Eight years ago I was packing a suitcase. It held a white skirt with rows of buttons down the hem and two choices of white shirts. My Birkenstocks were neatly stowed in a pocket, shielding my creek side bridal wear from the dirty soles.
Kevin and I were spontaneously bumping up our marriage plans because we needed our fresh start to come sooner rather than later. It was, and always will be, the best decision we ever made.
I am a foot dragger. Rather than tanking something that is obviously either a bad idea or obviously over, I pick at it for ages. A small change here, a daring slightly less small change there, but mostly? Compromise chipping away until there is nothing left of me.
That was my first marriage.
That was so many of my friendships gone by.
That was my professional life.
That was my old blog.
It wasn’t working for me. There was a very public tragedy, and even though I needed to write about it, I now need to leave it in that other place. I have stories to tell, and all I was doing in my old place was dragging my feet and my feelings out for ages and ages.
So no importing. No ads.
This blog is for stories. Pictures. Some sewing, a little cooking. Some music and recording. Definitely chickens. And dogs. Basically, tales of my life and my family.
The family that began eight years ago. On a bridge in Montreat. In our Birkenstocks. With a fresh start.