Sit . Sip . n . Be .

BE fully present. BE loving.


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Why I Knit

knitting

This Trane vest just needs buttons now (and weaving in loose ends).

Why does anyone make stuff?
Why does anyone make art, soup, music, or a sweater?

Well, for me it’s been JOYFUL to get back in touch with my inner knitter. My momma nudged me to knit again, so I did … with gusto last autumn. I’m not fast or prolific, but I’m knitting. Once I took it up again, I couldn’t believe I’d left it alone for so many decades. It feels like I’ve run in to an old friend from long, long ago. Hello, friend. Continue reading

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Hold On to the Near: The Elsewhere will be just fine without you

E.B. White saw IT coming, careening our way, and IT’s here–the Moby Dick of modern times, Leviathan in proportion; the great white whale, beautiful yet destructive if provoked. And, IT’s been thrashing around leaving damage in ITs wake for a long while now. Give it up for Moby, though. He may be destructive, but he’s still glorious. He’s not that bad.

E.B.White.MaineFlashback (I’ll get back to “IT” in a minute): last spring I woke up one morning, and reached for my smartphone just to check the time, still half asleep and bleary-eyed. Before I knew it, thirty minutes had passed. I was still in bed, lying on my side in a Jabba the Hutt pose scrolling through photos, texts and emails, on something that looked like I’d grown a third palm, and ultimately getting a kink in my neck. “Checking the time” had morphed into finding just the right emoticon to use for a text response, and checking/hoping for a few more likes on Instagram.

I got out of bed after that leisurely, yet surprisingly nauseating waste of time, shuffled to the kitchen to put the kettle on, my hair at an all-time Einstein, and went outside to enjoy a cup of chamomile tea on the back steps, forgetting my phone on the kitchen counter next to the stove.

The contrast between my earlier slug-pose in bed as I scrolled away on my phone, with the vibrant, grounded feeling of sitting outside noticing trees, dogs barking and the smell of peppermint and basil in the garden was shocking. When had I lost touch? I felt like the proverbial frog in the pot, and was nearly cooked. In that moment I vowed Continue reading