What?

Is it the raspberry yogurt color? Is it the dropseat? The calf collars? Whatever it is, I'm not buying it.

Insufficient Lather

I've been pretty sick for almost 10 days now. But in between doctor visits and passing out, I decided to make some bay rum soap for my man, since he ran out of the soap I picked up in Big Sur in June.

I gathered supplies and advice from the super duper Rebecca's Herbal Apothecary in Boulder and followed the instructions. But alas, I have come to discover that my soap has insufficient lather.

Real cold-process soap takes 4-6 weeks to cure, and I didn't think I had that kind of patience, but maybe I do. In the meantime, everyone please enjoy the Old Spice Guy.

Dear A,

Happy birthday!

It's a hell of ride, huh?

Remember back in high school when we got locked out of my mom's house and had to break in through the window, destroying the screen, and left her a note telling her to write it off to the exuberance of youth? Remember how that worked, and she wasn't mad?

I think that even though now we're both past the 40-year mark, we can still do that. We can still write everything off to the exuberance of youth. The trick is to still do stuff that requires writing off. So it's a good thing you're coming to visit, because we need to figure out what that stuff is now that our moms don't really care what kind of trouble we get into.

I know I gave you the life-gets-better-after-40 talk the other night. And it's not bullshit. I mean, some of the wheels fall off, but I think you come to realize that you don't need those wheels to get around anyway. You can turn on the jet propulsion instead and go much faster.

So here's to the wind in your hair. I love you. So much.

xo
Hollie

Two years

It's been two years, almost exactly, since I wrote my last blog post. The truth is, I kind of forgot about this blog. I got wrapped up in starting a company. In dancing even more. Generally living the good, un-bloggy, un-agency-employed life. And then, of course, my marriage went to hell in a great big ball of fire.

Which wound up being really, really for the best. For many reasons, not the least important of which is that I found this guy.

(Don't be alarmed at the rubber glove. It was a sardine can injury. And he really does have hot dogs, almost all the time.)

Anyway, I decided to start writing again for the same reason I began in the first place: considering how much time and effort I spend writing for other people, in tightly circumscribed ways, it's good for my brain and my spirit to venture outside those bounds verbally. Otherwise, I might find myself approaching retirement having forgotten what an adverb is. So there you go. Welcome back me.