Remembering my Great Grandma Ceil.

Mother’s Day reflection, Queen of Sheba Cake, a poem recollection, and Carole King.

The Mistress of All Life, Mama Cass, and Mother Earth.

Holy Wednesday, my lemon bars recipe, Matt Berninger’s Bonnet of Pins, and a potent quote from Cynthia Bourgeault.

Old and new words on transition, a generous handful of joy, God Bless Jake Wesley Rogers, and a quote to return to by Meggan Watterson.

Waking up, a chocolate chip zucchini muffin recipe, Weird Faith, and moving words from Sophie Strand.

A coffee cake recipe, some hibernation recommendations, the Charley Pride Sings Heart Songs record, and my favorite words from Rilke.

Comfort cookies, book club, a quote on Good Men, and Johnny Cash.

Must be the season of the witch.

Life changing muffins, nostalgic Gram Parsons music, potent words from Esther Perel, and a seasonal reading ritual.

Before patriarchal religious times, it was a day to celebrate the Divine Feminine, the Wild Woman, the Goddess. The day of Venus and Freyja.

Neighborhood collaboration, a feast day celebration, some thoughts on gardening, and joyful words from Wendell Berry.

I said I’d be happy if I got one strawberry.

Lifey lessons, Taylor Swift wisdom, timely Anne Lamott words, and other things growing in my garden.

In a relationship. With my dill.

In the name of the dark, the milk, and the semi-sweet chocolate. Amen.

(Plus a quote of the week & cute cartoon.)

A thought, a Toni Morrison quote, and another chance to give yourself the gift of Cowboy Carter goosebumps.

I repotted this plant back in August. She’s been with me for about seven years in total now and has survived several moves — including nine months in a basement apartment, two years in foster care (thank you Sara, thank you Liz), and going on two more in the most beautiful natural light.

Resharing many of my favorite Magdalene passages and works of art, songs and pieces I’ve written — all the things I love coming back to during Holy Week. Because Easter feels different with a woman included at the heart of the story.

I’m in a liminal space. It is awfully uncomfortable here. But when I go outside, and I look around, I’ve got to say — it feels right.

by Annie Petrik