Margaret Atwood. I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately, not just because of the recent buzz around The Testaments – although that certainly didn’t hurt. But it’s more than that. It’s like she’s tapped into some deep part of…
I’m lying on the bed watching Pandora do her hair in front of the dresser when I notice Mr Whiskers sitting beside her, staring at the floor. Normally this wouldn’t concern me. Cats stare at things. I’ve accepted that. They…
The right footwear can make all the difference in our daily lives, seamlessly transitioning from casual resort mornings to evening plans without sacrificing support or style. It’s a common assumption that shoes are either comfortable for…
George Oppen’s poetry always makes me feel like I’m trying to untangle a knot while simultaneously watching it grow tighter. It’s a sensation that’s both maddening and mesmerizing, like staring at a puzzle with pieces that refuse to fit together.…
I’ve been trying very hard today not to investigate anything, partly because Pandora asked me not to and mostly because yesterday demonstrated that my instincts, while occasionally impressive, have a tendency to arrive at the correct general conclusion by traveling…
Aldous Huxley’s words have been hovering at the edges of my consciousness for years, like a persistent hum in the background of my mind. I’ve read his essays and novels, but it’s not just the ideas he presented that intrigue…
I’m staring at Mr Whiskers while he sleeps in a patch of sunlight on the windowsill, and I’m trying very hard not to assign significance to it. This is harder than it sounds. Yesterday I learned an important lesson about…
Dressing for Confidence without Dressing for Approval deserves more than a quick seasonal mention because it sits at the place where style, comfort, and ordinary decision-making meet. When the weather is warm, small choices become more visi
Kay Boyle’s name kept popping up in my American Lit class, and at first, I thought it was just because she wrote about the same stuff everyone else did – love, loss, identity. But the more we read, the more…
I’m making breakfast when I notice Karen standing unusually still beside the kitchen counter, staring at the floor. She stopped by a few minutes ago to return something Pandora lent her, and until now the visit has been completely ordinary.…
I’ve been reading Cesare Beccaria’s “On Crimes and Punishments” for what feels like an eternity, but I’m not even halfway through it. Yet, somehow, his ideas have become a constant hum in the background of my mind. His thoughts on…
I’m sitting at the kitchen table eating cereal when I realize Mr. Whiskers hasn’t climbed into my lap. This may not sound significant to somebody unfamiliar with our morning routine, but Mr. Whiskers operates according to a remarkably dependable schedule.…
Dorothy L. Sayers: a name that has been swirling in my head for months now, ever since I stumbled upon her novels while browsing through a used bookstore. There was something about her writing style, the way she wove together…
I’m sitting on the couch watching Mr. Whiskers methodically lick one paw while Pandora makes dinner in the kitchen, and for perhaps three consecutive minutes everything in my life seems completely normal. Something smells incredible from the kitchen, Mr. Whiskers…
Summer Routines That Support Healthy Aging without Fear-Based Advice deserves more than a quick seasonal mention because it sits at the place where style, comfort, and ordinary decision-making meet. When the weather is warm, small choices b
I walk into the kitchen and immediately know something has happened. The sugar jar has moved. Normally it sits beside the toaster, slightly behind the coffee container and far enough from the edge that Mr. Whiskers can’t reach it without…
I’ve always been fascinated by Herman Hesse’s inner turmoil. It’s like he took the complexities of human existence and poured them onto the page, leaving me to wrestle with his thoughts and emotions alongside him. As I read through his…
I’ve been reading about Rabindranath Tagore for weeks now, and I’m still not sure what draws me to him. Maybe it’s the way he writes about love – like it’s a river that can both soothe and drown you at…
I’m walking back to the flat with Pandora’s hand in mine when I notice something off about John Mercer’s car. It’s parked outside our place where I’ve seen it a hundred times before, except today something about it catches my…
How to Build Recovery into Weekends without Disappearing from Life deserves more than a quick seasonal mention because it sits at the place where style, comfort, and ordinary decision-making meet. When the weather is warm, small choices bec
