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Enjoys long walks in the woods… gardens… long wood tables… a fireplace…

I’ve read almost THREE (well, really 4 but one is mostly pictures ) books in the last week or so, (I guess that’s what happens when my knitting is packed away? lol) and they’ve been so wonderful for my soul.

From Heaven on Earth; A Handbook for Parents of Young Children, I continue my journey through homeschooling and parenting my favorite little people in the whole world. Sometimes this book creates in me a feeling of, I don’t know, maybe discouragement. The daily life and home structure described seem so simple and yet so unattainable in a world of media, playdates, financial responsibilities, suburbs, etc. But it also gives me something to aspire to, and in the very least, ideas I can put into practice or tuck in my pocket. You never know when they’ll come in handy.

From Little House on a Small Planet, I have again gained inspiration and ideas. My thoughts have certainly been provoked by the idea of never borrowing on a loan you can’t pay back in 7 years (like a mortgage) or living with less square footage than you might *think* you need. Good stuff!

From Anger: Wisdom for Cooling the Flames, Thich Nhat Hanh has reminded me about vulnerability, being a peace-maker, restoring relationships. All very appropriate right now as I work out some relational tensions that weigh heavy on my heart. He also reiterates the need for practicing mindfulness, a long post I’d best save for another day.

And lastly, and perhaps my most fun read right now, is A Natural Sense of Wonder. I didn’t think I would love reading this book as much as I do, but its memoir-like account of a father who tries to reconnect his children with the natural world through the seasons is really well-written (he is an english teacher, after all) and charming.

I particularly liked reading about his “affairs” of home searching in his twenties, a tale he accounts as a metaphor for dating relationships. He moved a lot when the kids were young and he and his wife were working and finishing school – all over the country and taking jobs in all kinds of industries it seems. He writes of their desire for some romantic, old-world charm farm with natural land and an abundance of outdoor “wild” play space for his children. I can’t help but find this story incredibly timely for me, as I’ve been dreaming about eventually finding The Place and happily making it Home.

Here the writer retells their house hunt:

My wife and I imagine our kids growing up in some high valley, their spirits fostered by the creases of ragged mountains, their bodies strengthened by exploring spines of nearby ridges, and their thirst slaked by some cascading stream. This reverie calls us away to some land on Sinking Creek with a barn and twenty acres of organic hay, but it’s too pricey for us. Here’s one in the Catawba Valley, on a feeder stream, but it looks a little small, and is that a … confederate flag at the neighbor’s house? We are a little like Goldilocks: this one is too big, this one is too small, still looking for the place that is just right.
Perhaps my desire is stirred by the very writers I’m drawn to: Muir in the Sierras, Abbey in the Arches, Lopez in the Arctic, and Thoreau in the Walden Woods. They’ve each carved out their niche in a place I am seeking mine, but they are a monastic bunch (except for Abbey), eloquent on the need for wild places but silent on the subject of raising children. Besides, we can’t all move there and enjoy it too.

As we are now 1.5 weeks from M-Day, we are doing the usual: cleaning out rooms, packing up, craigslisting furniture, trying to see enough people to say goodbye. We are also doing a “Greatest Hits” of the Portland area and soaking in the Pac NW while we can. We aren’t too overwhelmed with the packing process: We’ve moved *just* twice in the last 6 years, but since one of them a cross-country move, and the second was just a year ago, it has helped us travel light (we’ll, that and being broke ). Our bought-used items fill up two small bedrooms and a small living room, with very little need for extra storage. IF we had a 3 bedroom plus garage, we’d likely NEED a 3 bedroom plus garage, lol, but we’ve been blessed with “just enough bread for today” – in times like these, we’re grateful we have less sh** to ship.

More soon…

For the most part, neither Chris nor I have ever lived in a rural area. Urban or suburban, even a retirement island in the Gulf of Mexico, yes, but not rural. Not the country.

This new move to the Fayetteville area has us considering a rural homestead for the first time (Fayetteville would be the “urban” option while a surrounding rural town could also be an option), and in doing so it’s brought a lot of things to the forefront of my mind.

For one thing, I was thinking about how limited I might be in a rural setting to find a “emerging conversation” type of church. Of course, I assume we’ll drive into the city on Sundays if we do settle down outside of “town”. And I got to thinking, But Why?

