Last Thursday afternoon, I had to experience one of those those moments that no person wants to experience. One of those experiences that you so badly wish you could undo. Unlive. Unsee. The death of a companion. My Toby-turd. The sun had peeked out for the first time in over a week and the weather
Sometimes the Lord chooses to answer our desperate cries quickly! Man, oh man, did this happen fast! In the context of The Elliott Homestead, this is huge news! And great news. Ya’ll. We bought a farm. Do you like how before I drop a bomb I always say ‘y’all’? I blame it on my Southern husband.
Ya’ll. Thank you for allowing me time to rest… to remember… to reflect after Sal’s passing. I’m most certainly not ‘over it’. Nor am I ‘healed’. But I am very much thankful for the time I had with my girl and that her passing was peaceful. These last few days have been fairly peaceful on
Summer has a bit of magic that swirls around the fringes of complete insanity. Just when I think I’ll surely hole up and die of exhaustion, there are teeny moments of pure, well, magic that revive my soul enough to complete another task… another chore… another harvest. While I was snuggled up to Sally’s flank,
Sometimes, I wear Stuart’s boxer briefs to bed. Yes, it’s true. And on this stagnant and sweaty summer night, they seemed the perfect pajama. So I tucked in, briefs and t-shirt. Earlier that night, approximately 2,192 times, I’d made the trek down to the shop (we live on a gigantic hill… practically anywhere you walk