old soul: on the charm & melancholy of small towns

For all my love of cities, there is something unspeakably touching about this simplicity, about the kind of place where your child could still ride their bike all around town and promise to be home for dinner. Maybe we shouldn't be too quick to mourn these places; maybe they will evolve and survive. A town's soul, after all, has more to do with its people than with places to buy artisan bread or local beef.

love without locks: a modern pont des arts engagement

I had just arrived in Paris, feeling jet-lagged and haggard. I knew Victor was going to propose–I had just flown to France for the express purpose of becoming his wife–but I didn't know when. I thought it would be the following evening, when I knew we had fancy dinner plans. After stopping at the apartment to change, …

Continue reading love without locks: a modern pont des arts engagement

from newlywed to retiree: on places, and what it means to love them

It's interesting what we block out when we dream of or anticipate a place. We must ignore the great unspooled ribbon of mind-numbing highway. The ugly big-box stores. The cloud cover that renders a day as colorless as a lump of pizza dough. Sometimes I think we reserve those kinds of stringent observations for home: to criticize what we are used to and tired of.