As I know it, the emerging church has been a breath of fresh air in an otherwise stagnant (among other things) conventional church I had been a part of (where adding drums to “Lord I Lift Your Name on High” was “edgy”). We had some like-minded folks in Lakeland, FL that we could have plugged into, but I don’t believe that we, as a family, were ready to do so. Of course, one isn’t hard pressed to find an “emerging” church in Portland, where you can actually be picky about which emerging church to go to based on who approves of female elders or not! *amused at self*

Let’s get back to my thoughts, which are kinda new and I’m not really sure I can articulate this well, but…

You see, the books I read in college about the emerging church seemed to boast that this new “conversation” was one that would engage culture and participate with deep involvement at the community level. I think I took this to mean, based on all the examples given to me, that this meant that the emerging conversation could now take place with a glass of wine in hand or a clever pipe stuck between the lips of a goateed young pastor. Engaging culture seemed to be limited to POP culture, or in the very least, URBAN culture.

As I began to imagine our family in a rural area outside of the city, my knee-jerk reaction was, I admit, that the part of me that feels its a missional mandate to engage my culture would have to die, lol. Which, I began to realize is so odd because I’m basically saying that the rural setting offers no culture with which to engage. No community? No change is needed or wanted?

Is that really true?

I wonder why all the homestead books and emerging church books speak of the lofty goals of reaching inner city and revitalizing forgotten bungalows without offering the alternate scenario: that small towns could also use brave folks who love Jesus and also care about social issues and environmental issues, who are (gasp!) democrat and also read their Bible? Could we go so far as to engage culture by having an emerging cohort meet at Denny’s (parish the thought! lol) or the Waffle House? Or maybe starting or finding a home church out in an area predominantly occupied by chicken farms just seems like too much of a juxtaposition. I don’t know. But doesn’t it beg the question???

I found this article when I googled this question and I really love this part:

I refuse to believe, as I’m betting many reading this do, that the emerging church is, or can be, only a big-city phenomenon. In fact, I and many others need to refuse this notion because many more of us than are known serve churches that are located on county roads, in the midst of cornfields, or in places with populations under 10,000 people. These local cultures of small-town sports and NASCAR and Harley-Davidson, of garden clubs and heritage festivals and factories and depressed neighborhoods next to new subdivisions, yearn for and are able to receive a genuine incarnation of God’s kingdom just as much as the punk rock kids and ravers in downtown Chicago or Minneapolis.

So let’s hear about the emerging Texas pastor who preaches in cowboy boots. Let’s hear about the group of young people ministering to others in their trailer park. Let’s hear about the church that gathers next to the lakeside cabin in the woods for baptisms. Let’s hear about the work being done with factory workers, miners, and farmers. Let’s hear about relating to attendees of bluegrass festivals and county fairs, of churches started in barns and storefronts, of conversations in taverns and greasy spoon diners and truck stops.

Let’s hear about pastors whose hearts burn for these types of places where postmodernism isn’t the label used, but where people may wonder every bit as much whether Jesus has anything worthwhile to say to them. These are places where there may be less competition by other religious worldviews and more by economics, local or national politics, or “this is just the way it is.”

The opportunity to broaden perceptions about this movement is there. The stories and examples exist.

One doesn’t need a big city to do what emerging churches do. But in these smaller places, we still need to do it.

I don’t know whether we’ll end up in town or outside of town, at this point there are many variables. But I think this has put a little fire in my belly about viewing rural areas with more understanding and desire for ALL people to have a living, loving relationship with Jesus and their community.

Anyway, more of this as things unfold, I’m sure. I might even start a separate blog to continue this journey, as there are SO many things I have to share. This year one of my priorities is to deepen my spiritual life and get to know God better. Anyone ever read any Thich Nhat Hanh?

I planned to write an in-depth memoir about what I’ve called, for as long as I can remember, “My Curls”.

But instead I will sum it up because if I wait until I have ample time I just might never get around to this, so: they’ve been with me since before I knew what it was to look in a mirror. I learned to cut them and layer my straight hair over them when I was about 8 years old after being teased on the playground one too many times. They are My Curls; helplessly frizzy curly hair on the very top of my head of straight hair.

