I'm tending the goats again. My farmer friend is on a jaunt down the coast (still love saying that!) and I get goats and chickens mornings and evenings for a couple days. It's peaceful work, gathering eggs and scattering feed. Two of the goats get milked, an unexpectedly serene ritual of communication with the animal.... Continue Reading →
I signed up for a free two week subscription to Ancestry, something to help occupy my mind while Tim's gone. My goal in this research is to find out as much as I can about my father's family, about whom I know next to nothing. My mother's family is well documented, a task undertaken with... Continue Reading →
When I arrived in September, Tim was sleeping on a mattress on the floor, was using a cardboard box as a night stand, and had three whole pieces of furniture in the apartment. One of those was a lovely bed he acquired for Sophia (better than the one he was using, God love him), but... Continue Reading →
Tim leaves for Paris on Wednesday. He's got his bags packed already, having assembled all the appropriate clothes and accessories this weekend. This is the Mens Trip, a present Tim's father gave to himself on the occasion of his something-th birthday. All the men are going, eight of them, one short of a Fellowship, two... Continue Reading →
I was raised in an idyllic bubble. I grew up in a wealthy, white suburb of Chicago. We weren't wealthy, but my parents managed to send all five of us kids to Catholic school. I thought everyone in my town was white, Irish and Catholic. I didn't realize how small my bubble was until I went... Continue Reading →
Meg Currell 