Even on days when he’s an over-tired little tyrant or will not stop grabbing the trackball out of the mouse, I feel extremely lucky that I get to have a job and see my kid. But as he gets older, I worry.
Most tiny-house photos show lovely, spartan homes, unapologetically shaped like little shoe boxes, clear of any signs of life, save for some dog-eared copies of Kerouac and tiny pots of fresh herbs. Who lives here?
I’ve had a startling number of friends pass. Some had services, some didn’t. But it’s always the same: the real healing always takes the form of sitting around and talking about the person we’d lost on some other random, beautiful, less full-of-pressure day.
If you’re a vegetarian that gets a lot of their protein from eggs, or just desire to know where your food comes from, or just love the idea of hens mincing around your yard eating bugs, let me convince you