Gratitude Today:

Cake for breakfast. Breakfast at all. period. Perfectly sharpened pencils. Erasers. Post it notes. Winter afternoons that are almost spring. Brazilian funk. Walks. Wearing neon running shoes out of the house and not giving a damn. Love.  

Leap year marmalade.

Plums roasted, sieved, boiled. Blackberries too. This year’s lemons cooked, scraped, sliced. Flavours build on each other as the seasons mingle, summer with fall, fall with winter, winter with sunlight. Gently layered this jam is like nothing else that I have made before. The elements blend so that you can’t tell where one ends and the…

Muddled.

my old fashioned muddled with maraschino cherries at the bottom first instinct maraschino cherries in an old fashioned? second instinct what is a maraschino cherry anyway? third instinct gratitude. baffled by unnaturally coloured fruit in the back row of the jazz lounge my appreciation is for the expectation that fruit is seasonal and should be recognizable for…

Edges.

filled with the sharp pain of leaving today. the mail waiting to be opened full of heart and hope. “Katherine, we have been thinking about you since we talked – a lot.  We wish you well as you come to the end of your time at Nourish, as you say farewell and take your leave.  I…

Deliberation.

The act of deliberate gratitude in itself gratification. Each day a yellow post it joins the wall of post-its covering the kitchen cabinets. it reads: “Morning Gratitude,” or perhaps, “Gratitude tonight.” three things listed below. this simple act beginning to fill the space inside where self love used to live.

Small Blessings; or, project gratitude

Re-energizing this space has been on my mind a lot in the past week. It’s been this itch behind the back of my eyes that runs tingling all the way down to my fingertips. The words that have been written as a way to scratch this itch have drifted on and off the page with…

the anonymity of the morning.

In the blank hours of the morning, when no one really should be awake, the bustle here is startling. Cheerful voices, fast walkers, distracted travellers. Always the anonymity of the airport catches me by surprise. Here we cease to be the creatures who get up each morning with purpose and direction. here we hang precariously…