Greetings:
I’m currently finding myself in the midst of my first holiday season away from home. And, while good friends and Rocky Mountain paradise surround me, I’m a bit nostalgic for Christmastimes past. There are certain Flower family holiday traditions that can only be shared at home, however there are a couple I’ve found I can preserve on my own. The first is listening to Christmas music for the entire month of December. The second is writing my very own Christmas letter in a way I can only hope will make my father proud. With that I give you the past year of my life (and a how-to for stepping out on your own for the first time).
Make the decision to move away from home, let it twist and turn in your head, pray it’s the right one, and hope that Colorado’s the Promised Land they say it is. Remember that it’s been almost a year now since you graduated from college and that, as much as you love Mom, Dad, and working at that little local coffee shop, as scary as this move is, you have a nagging hunger to see what else it out there. Write your last article for Allegan County Living magazine and make one last vanilla latte for your favorite regular. Send your resume to the Starbucks in Vail, get hired over the phone, and promise them you’ll be there by May.
The day when you have to say good-bye to your sisters, brother, cats, dog and mom will come way too fast. Cry when you hug your mom, she’ll hold you so tight it hurts a little, hug her back just as tightly.
You’ll feel a little nervous on the car ride to Colorado but mostly you’ll find it strange that you feel so confident, so assured that this is right. As you pass through Iowa, Nebraska, and into Eastern Colorado realize that you have, indeed, discovered the Middle-of-Nowhere. Try to call Rand McNally to let him know where to mark it on the map. Don’t be surprised when you can’t get through because you don’t have cell service.
Naturally your stomach will flutter a bit as you near Denver, but don’t worry, as soon as you start winding up through those majestic mountains in the distance, you’ll feel at home.
Try not to cry too much when you have to say good-bye to your dad.
Start your new job right away and love it because your co-workers are great and the atmosphere there is more that of a small-town coffee shop than a Starbucks. You’ll be promoted to Shift Supervisor within the first month.
Be in awe of your surroundings in that little mountain resort town. You’ll mostly be in the company of your boyfriend and his buddies. Try to keep up with them. Go for lots of hikes in those first few weeks, huff and puff as your lungs try to acclimate to the altitude. Don’t cry or complain when thorny weeds scratch deep into your legs or when you slip on a rock crossing a stream and bruise your shin. Get over the layer of dirt that has covered your entire body and keep trekking. Take note of your surroundings, of rushing waterfalls, alpine lakes, sapphire skies, and blooming wildflowers. Be humbled by it all.
Go camping at a place that has no modern plumbing. Sleep in a tent, cook over the fire, don’t shower for a couple days, and love it. These camping adventures will take you swimming in the Colorado River, bathing in natural hot springs, and star-gazing under a sparkly black blanket you never knew existed. Wish on more shooting stars under those brightly lit nights than you ever have before.
The summer won’t be all fun and games. You’ll be homesick, particularly after seeing your family when they come out to bring your brother to college. You’ll miss your girlfriends and your old job. You’ll miss all the things about home that you hated when you were living there.
Turn 23 in September and wonder if you’re a grown-up yet.
Plan a trip with your boyfriend to visit home in the fall. Decide to also visit Seattle and San Francisco and everything in between. A month or so before you depart for this trip quit your job at Starbucks because, somewhere around July, it stopped being fun and you didn’t move to Colorado to work, at least not at a lousy job. Decide to work at Bailey’s, the little Vail Resorts-owned coffee shop on top of the mountain.
In Seattle visit the Pike’s Place Market and see the famous fish-tossing fishermen. Stop by the first Starbucks and listen to the street musicians playing outside. It will rain a lot all the way down the coast. Appreciate all that you see anyway. You’ll touch the Pacific Ocean for the first time, drive through a redwood, and cross the Golden Gate Bridge. Oh, and don’t forget to have lunch with your dad once you reach San Francisco, he’ll be there on business.
Once you’re back in Vail snow will start to fall and you’ll begin making friends with all the people who have moved there for the winter. Start riding the gondola up the mountain to work every day and taking snowboarding lessons on your days off. You’ll soon see more snowfall in one week than you’ve seen in two months in Michigan. After the storms pass the sun will shine for days on end.
Realize on the way home from work one night, while you’re sitting alone in a gondola car watching the rising moon cast a soft glow on fresh powder as it peeks over the mountains, that you’re content. Realize that this is true even though you still miss your friends and family sometimes, that this is true even though you can’t be with them on Christmas. Something in the moon will remind you that you’re never too far away from the ones you love, and for that reason you can find joy in this holiday season away from home.
Have a blessed Christmas and New Year.
