Tara Couture: “We always lived in a peaceful home, something I think of as the most important element in a home.”
As someone who has lived in both a contentious home as a child and a peaceful home as an adult, I can tell you it is very important. I’m so grateful for what Rachel and I have built.
One evening, several days ago, a squirrel was eating at the feeder outside the window, the golden light on its fur. I decided against photographing it because I knew squirrels don’t stay anywhere long. Now I sit here remembering it. The image isn’t as clear as a photograph but the feeling remains.
I always hated it when people told me not to take myself so seriously. Hated it. I’ve always been a painfully sincere person who wants to do the right thing. I heard that advice as suggesting that I was ridiculous for taking life seriously. And, to be fair, some people did mean that. But now, as fifty approaches, maybe I begin to understand. Over the past ten years I can see more clearly the ways I pose and cope—and how others do the same.
Hooray! It’s woodland crocus time! Always the first thing to pop up in our yard.
Erik Davis reminded me of Finis Jennings Dake today: My favorite relic of those months is a version of the King James Bible I picked up at a Christian bookstore at a strip mall near the coast. The store, which I visited a number of times and was more important to me than any particular church, was one of the many nondenominational Christian shops that popped up in the 1980s, paralleling the New Age stores of the era with their spiritual lifestyle blend of books, cassette tapes, bumper stickers, statues, jewelry, and inspirational wall art.
Rachel and I drove around the Amish settlement in Daviess County today and came across this guy spreading manure. (Poor quality, I know.) It was still cold today but the strong sunshine felt like a promise. After looking around the Odon Locker, we walked across the parking lot to a shop with a sign saying something about Amish goods, with the requisite buggy image. Turned out to be one of those faux Amish shops meant for tourists and church ladies.
Another entry in the series “we’re more Appalachian than Midwestern”: I grew up hearing a lot of people calling all moths (not a specific species) “millers.” Apparently, I’m not the only one.
The first day of the last month of true winter around here. This is always the month when I start getting antsy.
We no longer have a teenager in the house. Happy 20th birthday, Darcy!
Sometimes you have neighbors who help clear the whole neighborhood of snow. Sometimes you have people-who-live-in-the-neighborhood who clear a path from their front door to their car.