direct effect of our father’s love — difficulties, contradictions, humiliations, all the soul’s miseries, her burdens, her needs — everything, because through them, she learns humility, realizes her
F O U R!
The other night at dinner, you sat by my side — not necessarily a coveted position these days because you tend to use your neighbor more for a napkin than a conversation partner — but
eight.
Burke, this evening at 10:36 you turned eight. Even now, as I listen to your unrestrained laughter with friends in the other room, I can scarcely believe it. Eight years. Just. Like. That. Most mornings,