Love,
Tracey
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Giving Thanks
The following is an email I sent my family last Thanksgiving and I like it so much I want to share with everyone who reads Flower Blog this Thanksgiving.
As a child I was taught that the first Thanksgiving happened when the pilgrims and Indians sat and feasted together. Both parties brought food to share and they were all thankful for the companionship. In elementary school we made pilgrim hats and Indian feathers out of construction paper and sat pilgrim next to Indian at the school’s Thanksgiving lunch.
As an adult I’ve been taught that meal or no meal the pilgrims murdered many Indians and stole their land. I’ve been taught to refer to Indians as Native Americans as if that somehow makes amends for the sins of my ancestors.
The true origins of Thanksgiving are fuzzy to me and I find it difficult to describe the reason for the day to my non-American friends. The lesson generally leads to stories of how poorly the Native Americans were treated by the first settlers, a part of American history I’m not particularly proud of.
Tomorrow I will join 20-plus friends for a meal. We will be American, Australian, English, and South American and we will eat, drink, and be merry together. Regardless of whether or not the first Thanksgiving went the way I was taught as a child, regardless of the messiness that came later, I hope to show them that this is what Thanksgiving is about.
Because that is what this holiday is about, isn’t it? It’s about family, friends, and feasting. It’s about coming together and reminding ourselves that, despite the doom preached on the news, we have so very much to be thankful for. And this year, more than years past, I can’t help but feel hope. Hope that in small ways, like a meal where African refugees eat with white Americans, this is the place those pilgrims hoped it would be. A country where change is possible and the dreams of our forefathers are still tangible.
And for that I am very thankful.
Happy Thanksgiving.
As a child I was taught that the first Thanksgiving happened when the pilgrims and Indians sat and feasted together. Both parties brought food to share and they were all thankful for the companionship. In elementary school we made pilgrim hats and Indian feathers out of construction paper and sat pilgrim next to Indian at the school’s Thanksgiving lunch.
As an adult I’ve been taught that meal or no meal the pilgrims murdered many Indians and stole their land. I’ve been taught to refer to Indians as Native Americans as if that somehow makes amends for the sins of my ancestors.
The true origins of Thanksgiving are fuzzy to me and I find it difficult to describe the reason for the day to my non-American friends. The lesson generally leads to stories of how poorly the Native Americans were treated by the first settlers, a part of American history I’m not particularly proud of.
Tomorrow I will join 20-plus friends for a meal. We will be American, Australian, English, and South American and we will eat, drink, and be merry together. Regardless of whether or not the first Thanksgiving went the way I was taught as a child, regardless of the messiness that came later, I hope to show them that this is what Thanksgiving is about.
Because that is what this holiday is about, isn’t it? It’s about family, friends, and feasting. It’s about coming together and reminding ourselves that, despite the doom preached on the news, we have so very much to be thankful for. And this year, more than years past, I can’t help but feel hope. Hope that in small ways, like a meal where African refugees eat with white Americans, this is the place those pilgrims hoped it would be. A country where change is possible and the dreams of our forefathers are still tangible.
And for that I am very thankful.
Happy Thanksgiving.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Small Town Seasons: A Sonnet
For this post I decided to revisit some writing work from college. The following is a sonnet I wrote for a creative writing course that covered fiction, poetry, and playwriting. Poetry is not my strong suit and I don’t enjoy reading or writing it. The segment of that course that focused on poetry is the only training I’ve had in the subject. I fumbled through it and, in the end, my professor agreed that poetry isn't my forte. That said, I think any writer can benefit from studying poetry. Studying and writing poetry, sonnets in particular, for that course taught me an important lesson in structure and simplicity. If I remember correctly this was the only poem I wrote that received positive feedback from my professor and reading it not only reminds me of those lessons, it also makes me smile.
A crystal sea of fresh water stretches
endlessly. Rumbling waves tumble one
over another; their tongues making etches
in the cool compact grains on shore. The sun
majestically warms her subjects who flip from
back to front like pancakes on a griddle.
Then they will swarm these small town streets like bums.
They’ll eat. They’ll shop. They’ll drink. They’ll dance. Little
by little, though, they will disappear. Behind
them they will leave only scraps of summer;
grains of sand mingling with snow drops. Kind
signs that read “Closed for Winter.” A shrinking number
of subjects stroll the streets. An icy zephyr
roars off the water, moving things like feathers.
A crystal sea of fresh water stretches
endlessly. Rumbling waves tumble one
over another; their tongues making etches
in the cool compact grains on shore. The sun
majestically warms her subjects who flip from
back to front like pancakes on a griddle.
Then they will swarm these small town streets like bums.