They looked like this:

I never felt like any one quite understood how odd this little facet of my tresses was, until I was reading Anne Lamott’s book Traveling Mercies about 5 years ago and jealously read about her transition from untamed locks to DREADLOCKS. It would take several more years and lots more courage for me to actually try them myself…

I began to stop cutting my hair about 1.5 years ago, as well as going “No Poo” to help my scalp and hair make the transition to healthy natural oils and no harsh chemical shampoo. Instead I do the baking soda scrub, apple cider rinse every so often, and other times scrub a little with Dr. Bronner’s Castile Soap.

I felt more ready at the turn of 2010, when all these crazy changes began to happen to us and I felt like I was shedding another layer of baggage and identity. So I took the dive!

Here I am getting the backcomb/twist method done. I opted for the no wax method based on this site, which I love. Verity and Ethan got a kick out of the process, which lasted about 4 hours. The result was the most fluffy crazy dreads EVER! For the first week or two I was totally freaked out by my hair.

I kept it under wraps (literally) and continued to care for them with palm rolls. I also decided to comb out the ends so I would still have soft, feminine tips I could style if I really wanted to. It didn’t take long for them to lose some volume. It’s interesting to watch the process, as they lose shape before the actually “lock up”, which takes from 6 months to YEARS to truly mature. Styling dreads is so far really simple and versatile. I don’t think mine are even very obvious. Dressing them up with hand felted wool beads I found on Etsy has been a fun thing too. When I wonder what the heck I am doing, I browse dread photos like THIS GALS and get all inspired.

All in all, I have finally made peace with my curls, as they wind their way into an existing dread and find themselves at home

One more step towards simplicity. But let’s not attribute TOO much weight to the experience- it is JUST HAIR, after all!

Here we are a few days ago feeding ducks under the St. John’s Bridge. I have more pictures to show of this event and all the other things we are doing in Portland before we leave. But I’ll save that for another post.

Had I known how 2010 would start out, I might have spent a little more time enjoying the “boring” aspects of our holidays.

Wow. Yeah. So…

I’ve been keeping some secrets from my blog readers at large, and for now, I still have to keep them! But I can share a little, and must, or I will begin to outgrow this humble little blog and be too far into another world to catch you guys up!

The last 3 weeks have been cra-HAZ-ee. A mixture of some of the most unexpected events to ever come our way, which truly spanned the spectrum of miracles and tragedies. We continue to “process” them all and hold so many in our hearts as we tredge on with life.

This week we finally zero’d in on some decisions about what our future holds and we felt strongly that us Ortecho’s had better get a move on. We have the opportunity to relocate right now; a window of time where Chris can look for work while we find more affordable housing elsewhere in the country that would also be more centrally located to loved ones (though we now have so many loved ones in Portland… *tear*).

A combination of events, circumstances, answered and unanswered prayers lead us to our first (and maybe only) stop along this next part of our journey: Fayetteville, AR.

When we first disclosed the news that we were moving to Arkansas, we got a lot of the same question we did when we picked Portland: “What’s in [insert location of your choice]???” with vague disdain and certain confusion

I think most of the people who know and love us well have come to see us as some brand of pioneers or globe trekkers at this latest surprising locale. Ah, but be that as it may, our hearts actually yearn to find “home” and settle down, and we wouldn’t be taking this step without some Hope that Fayetteville will fit the bill.

Our one-way tickets are booked for February 18th, (so soon!), and we began sorting through our clothing today (ah, the unhappy process of MOVING). I truly feel we are clinging to more than just our ideologies, more so to our FAITH in our loving Guidance and our new found sense of purpose and vision for our family unit. We trust that the light we have received for this next step is just enough to see us through. Sometimes the path we are on as a family creates in my mind’s eye an image of a trail in the darkness, complete with eery noises in the fog of a moonless night. But this latest stretch? It feels a little more like the dawning of a new day. It is the first crack of sunlight, chilly and quiet, when you spot the wildlife that comes out to graze and suck up the dew on long, unkept blades of grass.

Alright, alright, I’m at it again – getting way to allegorical

Deep breathes, simple prayers, belly laughs and cries of surrender seem to capture the mood of this stage. As we each adjust to another transition, we try to keep our sanity and sense of inner stillness.

And after all, what are we as humans if not explorers? Willing to go deeper, farther – within, without? Our family conversations these last few weeks are focused on the adventure that awaits us. Chris and I are excited to find new coffee shops, libraries, thai food, counselors, and of course, community. We are also wondering what God has up His sleeve with the close proximity this location puts us to my maternal family (who I was not raised around)! As for Ethan, he is excited to try out the caves and slip in bat poop (one of my memories when I visited Devil’s Den at age 7!) but when I told him about hiking around things called ticks and chiggers he declared: “I will NEVER go walking in the forest. EVER.”

