I recently listened to Anne Lamott’s TED Talk about the 12 things she’s learned from life and writing. Anne says, “Go outside a lot and look up. My pastor said you can trap bees on the bottom of mason jars without lids because they don't look up, so they just walk around bitterly bumping into the glass walls. Go outside. Look up. Secret of life.” Last weekend, my husband and I went for a walk through a beautiful wooded area near our home. Twenty four hours earlier, I had learned that I am . . .
I hate peas. There, I said it. I cannot stand peas. I think they are disgusting, both on their own and mixed with other ingredients in a dish. A few weeks ago, I made a recipe that called for peas. Being the rule follower that I am, I bought a bag of peas and included them in the dish. That evening, while having dinner with my husband, I was complaining incessantly about how much the peas were ruining my entire culinary experience. “Why did you include them in the recipe?” My logical . . .
I arrived at the restaurant first and sat down at a table that gave me a view of the door, hoping I would recognize him when he walked in. It was our first date—a blind one. We had seen photos of each other and emailed back and forth, but this was the first time I would see him in the flesh. My nerves were frayed. When he walked in, I stood up, suddenly realizing that I hadn’t planned how I would greet him. Without much thought, I opened my arms wide as I stepped towards him. I imagine I . . .
My husband and I have a dog, Roger. He scares easily, hates being alone, and yawns more frequently than any living being I’ve ever met. We have big love for this little pup. However, one of the most miserable experiences to share with Roger is driving on the highway. He hates it. The car goes too fast, the noises are too loud, and there are no sufficient places to hide. When we make the 5-hour drive to visit our Chicago-area family, Roger’s anxiety takes up most of the space in our . . .
Last weekend, my husband and I had the supreme honor of attending our 4-year-old nephew’s soccer game. It was as hilarious and adorable as you would expect from a gaggle of 4-year-old soccer players—they were running into one another, tripping over their own feet, or standing totally still while staring at the sky for the entire game. I loved it. I love 4-year-old soccer players. (As a proud aunt, I must include that my nephew is legitimately talented at soccer and played a really impressive . . .
Friends, I'm so excited to introduce you to Leanna today. She is a force—one of strength and kindness and creativity. I admire her authenticity and perspective; I've tried to explain to Leanna how I see her but I feel at a loss for words. She's got that something, you know what I mean? Her authenticity, perspective, force, and that something are why I'm so glad she has begun this work as a photographer. I believe she is doing with her camera what I try to do with my words: Tell stories that are . . .