They’ll eat. They’ll shop. They’ll drink. They’ll dance. Little
by little, though, they will disappear. Behind
them they will leave only scraps of summer;
grains of sand mingling with snow drops. Kind
signs that read “Closed for Winter.” A shrinking number
of subjects stroll the streets. An icy zephyr
roars off the water, moving things like feathers.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
RE: Snow on the Gore, DATE: August 27, 2006
Fall in Vail can be both lovely and torturous. The weather can be beautiful or miserable. The town becomes ghost-like and the locals refer to the heart of it as mud season. The following is an email I wrote to my dad at the very start of my first fall in Vail.
Dad:
It’s been in the air for a couple weeks now but today it happened. The seasons clicked. Labor Day might still be a week away but today marked the end of summer, the beginning of fall, and the promise that winter won't be far behind. I felt the colder air before I even got out of bed and it encouraged me to stay snuggled in the blankets long after my alarm went off. When I pushed the curtains aside and peeked out the window I saw the first dusting of snow on the Gore Range. The clouds were thick and low; they were grey and menacing.
The leaves are just starting to turn yellow and the autumnal equinox is still a month away. There will be days in the next few months when the sun shines and Valley residents savor the last flickers of summer. But that crisp feeling in the air today will linger until snow covers everything and it will remind us, like the snow on the Gore does today, that winter is never far behind us or in front of us.
Love, Tracey
Dad:
It’s been in the air for a couple weeks now but today it happened. The seasons clicked. Labor Day might still be a week away but today marked the end of summer, the beginning of fall, and the promise that winter won't be far behind. I felt the colder air before I even got out of bed and it encouraged me to stay snuggled in the blankets long after my alarm went off. When I pushed the curtains aside and peeked out the window I saw the first dusting of snow on the Gore Range. The clouds were thick and low; they were grey and menacing.
The leaves are just starting to turn yellow and the autumnal equinox is still a month away. There will be days in the next few months when the sun shines and Valley residents savor the last flickers of summer. But that crisp feeling in the air today will linger until snow covers everything and it will remind us, like the snow on the Gore does today, that winter is never far behind us or in front of us.
Love, Tracey
Monday, October 5, 2009
Day at the Beach
I often write letters to people in my journals, letters I’ll never send and the recipient will never read. I recently came across the following letter that I wrote to a friend during a trip back to Michigan after my first summer in Vail. I still remember this day and how I felt when I wrote this.
October 21, 2005
Today, inspired by your creativity and tales of days spent combing the sand for treasures, I spent some time on the beach. I felt drawn to it by the crisp breeze blowing across the lake, by the sound of waves lapping at the shore and the gulls’ distant squawks. I sat in the cool beige sand in a spot surrounded by long dune grass, which sheltered me a bit from the chilly breeze and allowed me to fully reap the benefits of the sun’s warm rays. I watched sea gulls swoop down and spiral up into an endless blue sky and I was jealous of them.
I reviewed the events of our vacation thus far and thought about the summer, I recalled the most defining moments, and realized how I’ve changed and how I’m continuing to change. I thought about us and about possibilities. I daydreamed about the future.
I went for a walk along the water after a nap in the sun. Zebra mussel shells crunched beneath my feet as I walked; there were thousands of them washed up along the water’s edge. I bent down and examined a cluster of them and marveled at how even a pest such as this one is beautiful. It made me think about how there are many things in this world that are both incredibly beautiful and horrible at the same time.
I found a stick on my walk, it was strong and smooth and all the rough edges had been whittled away by water and sand. Wavy lines in different shades of gray ran the length of the stick and its ends were rounded and dull. It seemed to carry with it a story, a journey that I couldn’t completely comprehend.
When I turned around and began making my way back up the beach I saw two women walking toward me, as they neared I noticed one was using a red-tipped white walking cane and was latched onto the arm of the other woman, using her as a guide. I observed them discreetly as they walked. They were talking quietly and seemed to be enjoying the same peaceful moment I was. I tried to imagine what it would be like to be blind on such a walk, to smell the fresh water breeze, to hear the children laughing in the distance and the waves next to you, to feel the soft sand under your feet, but not be able to see the grandness of the scene. I wondered if she had been without sight for her entire life or if it was something she had lost along the way. I closed my eyes for a moment as I walked but I could still see the vivid colors that surrounded me. I wanted to tell the woman, explain to her what it all looked like, how the sun, the sky and the trees around us looked like fall; the trees in their multi-colored grandeur, the sun at an angle that seemed to show everything in a new light, a light that reminds you of how rapidly everything around you is changing. I wondered if she feels lonely at times, even when she has a friend beside her, when all her other senses whisper to her the beauty of a day she cannot see. Goosebumps tickled my arms and a sadness moved through me at the thought of such a loneliness. I realized that a day such as this one could be so beautiful but carry with it such a heavy emotion and how, in a way, it was very much like those pesky zebra mussels.