So I may be more or less “around” these next few weeks as we attempt to get our “stuff” into a rubix cube of material things that can squeeze into a single storage pod for shipping. My heart is bursting with news and surprises and insights that are happening to me every day – but for now, I’ll hold them in and wait until the right time.

Until next time…

Oh and P.S.: I’m sporting dreads these days. No, really. Pictures coming as soon as I don’t look like a gnarly rufkin raised by wolves

I’m up after a loooooong nights sleep (guess I needed it!) still sitting in the dark in my room while Verity sleeps. She needed it too. You see, when she was trying to explore the possibility of biting my nipple yesterday, I had to pop her off and react to the pain to convince her to not try that again. She got wigged out. For about 5 hours she cried and wailed and started to nurse but then remembered my reaction and pushed me away. We laid in bed at midnight, her wailing, tired and hungry, while I just tried to coo at her and pray for her. Finally she fell asleep and so did I. When she woke up through the night, she nursed like a champ. She just needed a little sleep to ease the pain and confusion.

It works that way for us adults, too. The random thoughts and fears that my fatigue surfaces is often long forgotten when I wake up in the morning. Mercies are new.

I’m not enjoying the start of this year, I must admit. It’s put so much on my plate that I am really missing the simplicity of our days – doing some lessons, play, crafts, baking bread and working a few hours when Ethan goes to bed. The predictability and daily rhythm we were beginning to achieve at the end of last year has be upset by the upheavals that planning and moving creates.

An impending move away from Portland weighs on my mind. Part of me wants more time. I want to watch the tulips come up in all my familiar places. I want to sit outside working during the summer while Ethan and Verity and Caleb and Malachi play in the dirt and kiddie pool and get toasty. I want to crunch the leaves when we go trick-or-treating at familiar neighbors. I find such healing in the changing of seasons (something Florida did not offer me) and I hope that our “next place” will feel like home, and quickly! I am determined to put myself “out there” when we move. Ethan wants to know who our neighbors will be, and dog gone it we will bake them something and go introduce ourselves. We’ve already contacted a church we’d like to check out and are searching for home school groups, counselors, etc etc that we will have to find to keep ourselves from being “new” and isolated.

I tell myself it will be just a couple of years. I will look forward to seasons changing in a different area of America. It’s not that big of a change. Serenity tells me to accept, but my stubborn and fearful heart constantly quivers about starting over. Being present with my concerns helps, but sometimes I crave a distraction. Simply NOT thinking about it is a lofty goal

More work has come in this week, which helps. Work reminds me that life is still happening in the margins of all these big plans. Having something to focus on, and finish, is it’s own meditation.

The family and I took a break yesterday and went to see “The Princess and the Frog” – was way cute to see a Disney fairy tale set in New Orleans and the bayous (where my families are from and mostly still reside). While I am not a fan of Disney (at all!), it was nice to just go be entertained by a Cajun musical with Ethan while we split some popcorn. He loved it. I threw up the popcorn later but all in all it was a good outing. (My body was just pissed that I ate so much junk.)

Speaking of eating – oh my – this has been a pleasant moment or two to my days. I haven’t been able to pick up the knitting so reading is my next best escape. I’ve devoured some amazing books on nutrition and cooking. I don’t even know where to begin about that but yeah- let’s just say that I can’t wait til we move (there’s that word again!) and get settled in so I can start cooking my little heart out.

Now that I’m thinking of food, my tummy rumbling is reminding me that I haven’t had my tea and eggs yet. Must go!

More details soon, as plans shape up…

This song has been in my mind all day. My heart is burdened, but I know He is holding those I love who are mourning very, VERY close.

I hope this brings them comfort:

When I give a whistle, here me shout!

Phew, does any one else feel like the compression in their brain is reaching the “red” territory and sirens are going off with weird “Lost” voice WARNING alarms??? Or — is that just me?

For now, I don’t know how to catch up this blog and it’s readers because I am still not at liberty to reveal the details of the journey I am on. In fact, I won’t be “in the clear” to do so for several months! Kinda agonizing for me to not get this out there for processing, actually — but I’m trying to see it as a lessons in keeping some things private

Suffice it to say, we have lots of decisions to make. I am having to learn all kinds of stuff right now, like a crash course in the grown-up-world (which I have in many ways been too stuck on “survive” to take part in for many years!) Arg, again, I would like to say more about that but trust me, the time will come.

