September 30, 2026

I don't think about stuff like that.

A friend of mine took me on tour of her home a few summers ago. She is a maximalist and really great at curating thrifty odds and ends to decorate her space. Her husband is a licensed contractor and she's a self-taught interior designer and they own Airbnbs dotted along the South.

M points to a hand drawn illustration of a quaint mountian cottage and says, "We have this friend; he draws each of our homes for us, and we keep it, on the wall, to remember where we've come from."

A lovely idea, I think to myself, but I don't think about stuff like that.

One morning it hit me: the reason why. I've not had the luxury of thinking about such a special detail. I look at my walls and it's hand-me-down heirlooms from someone else's home (My grandma's, as if somehow I will be able to conjure up her memory and cheap, Hobby Lobby finds that scream live, laugh, love.) The last family picture we took, the kids were babies; they're all teenagers now.

I bought one painting at a thrift store 22 years ago and another from a Mormon girl I follow on Instagram, maybe 10 years ago, but the rest--the scarcity that remains--are happenstance and have no real value to them.

I've not thought about much these last few years but surviving. Between my kiddos and their special circumstances with epilepsy and OCD, the grief of losing a parent, and the subsequent miscellaneous health issues I now find myself facing, there's not been much room to enjoy the finer things. Everything's felt sort of rushed and cluttered, like the years have just flown by and we've done our best to keep up. 

I ordered a poster last week from The Whitney in NYC. It comes today. It will be the first of my gallery, curated by me, with prints that touch me. And I'm very excited about it.

It's by Minnie Evans, a NC artist whom was featured in the Southern Film series that my kids and I went to at the local university last week. It's part of our local art scene here in Lancaster, SC.

The documentary was wonderfully inspiring  and entitled Draw or Die--a sentiment that I completely understand--as I tend to suffocate if I don't practice my own muse--writing.

What began this desire to think about meaningful art in a similar way as my dear friend Maribeth? The realization that my life won't last forever. I get one, as the saying goes, [quote Eminem here]

Why not surround myself with special, curated, lovely things that bring a recollection of joy? Why must everything be so damn painful and hard all the time?

It mustn't. My nervous system may have just barely survived the last decade or so, but we no longer reside in the chronic state of fight or flight. It got us to where we are, but it isn't coming with us.

Minnie can come and my copy of her print will be the first of this new collection. A celebration of inspiration. A high-five to creativity and the joy of release it brings.

This marks the beginning of this new chill chapter of specially-curated, lovely things. May we all find the time to truly enjoy our lives.