What's Real

Over at my Pobble Thoughts site, I tell you I'm a quivering mass of contradictions. I'm not sure I have ever written a post here at Stilettos that embodies that concept more than this one.

Lithus and I are, once again, with a great ground crew. It's spring, moving into summer, which means the cookouts have started. So we stand around a parking lot or a back porch or a fire pit and we talk and laugh and tease and solve the world's problems and shrug at the ones we can't figure out. On the one hand, as the privileged daughter of a college professor, it is nothing I have ever been prepared for. On the other, raised among theatre people with the promise of national tours and my grandmother's steamer trunk, it's exactly what I was born to do.



Regardless, we don't have many things. We have a homebase, almost a home. What we've got is good. Is better than good.





It sounds like that. It looks like this:

Bella and Ford

Where the firewood comes from. They are loggers, after all.

The best way to prep tortillas

But it feels like this:




And it's all real.