Thoughts

My earliest memories of creativity come from kindergarten art class and summer camp. There were punched leather bracelets, wooden lanyards decorated with our camp names and friendship bracelets made with colorful DMC floss. Summer camp was a place where creativity was encouraged. There was no homework waiting to be finished and, as far as I remember, very little housework. We were simply given the time and materials to make something. At home, usefulness generally took precedence. My grandmother often purchased little craft kits for me to work on when I visited. Yet, as “the oldest responsible child” and grandchild, I sensed that my place was beside her in the kitchen, helping with meals and cleaning up afterward. Or I could be found assisting my grandfather with whatever project he was tackling at one of his commercial properties. There was always something practical to be done. Creativity could wait. Perhaps many of us learned some version of this: finish your homework, …

The light is changing. I notice it in the morning, when the sun arrives a little later, and again in the evening, when darkness seems to interrupt before I am ready. I still want to play until dark, just as I did when I was a child. Back then, I packed as much as possible into those final hours of daylight: riding bikes, playing in the woods, building things with friends and sitting together telling stories. I did not give much thought to time. I simply wanted more of it. Apparently, I still do. The changing light is one of the first ways I recognize that fall is approaching. The sky looks different. The temperature begins to shift, leaves slowly change and the park or forest takes on that unmistakable scent that comes with more rain. Even the squirrels in my yard seem to know something is happening. They become especially busy, which feels either industrious or slightly frantic, depending …

What happens when you leave a couple of hours on your calendar with absolutely nothing written in them? A friend suggested I try this recently—leaving a little unscheduled time every few days. I’ll admit, an empty block on the calendar looked a little suspicious at first. Surely something belonged there? An appointment? An errand? A project? At the very least, something I could cross off a list? But I decided to give it a try. A little open time. No assignment. No particular outcome in mind. Just room. And here’s what I’ve been noticing: when there’s nowhere I have to be, I’m much more available for whatever happens to show up. I find I’m leaving the earbuds out and hearing the birds instead of wondering which educational or informative podcast I really should be listening to. I notice the hydrangeas and stop to take a picture. A West Highland Terrier decides we need to meet, which naturally leads to a …

Some of my favorite conversations have lasted less than three minutes. They’ve happened while waiting in line for coffee…or while wheeling the garbage cansback from the curb and realizing my neighbor was doing exactly the same thing. Moreoften than not, one of us pauses, and before long we’re talking about the weather,someone’s garden, travel plans, or what the neighborhood dogs have been up to lately.It’s funny how often those few unexpected minutes become one of the nicest parts ofthe day. I’ve been wondering if the world is a friendlier place than we sometimes give it credit for. Not because everyone becomes an instant friend. But because little opportunities to connect seem to be quietly waiting for us almost everywhere we go. Sometimes we simply have to look up. A door held just a little longer. A smile from someone passing by.Complimenting a neighbor’s garden. Asking the cashier how their day is going—and lingering long enough to hear theanswer. A wave …

I’ve been thinking a lot about time lately. More specifically, I’ve been thinking about what I would do if someone handed me three completely unhurried days. Not three vacation days. Not three days packed with sightseeing or a long list of things to accomplish. Just…three days with room to breathe. At first, I thought I should have a more exciting answer. Maybe I’d finally plan that trip. Or tackle a project that’s been sitting on my list. Instead, I kept coming back to some remarkably ordinary things. I’d probably begin each morning with a book and a cup of coffee. I’d take a long walk through the neighborhood with nowhere particular to be. I’d listen to the birds, stop to admire the flowers, and almost certainly say hello to a dog…and, if we’re being honest, the person holding the leash too. I’d spend a little time writing. Or knitting. Or needlepointing. Maybe all three. I’d enjoy a leisurely lunch, make …

I have been drawn to letterpress for many years—ever since I first discovered the delight of a business card with a deep, luxurious impression pressed into soft cotton paper. There’s a certain elegance in the way ink settles into those tiny valleys, how foil quietly shimmers, and how the texture itself becomes part of the introduction. A letterpress card feels intentional, memorable—an exquisite little leave-behind for someone who prefers to meet in person, talk face-to-face, and truly connect. Though its story stretches back to Gutenberg and the earliest marriage of metal type and ink, I like to imagine letterpress as a craft that has always enjoyed slowing the world just a bit. Across centuries of presses, rollers, clattering type, and industrious print shops, it endured—stepping aside when faster methods took the spotlight, only to return later with renewed charm. Today, letterpress feels like a rediscovered pleasure: classic yet modern, nostalgic yet fresh, refined yet wonderfully human. It connects us to …

Recently, a dear friend and I were celebrating her mother Willie’s 86th birthday with a glass (or two) of champagne. As we toasted, Willie beamed her way through the long list of surprises her friends and family have planned for her this year—her smile growing wider with every delight. Just as we were finishing our final cheerful clink, Willie’s eyes lit up with the tiniest mischievous twinkle. She leaned in and whispered, “I think we need to have a sleepover… a slumber party! And maybe even a pillow fight!” We all dissolved into laughter—only to discover later that she talked about it the whole way home. So now, of course, we must put a date on the calendar and make one more birthday wish come true. There will be plenty of pillows, plenty of powder rooms, and probably an extra air mattress or two, because it sounds like the guest list is growing by the minute. Just goes to show: …

My daily routine includes a walk outside whether through my neighborhood or in a new town that I am visiting. These walks give me an opportunity to explore and take note of what I am seeing along the way in nature. Sometimes a flower or an insect; a bird or some other critter catches my eye, stopping to take a quick picture in appreciate that sometimes serves as inspiration for a writing prompt or watercolor entry in my sketchbook. I have been thinking a lot about trees and in various stages of the year as well as their lifecycles. The stump with concentric rings reminds me of the years and decades of life, reflecting back we remember certain milestones such as completing one’s education; moving to a new town; developing new friendships and memories bringing about a fresh start. The vibrant colors of turning leaves bring a warm familiarity to one of my favorite seasons – fall. The changing colors …

“I, like many, have a fascination with hummingbirds. Their playful chirps, the whir of their wings, their curiosity, and the way sunlight brings their feathers to life. One stormy afternoon, as I worked in my garage, a hummingbird flew in and struck the window, mistaking it for a shortcut. It frantically searched for a way out, growing tired before finally resting on the sill. With soft gardening gloves, I slowly approached. To my amazement, it let me gently hold it, weightless, still, and so fragile. I bent down slowly to open my hands and place it on the ground outside to assess the situation. Before I could even do so, the little hummer zipped along on its merry way. That moment stayed with me, a reminder of resilience, determination, and the beauty of gentle strength. The hummingbird became the perfect symbol for what the Lines in Time brand stands for. Energy, curiosity, and the kind of extraordinary experiences we can …