It feels like Friday, but it’s Wednesday (I almost said Tuesday. That’s how out of sync I feel.)

I finished reading another good book last night (Cilka’s Journey by Heather Morris) and now I’m on the prowl for my next read.)

The more I stay at home, the less desire I have to go out.

I hated art class when I was a child.

Last night, I dreamed I was dressed up in a formal gown and with a bunch of other people (some I recognized, more who I didn’t) and we were graduating from something. I felt like a princess!

In real life, while I took part in the ceremony, I didn’t technically graduate from high school. (Long story that involves surgery, months of being bed-ridden, and incomplete correspondence courses.)

I graduated (for real!) from college when my kids were 9 and 7. I felt like a rockstar because the years of study while raising kids were dang difficult and the accomplishment was huge.

I’ve lived in ten homes in four places during my life. (Actually, as I think about it, there’s be at least one more if I count the foster home I was in before I was adopted.) I would love to return to the first one (after being adopted), little bungalow my dad built.

I’ve got some “must do” things on my plate today, but I’m mostly looking forward to splashing watercolour on paper and letting it flow. (And I do mean splash. Yesterday I noticed paint spatter on the blinds and curtain by the window where I paint. Oops.)

Thr problem with not going out much is that it can be challenging to find things to write about (as you can tell by the randomness of this post!).

C’est la vie.


I’m a writer, reader, and creative. I thought by now I’d have things figured out, but I keep coming up with more questions. I think that’s okay. I’m here most mornings pondering ordinary things and the thin places where faith intersects.

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