I wish I had left the words out. Everything spoke a quiet abstract tongue to me without the embellishment, and the filigree is really grating my ribs of sarchasm right now, as I look at these pages I painted last night. I had planned on doing something completely different to weave the pages together, and then I got all sappy. I had a Hallmark moment. It happens. It might have involved wine, but I can’t remember.

Edited to add: And I have obnoxious waves of sourness, too. Like last night, when I wrote this post.

Christina organized this journal project. I’m #2 in a big group of gals contributing to the book. It’ll be fun to see the book once it nears completion, in all it’s Flickred glory. For now, it’s in a truck on the way to Houston.…

What does ‘home’ mean to you?