Five Good Things

1. John of John might genuinely be one of the best books I've ever read. The writing, the internal dialogues, the story, the extraordinary sense of place...all of it felt perfect. These characters absolutely stole my heart.

And I especially love a book that makes my brain wander off into some completely unexpected corner of the world. This one sent me down an entire weekend-long internet rabbit hole about Harris tweed. That's one of my favorite things a book can do: make its world so real and interesting that I don't quite want to leave it when I close the cover.

2. The seasonal shift is upon us. I can’t believe I could anticipate Autumn even more than I typically do, but this summer has been disgustingly humid.

3. The Bands That Raised Me. I've decided that one of my projects for the next decade is to see one more time the bands I've loved for most of my life while and if they're still out there playing. I'd love to see the Cure, Tears for Fears, Depeche Mode, Echo and the Bunnymen, and others whose music has somehow followed me through all the different versions of myself. (I heard there was an amazing Smiths cover band in Mexico City, so I am all over that for our trip in November.)

It's hard to picture myself at 70, dancing in a crowd at a concert; although I'm absolutely not ruling it out. So there is something about this particular window of time that feels worth paying attention to.

I'm serious enough about it that I'm starting a little travel fund specifically for this purpose; the Fuck It, I’m Going Fund. If a final tour means getting on a plane to Estonia, I want to be able to say, Well, I guess I'm going to Estonia.

There are only so many chances to stand in a crowd and hear a song you've carried around for 40 years played by the beautiful humans who gave it to you. I don't want to miss them.

4. I saw a post recently that said, “I think I’m going to take a break from my healing journey and focus on being a bitch.” Amen sister, that resonates.

5. The garden, apparently, needed me to leave it the hell alone. After a summer of feeling guilty about how little time and attention I've given it, the garden has positively FLOURISHED with neglect. Which feels like a useful counterpoint to all the messaging about constant tending, nurturing, optimizing, healing, and growth.

Apparently we do not need to be endlessly coddled and cooed over to succeed. Sometimes we are perfectly capable of finding the sun, putting down roots, and getting on with it.

The garden and I may both be entering our bitch era.

 

The Light I Used to Live In

 

This painting has lived on my dining room wall since 2018.

I worked on it in small bursts, ten minutes, sometimes less.
A strip of paper. A wash of teal. A bird, then another.

Sometimes I added color because I needed to regulate.
Sometimes because I was restless.
Sometimes because I wanted to feel something move.

Sometimes because I needed to dip my finger in color and fingerpaint like I was five.

It has been many paintings.

There was a version with a partial Steinbeck quote:
“look from the tide pool to the stars.” 
Those words are still there.
Buried, but not gone.

I painted over things I loved.
I softened what felt too sharp.
I let birds and metaphors and diamonds arrive without asking why.

The eye has watched the whole time.

The light has changed shape more than once.

Over the years it absorbed seasons, dinners, conversations, silence, me sitting in the dark staring at it during one particularly severe bout of insomnia.
It held steady when I didn’t.
It opened up when I did.

The Light I Used to Live In
is not about losing brightness.

It’s about recognizing it in all its versions.

The tide pool.The stars.The rainbows.

And the spaces in between.

You Are Here

Mosaic in progress.

Six years ago, I stopped writing here.

Blogging felt out of date. Social media felt faster. Louder. Easier.

But something has shifted.

Lately, I’ve been craving a quieter space. A place for images of everyday life, art I'm working on, fragments of story, pieces of life stitched together slowly. Not optimized. Not curated for an algorithm. Just… honest.

I am here.

Not where I used to be.
Not where I’m going.
Here.

This feels like the right place to begin again.

Welcome back to Curious Girl.

Though technically, I suppose I’m now a curious middle-aged woman with glasses and strong opinions about soil quality. (Curious Crone didn’t test well as a rebrand but the energy feels accurate.)

I haven't lost any wonder, just learned how to protect it.

Over the next week or so, I'll update the links and do some housekeeping.

If you’ve found your way back too, you’re welcome here.

five good things

first layers of the magic garden (acrylic, ink, oil pastel, pencil on canvas)

1. as an introvert, I do my best work alone, but I sure do miss regular exposure to work friends (I’ve been contemplating returning to full time work and work friends are in the “pro” column)

2. if there was an award for best tuna salad sandwich I would probably win it

3. I want to live in a world where the real life detectives in ‘unbelievable’ get the medal of freedom

4. we have so many low-tone chimes around the house that on a windy day I can close my eyes and be transported to a west coast pier. also simon’s bark sounds just like a sea lion, rounding out the daydream

5. painting is the gardening of winter

sunday grace

there is a week in summer when caring for the garden becomes less a joy and more a chore.  its tendency to delight me by the most mundane of moments--a tiny shoot of life, the seduction of a honey bee, the sun lighting up droplets of water clinging to its petals--is tempered by its insatiable need for maintenance.  maintenance that is tender one day and resentful the next.

the bright newness is replaced by the inevitability of change.  the carefree ease gives way to a mindful commitment of care.   the energy recalibrates to fuel less the outward show, more the network of roots forged over time that will see it safely through cycles of resignation and hope, spark and smolder, rupture and repair, death and rebirth.

summer garden

watering
planting
deadheading
deer-proofing (ha!)
weeding
bees
bunnies
foxes
chipmunks
woodpeckers
cardinals
drowning in gratitude
magic hour
gardener