I’m worried that this is going to happen to me soon. Maybe this afternoon.
ps. I love Anne Emond. Sometimes I feel like she is inside my brain: picking outfits predicated on horizontal stripes and skinny jeans (by necessity), singing the praises of buttered toast, and anthropomorphizing cheese. Love.
Little by little the bird feathers its nest, and object by heart burnished object we surround ourselves with lovely necessities of memory and function. It is these things that make a silly Apartment a Home or a silly Wednesday an Occasion.
Whether my nest is an old farmhouse, a sixth floor tenement walk up, or a brownstone basement... whether I share it with family, vagabonds, women of heart and mind, or a little brown cat and a sweet ginger banjo, my principal joy is filling it with light and laughter (and corralling).
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