Boutique Hotel Spotlight: The James Chicago.
A plush, simplistic stay at The James Chicago. Also, I’m getting old.
A 2,600-Mile Nutshell.
Destinations: Cleveland, Port Clinton, Kalamazoo, Chicago, Kenosha, Sparta, Menomonie
Well.
I’m back home safe and sound. Did you miss me? I missed you. Read the rest of this gem…
Love Grows Where My Rosemary Goes.
Destination: Rosemary Beach, Florida
You know, it just hit me — just last night, like a fist to the cheekbone — that I’m going to be seeing my brother, my sister, and my father over the course of a week starting Thursday, and that seeing all three of them in such close proximity of timing is a rarity rated up there with lightning strikes and Nessie sightings. Read the rest of this gem…
I Know Where I’ll Be Riding Out The Zombie Apocalypse.
Destination: Alys Beach, Florida
“Go check out Alys,” the saleslady at the children’s clothing store in Seaside told me with a knowing smile.
(She pronounced it “Alice.”) Read the rest of this gem…
Cue The Sun.
Destination: Seaside, Florida
I departed Panama City with high hopes for what I’d find further west along Florida’s panhandle, a stretch of shoreline that laps the Gulf of Mexico known as the Emerald Coast.
My Search For The Emerald Coast. Not Golden — EMERALD.
Well.
Based on my last non-post, you may have guessed that I went somewhere last week.
Somewhere beachy. Read the rest of this gem…
On Sacred Ground And Spanish Moss.
When I first moved here and Justin was still working in North Carolina, I made the mistake of consecutively watching all five seasons of Six Feet Under while living in an unfamiliar house, alone, save for a couple of scruffy mutts and my own deepening existential thoughts. Read the rest of this gem…
An Abundance Of Deliciousness And Other First World Problems.
I never thought I’d say this, but for a very brief and recent period of my life, I was actually getting a little tired of eating out. Read the rest of this gem…
Because Calories Don’t Count When They’re Consumed In The Dark.
I don’t know if you remember, but back when I turned 30 (whaaaat? I have to say “back when” now?), I went to the Florida Keys. Read the rest of this gem…
Williamsburg Tastes Nothing Like Chicken. And That’s A Good Thing.
Oy.
Lately I feel like this blog has become nothing but a representation of the gluttonous feast that has become my life. Read the rest of this gem…