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I came across a completely beautiful (and completely dead) cicada while on a walk with my girl. It now clings to the side of a nest in my home office.

The flagstone path leads me away from the main house, through dark undergrowth and past waterfall to a clearing. The cabin is made of stone, built before the American revolution. A sweet garden wraps around from side to back. The front door is unlocked, and I step inside. The room is stained glass, dark wood, thick and quiet air that smells of books. A side table holds a bottle of Grand Marnier and two glasses. I want to sit at the desk and write and write until my hand cramps and my mind is still but the sun is going down and I feel the pull of home. I close the door behind me and stand in the back garden, feeling the hot Virginia breeze lift my hair as all around me honeybees stir in the twilight.

I designed a postcard for my husband’s real estate brokerage. Kind of wonky composition but I like to think that is part of the charm?

I push the broken storm door closed once, two, three times before it latches. I wave and blow kisses to my littles standing in the front window, turn, and make the short walk to my bus stop. I scan the headlines through the newspaper box glass and wait. The bus pulls up to the curb and I step through the open doors, climb the stairs, tap my commuter card to the fare machine, then take my usual seat. The bus threads its way down the narrow street and makes several stops, picking up small, orderly lines of people. The daily riders greet each other with the ease of the long-married, remarking on a new haircut, asking about the weekend, pointing out an uncharacteristic suit and tie in a teasing voice. Fifteen minutes later, we climb the HOV ramp to the highway. I close my eyes and listen. ...

She gets an unreal amount of attention when she rolls around in public wearing these skate/shoe thingies. Every comment she overhears from a little one (Mama, HOW is that girl skating on her SHOES??) makes her smile wide. The floors at IKEA are the bestest of all.

Been spending time in the kitchen, working on my fermentation chops. Haven’t you heard that fermentation is the new canning? Three half-pint jars of whey came from one container of organic yogurt, and now I am sneaking that stuff into all of my kids’ food. I made a batch of Carolina Slaw from the book Real Food Fermentation and it’s sitting quietly on the countertop, changing from one thing to another. The inside of the glass is thick with condensation after only two days. ...

I used blurb.com’s book creation software to prepare a gift for our host at Surfside Beach. I wrapped her book in the recycled paper with which I wrapped ceramic bowls at the checkout lane of my IKEA, and finished the wrapping with shells we gathered from the very beach shown in the book. She was thrilled with the gift, and it was passed around the dining room table from guest to guest at her birthday party. You can view a modified (omitting the most personal photos) preview of the book online by going here.

Sprouted buckwheat groats, chopped tomatoes, sliced cucumber tossed with lime juice, olive oil, salt, pepper, and chopped fresh mint and parsley. Recipe by the Gluten Free Hippie. I have begun sprouting grains and learning about lacto-fermentation, and have quit alcohol, caffeine and sugar (sigh), in a bid to prevent a recurrence of my disease. I’ve lost five pounds and so need to find new things to eat and pronto!

Taken while going a little stir-crazy during my recovery.

On a day trip away from Surfside, we walked around historic Charleston, SC. The air smelled of horses and ocean. As we walked up King Street from The Battery I peeked through countless wrought iron gates at the lovely private courtyards, which were my favorite part of the entire visit.