I can feel myself being propelled forward by necessity and desire, yet at the same time that Still Small Voice and many wise friends/family remind me to take this slooooowwwwwwww. I can’t even describe what mixture of feelings and thoughts run through me in the course of a single day lately. I am burdened for they heavy, heart-breaking circumstances happening in the lives of people I love right now. I am struggling to stay present in my own life, (work, homeschooling, marriage, cooking, laundry) while at the same time doing the very real and necessary steps of future planning. As a plan unfolds before me, I feel at first relieved that it is there and then quickly that relief is replaced by the uncertainty of still more unanswered details. (You can relate, heh, Maw Maw?!)

Staying present is SUCH a practice in surrender — and I for one SUCK. AT. IT. Choice is at once liberating and a weighty responsibility — which must make me sound like such a preteen, lol, but it’s true.

Will my family flow gracefully into this next chapter? What hiccups will interrupt our song? What fallen trees will litter our road? Can we “let go and let God”? Can we trust that He is holding on to our loved ones during a time when we are helpless to be of any practical service to them?

Oh, I am just not cut out for life on earth!

And now I am going to spout off words to let off mental steam (tip me over and pour me OUT!):

settling, creditors, SEP, liability, CD, HSA, taxes, jobs, unemployment extension, wagon, reliability, mileage, towing, u-haul, Upstate, budget, giving, saving, credit score, lease, waiting, goals, waldorfing, masters degree, FAFSA, 2 hour yoga class from which EVERYTHING HURTS, fermented, bulk buying clubs, homeschool group let downs, postpartum, mental health, new mexico, job loss, unusable ankle, recovery, counseling, identity, homesteading, solar powered, first time homebuyers programs, dreads, new city, new friends, new neighbors, new church, new farms, new home, new yard, new chickens, new beds, new life — old habits?, JESUS!, decisions, liver and egg yolks.

The path I am on has recently taken quite a turn. Or maybe I just see it up ahead, but haven’t ACTUALLY changed course yet. Perhaps I’ve been on whatever trail this has been for so long that I have to keep rubbing my eyes as I approach the upcoming crossroads. Is that a mirage I see?!

These are some findings:

Life is very peculiar. There is so much to be suffered. So much heartache and confusion. Especially since moving to Portland, I have realized just how essential community is to overall mental and emotional health. There are times, seasons even, where being out here has felt poignantly lonely. But for the most part, we have found relationships of support, investment, respect, generosity and love. For that I am so grateful. For SO many things I have found on our most recent leg of the “path” here in Portland: I am grateful.

Life also contains so much joy, surprises, and sweet, simple moments of surrender and worship. What a trip!

And now, change is on the horizon. Life and decisions and freedom, too.

I have a vision of our family a few years from now: homesteading a little urban bungalow somewhere; me- getting slightly better at being energetic and patient as a work-at-home, homeschooling mom; Chris graduating – and more importantly, finding his passion; our children enjoying life and learning and play; our home a place of solace and rest balanced with joy and production, with our hens in the backyard, most of our property covered in food producing gardens, Ethan and Verity’s paintings scattered across the walls. The vision rocks me to sleep at night and soothes the hardest of times. I believe it is a gift from God to catch for yourself a vision for the future and feel even slightly hopeful about life not ALWAYS being how it is now

Very exciting.

Curious about Urban Homesteading? Here’s a great article. Gives me chills just reading it!

In the meantime, enjoy some recent snapshots of our family… there is never a dull moment:

This week (or month?) of restless nights spent going over and over how we will continue to make ends meet, of completely forgetting about our 7 year anniversary with so much on our minds, and of praying for the wisdom to take our next steps financially — in one day so much has changed.

Today my family went through something life changing which has brought us several steps closer to our family goals and vision of living in freedom, simplicity, and generosity.

We are currently: shocked, grateful, and hopeful. To say we feel blessed and humbled would be a huge understatement. The opportunities we now have that we were beginning to think we never would are closer to our reach and we just have to say PRAISE GOD like a southern baptist preacha!

I wish I could say more but I’ll leave it at this: Miracles are all around.

