Friday night, I sat around a beautifully prepared Shabbos table with five other women. My dear friend Elizabeth had invited us all, and then spent massive amounts of time making sure everything was perfect. And it was. The food was fantastic – I’m still drooling over the hummus and mushrooms she served – and the company was… well… it’s almost hard for me to put into words how I felt, and still feel, about the women around that table. Continue reading
Welcome to Camp Echo Hill!
When we bought our Winnebago last fall, we obviously had plans to camp. But… where? Continue reading
A note on my absence
I’ve been silent these past months, not by choice but because grief, depression, and crippling anxiety attacks have rendered me immobile. I have felt stationary – unable to muster basic interest in most things besides sleeping, reading, and endlessly scrolling through social media feeds. I’ve still pushed myself everyday; I’ve still gotten out of bed and gone to work, but that in and of itself has caused anxiety as I question my ability to do my job, my career choices, and my prospects for the future.
Is it camping season yet???
All I can think about is camping.
Gracie Rides Again is winterized and buttoned up for the season (minus the access panel we usually have rolled up so that we can still get inside) and she can’t really go anywhere right now, but I have camping on the brain.
Leaking roofs, leaking eyes, and Christmas annoyances
We discovered a minor leak inside the Winnebago the day after Thanksgiving. It’s in the spot where the coach and the cab meet and it’s midway down in a corner area. Since we’ve only owned it for a month, even though it’s 12 years old, I was fairly dramatic about it. (“I can’t believe she’s leaking! I hope it’s okay! What if they can’t fix it? What if we’re left with nothing but a pile of rust and mold? Did we buy a lemon?!”) Continue reading
Waiting
My dad believed in visitors from the afterlife. He was also a man of stories, and one of his frequent stories was a memory from when his younger brother, John, died as a teenager in the early 70s. The story goes like this: John was in his hospital bed, comatose in the very last minutes of life. My dad had rushed to his bedside from several hours north, barely making it in time. Right before John succumbed to cancer and died, my dad looked up and saw, floating near the ceiling in the corner of that hospital room, ethereal versions of his grandmother, grandfather, and an aunt. Dad said it was as if they were there to greet John’s spirit on the other side. Continue reading
Wordless Wednesday: Lake Cushman, at the edge of Olympic National Park
Lake Cushman, at the edge of Olympic National Park
Livin’ the RV dream (kind of)
These days, I spent most of my free time inside our motorhome. Sometimes I’m organizing or cleaning, but a lot of times, I’m just sitting on the sofa inside with my head thrown back and my eyes closed as I listen to the patter of the rain on the roof. (It’s pretty spectacular).
We took the motorhome aka the Winnebago aka the Aspect aka Gracie Rides Again aka the rig aka the RV out early Saturday morning just to drive it around. Continue reading
Life on Wild Hare Farm 