I come from a long line of rose raisers. This makes it sound as though there is an art to it - and there probably is - but I think rose raising is somewhat comparable to dough kneading and child rearing: the less over handling you do, the better things turn out. My maternal grandmother's roses were ramblers - they arched over the doorway of the old house and made their way to the edges of the windows as though to peek inside. Similarly, my grandmother was a little bit of a worry-wart, ... View Post
The Care & Feeding Of The Good House {Home Tour}
Blogger Home Tour This post originally appeared on Arkansas Women Bloggers as part of the blogger home tour series. Warning: this may not be the stereotypical home tour. In fact, it's really more of a love letter on the care and feeding of The Good House. I hope you don't mind. We have loved this house. For well over a decade - two thirds of our married life - we've loved its expansive porch, the shady canopy of its old trees, its peeling paint and uneven hardwood floors. We are ... View Post
On Wine Corks and Memories
I have this thing with wine corks. To anyone who has spent more than ten to fifteen minutes around me, this should come as no great surprise. After a lifetime of hording them (that's a lot of corks, y'all), I had this epiphany tonight. So here's a little diatribe about the things we keep and the things we give away, and the way decorating can sometimes blend with warm memories to make a house a home. . So, I have this tendency to impulsively grab wine corks from dinners, gatherings and ... View Post
On Gardening
Following: a public service announcement regarding people like me, who humbly request your special consideration: We are likely to have dirt under our nails. This has nothing to do with how recently we have bathed, and more to do with the fact that we make ourselves presentable, head out the door and then adjust or pat a few plants on the way. Later, in meetings, we glance down at our fingernails in horror. Please don't judge. We appear very creepy in the evenings. After work or life ... View Post
When The Past Comes Calling
I'm completely transfixed by the timeworn and riveted by the road-weary. Despite my efforts to have a home not completely overrun by knickknacks and dusting-required tchotchkes, I do sometimes fight the battle of objects on display. However, as I've revealed in my tirades on National Geographic, batched tomes of Reader's Digest Condensed Books and archaic stacks of Encyclopedia Brittanicas, it is an affliction not soon passing. And, of course, this is not to mention my affinities for ... View Post
The Redheaded Boy
As 2014 ambled into view in a good-natured manner with relatively balmy temperatures, the neighborhood kids gathered to compare Christmas notes and expend excess, pent-up energy from too much family time. They congregated in the alley, strolled along the sidewalk, bounced on the trampoline and climbed on an ancient, rusting metal swingset. The girls sat high on the monkey bars in what looked every bit like a natural assumption of gender roles, alternating between laughter at the boys' antics ... View Post