Our Puerto Rican style Christmas Eve was a great idea this year. We began baking the 21 pound turkey we didn’t get around to at Thanksgiving, along with a 5 pound pork, on Tuesday night. I can’t tell you how many garlic cloves I used that night. At least 30. Anyway, once all the good saucey Adobo mess was slathered on, the meats began slow cooking overnight while I finished some handmade gifts. Christmas Eve morning we saw a smattering of snow on the ground and again began cooking, this time to the groove of a salsa Christmas CD. The pernil asado was to die for – nice and salty and garlicy and limey, mmmm… And the turkey came out great too – falling off the bone to reveal the slivers of garlic shoved into the meat, the stuffing of ripe plaintains/rum/dates/cinnamon, and studded with olives. I also made arroz con gandules but had to come up with an old school method for achiote ( sauteing the annato seeds in oil) for yellow seasoning, so that came out kinda bland and not very yellow. I also couldn’t get the thawed (because they weren’t supposed to be!) alcapurias to stay together, lol, however the pasteles Chris’ aunt made were boiled to perfection. I also fried tostones (green plantains, fried, flattened with a plate, fried again and dashed in salt) and maduros (very ripe plantains sliced thick and fried for juicy sweetness). Chris made homemade Coquito which was, well, I had way too much anyway!

We had a great time relaxing with friends over our Christmas Eve meal (Christmas Eve meal is the big one for Ricans, traditionally – that’s what Chris said anyway!) We also have TONS of leftovers that we keep picking at.

After Christmas Eve early dinner we headed to Evergreen Christmas Eve service. Ethan sat intently the whole time, very interested in this gathering. He also was a total STAR (I’m his mama, I can brag) of the “I Saw Three Ships” children’s “choir” – oh he was a riot and had all the moves down pat. Later we drove (yes, our own little christmas miracle- a couple went out of town for 10 days and left us use of their vehicle! thankyoujeebus!) through Peacock Lane to look at lights.

Back home we read some books and left out Santa’s snack, while Ethan hurried to bed. I had the notion that I’d stay up again to 1am like I have been for weeks to get the last minute gifts done- I need to knit something for the waldorf doll I made him and stuff and sew up the knitted gnomes. That didn’t happen. lol I gave up and knew he would be just as happy to watch me knit “Coby” a sweater this week — (that’s what he has named the doll – who he’s carried with him all day and slept with and made best friends with his favorite stuffed animal, the dragon “Scorch” – I can’t tell you how sweet it is when they love the toys you actually MADE with your own bare hands. It’s so special!)

This morning felt very lackluster for me. For one thing, my cold took a turn for the worst (sugar and lack of sleep will do that to ya!), so we didn’t make it to the christmas morning brunch we had planned with some friends. However, Ethan was very excited to open his gifts from us: a ton of new wooden “people” and accessories, a waldorf doll with a hammock, pillow and sheet, thai yoga/lounge pants, an old fashioned locally made wooden Top in his stocking with a large all natural candy cane, a few colors of wool roving and a needle felting kit, a kids’ first knitting needles set, and some new chapter books; Charlotte’s Web, Mary Poppins, and Little House in the Big Woods. From grandma he got a cd player with a cd story book of Little Bear, and from an aunt/uncle he got a Go Fishing game. Verity made out with her new blocks we made her and a wooden rattle and BabyLegs from grandma.

While we were trying to find room on the camcorder to record this morning’s happenings, we came across Ethan’s first Christmas – piles and piles of wrapped presents and battery operated whats its. He was 5 months old! It was crazy to see that in comparison with how simple and even elegant Christmas has become for us: good food, good people, a few special gifts under the tree. Very sweet times.

Despite that this morning I was tired and cranky and felt no spark of magical Christmastime that I always have on previous Christmas mornings, I’m still delighted to see the kids enjoy this day. We had our traditional cajun beignets and mimosas (just OJ for the little guy – another novelty), and all three of us took a nap through the afternoon! Right now Ethan and dad are curled up on the couch watching Polar Express and he is sucking away at his candy cane. We are stuffed from leftover turkey and pasteles and eager to get back into bed on this chilly night.

Well, my matcha tea is calling, along with MY Christmas present – the book “Heaven on Earth” which I can’t wait to dig into! So I will bid you adeiu.

Merry Christmas, my friends. Let the Epiphany festivity preparations begin!