In KCMO, wishing for tea in a bluebird cup.

I awoke from a dream that was disturbing because it is always, ever, just a breath, a careless whisper away from being real. The dream showed the consequences of a mistake made. I'm thankful to have learned the lesson from a dream rather than from reality.

My Chinese fortune cookie came with no fortune today.

This, I've decided, can mean one of three things: First, that my future is so dull that nothing in it is worth mentioning; Second, that it contains things so horrific I shouldn't be burdened with the foreknowledge of them; or Third, that my indecisive and nomadic nature has thoroughly confused even the Chinese fortunes. I like to think I've accomplished the last one.

Chinese fortunes aside, I hope that whatever my future, it will always include a window with a pretty view.

The settling of my soul

There is this corner in my home where I write. Sitting on my cushioned chest-turned-window seat, I hear the rain falling some days, the wind rustling through the trees other days, and I write. Nothing important, nothing profound. Just things. This time at the window is what I call "the settling of my soul."

Everyone needs a soul-settling place, I think.

It's even more garrish in real life.

In a burst of productivity and a re-commitment to get my fiber work out in the world this year, I decided to finish this piece that has been sitting neglected on my table for months. The result was a defeated sewing machine that either became clogged with the amount of yarn passing underfoot, or, at the very least, began choking on that color combination.

And they tasted good, too

Once upon a time I dreamed of opening my own bakery.

Then I realized how much I love baking, for the pure and simple pleasure of it, and decided that I'd like to keep it that way.