I just returned from Alt Summit, a business conference for pioneering and rookie bloggers held last week in Salt Lake City. It was unlike any conference I've attended and I look forward to sharing some of the good stuff in my next post. But for now, indulge me for a moment to gush about one aspect of this conference that really stood out. The flowers! They were everywhere, used to creative effect in unexpected places and generally lending a dreamy and luscious quality to the whole event. All of the young lovelies in attendance adorned themselves with flowers and I felt like I was at a midsummer festival in Scandinavia. It was girly and wonderful.
All photos by Justin Hackworth and Brooke Dennis.
I have a friend who always asks me, "Did you get the Halloween invite from blah blah blah?" or "Are you going to blah blah blah's 40th birthday party?" The first few times it happened and I responded that no, actually, I did not get that invite, she was always shocked. Which made it so much worse. "Huh!" she would say, like this was a puzzle. Like maybe I’d been on the original invite list but somehow something changed.
After this happened a number of times, my friend learned to be more discrete. Now she simply asks, "Did you get an invite in the mail yesterday?" This question is much less specific but not necessarily less stressful.
My husband is an ethics officer of a large Fortune 500 company. He regularly conducts investigations of ethical misconduct, and while he isn’t shocked by the college admissions scandal, he finds it fascinating.
Most of my husband’s cases involve smart people doing stupid things for a little extra edge or a little extra money. They risk their career, their personal relationships, their reputation for a few thousand bucks, or a roll in the hay with a subordinate. Why?
I took a little time away in Florida this past week. Nothing beats a little sunshine and warm weather! If you need a break this week, check out my favorite links from around the web…
Spring is around the corner, but I honestly haven’t minded this winter one bit. I believe April can be much uglier than winter! If you need a little break this week as the snow melts, check out my favorite links from around the web…
When I was six, I ran away from home. I packed my favorite doll, Betsy, into my red vinyl purse and hit the road.
Soon after the screen door slammed behind me, I encountered a problem I hadn’t anticipated. My parents forbade me crossing the street alone. What to do?
I asked Betsy. Maybe now is the time to mention that Betsy was a “Flatsy,” one of those popular dolls of the 1960s with the disconcerting combination of luscious, shiny, three-dimensional hair attached to a flattened head and body. Betsy looked like she’d been run over by a steam roller. She did not encourage me to cross the street.
As the cold air settles in once again and icicles hang from our roofs, I’ve been checking in on the chickens at our farm and dreaming of spring. We have much to learn about tending to chickens, gardening, and farm life, but I am looking forward to the adventures ahead of us. If you need a little break from this bitter cold spell, check out my favorite procrastination links from around the web…
Today’s post features the home belonging to my friend Amy Afsari. Amy hired me to help her with art and accessories, including a gallery wall. Before we get to the nitty-gritty on that, let’s talk about Amy’s style, which is very different from mine. She embraces exuberant color and wildly fun patterns and then tames them with English-style tables and chinoiserie. It’s an irresistible juxtaposition, especially here in Wisconsin where the piles of snow at the airport don’t melt until July. I walk into Amy’s sunshiny family room and can practically smell freshly cut grass, that’s how verdant the room feels.
I have twice now written this weekly note to readers accompanied by a coyote howling outside. Or a fox. I’ve concluded that he wants to tell you something. I wonder what? If I hear him again this week, I am going outside to investigate. To see if it’s my brother, pranking me.
If you feel like howling at the moon, do it. If you prefer to stay inside, check out this week’s procrastination links:
We’ve gotten another wallop of snow in Wisconsin, and it’s a winter wonderland outside. So hard to believe spring is only a month away! If you need a little break from playing in the snow, check out my favorite links from around the web this week…
I finished the book and because I was sad that there were no pages, I read the acknowledgments. There, in the fourth paragraph, a name: the boy who broke my heart in my youth, who sent me crying to my pillow countless nights, whose love I couldn’t hold. This boy who made me realize that life before him was all Barbies on the floor, that love was real but not forever, and when it ended, it hurt. I could see him in a Powderhorn Mountaineering ski vest and painter’s pants. Broad-shouldered, golden-haired, laughing with crinkly eyes. That boy. He had grown up to become an anatomy professor in Eugene, Oregon, and there was his name, in the back of this heartbreaking book.
When young, we think there will come one person who will savor and sustain us always; when we are older we know this is the dream of a child, that all hearts finally are bruised and scarred, scored and torn, repaired by time and will, patched by force of character, yet fragile and rickety forevermore, no matter how ferocious the defense and how many bricks you bring to the wall.