I also realized, on the beach today, how precious days like this, moments like this, are. I felt like I had walked into an exquisite photograph for a few hours where only I existed. I believe the beach is a magical place, it’s the only place I’ve ever experienced these quiet moments of Zen and it is my deepest wish to carry this day with me for awhile.
October 21, 2005
Today, inspired by your creativity and tales of days spent combing the sand for treasures, I spent some time on the beach. I felt drawn to it by the crisp breeze blowing across the lake, by the sound of waves lapping at the shore and the gulls’ distant squawks. I sat in the cool beige sand in a spot surrounded by long dune grass, which sheltered me a bit from the chilly breeze and allowed me to fully reap the benefits of the sun’s warm rays. I watched sea gulls swoop down and spiral up into an endless blue sky and I was jealous of them.
I reviewed the events of our vacation thus far and thought about the summer, I recalled the most defining moments, and realized how I’ve changed and how I’m continuing to change. I thought about us and about possibilities. I daydreamed about the future.
I went for a walk along the water after a nap in the sun. Zebra mussel shells crunched beneath my feet as I walked; there were thousands of them washed up along the water’s edge. I bent down and examined a cluster of them and marveled at how even a pest such as this one is beautiful. It made me think about how there are many things in this world that are both incredibly beautiful and horrible at the same time.
I found a stick on my walk, it was strong and smooth and all the rough edges had been whittled away by water and sand. Wavy lines in different shades of gray ran the length of the stick and its ends were rounded and dull. It seemed to carry with it a story, a journey that I couldn’t completely comprehend.
When I turned around and began making my way back up the beach I saw two women walking toward me, as they neared I noticed one was using a red-tipped white walking cane and was latched onto the arm of the other woman, using her as a guide. I observed them discreetly as they walked. They were talking quietly and seemed to be enjoying the same peaceful moment I was. I tried to imagine what it would be like to be blind on such a walk, to smell the fresh water breeze, to hear the children laughing in the distance and the waves next to you, to feel the soft sand under your feet, but not be able to see the grandness of the scene. I wondered if she had been without sight for her entire life or if it was something she had lost along the way. I closed my eyes for a moment as I walked but I could still see the vivid colors that surrounded me. I wanted to tell the woman, explain to her what it all looked like, how the sun, the sky and the trees around us looked like fall; the trees in their multi-colored grandeur, the sun at an angle that seemed to show everything in a new light, a light that reminds you of how rapidly everything around you is changing. I wondered if she feels lonely at times, even when she has a friend beside her, when all her other senses whisper to her the beauty of a day she cannot see. Goosebumps tickled my arms and a sadness moved through me at the thought of such a loneliness. I realized that a day such as this one could be so beautiful but carry with it such a heavy emotion and how, in a way, it was very much like those pesky zebra mussels.
I also realized, on the beach today, how precious days like this, moments like this, are. I felt like I had walked into an exquisite photograph for a few hours where only I existed. I believe the beach is a magical place, it’s the only place I’ve ever experienced these quiet moments of Zen and it is my deepest wish to carry this day with me for awhile.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Birthday Weather
The weather forecast printed in the “Vail Daily” for tomorrow, September 21, 2009, is bleak. The predicted temperature high is 53 and the low is 29. “Showers by day, mixing with snow at night” is written under a cartoon of a cloudy, rainy sky. Tomorrow is my 27th birthday and it is an appropriate forecast for the day.
My dad has told me that September 21, 1982 was a cold and rainy day. Fall in Michigan, like fall in Colorado, can be spectacular, with vibrant colors, clear blue skies, and temperatures in the 70s. Fall in Michigan, like fall in Colorado, can also be rather miserable, with cold, cloudy days that lead to that freezing rain and snow combination fondly referred to as sleet. The day I was born was a miserable Michigan fall day. It was the kind of weather my family refers to as Tracey’s Birthday Weather, which makes tomorrow’s forecast so appropriate.
It also feels appropriate because it reflects the way I feel at the moment. My birthday this year comes just days after saying good-bye to someone very special to me and I’m a little heartbroken. I’m also flat broke with no employment lined up for the near future. My first thought this morning was that tomorrow is the first birthday in 27 years that I’m not looking forward to.
But then I saw the forecast in the paper. A miserable Colorado fall day. Perfect. See because even though it reflects the way I feel at the moment I love Tracey’s Birthday Weather. I love an excuse to stay home all day wrapped in a blanket and to put on a sweater for the first time in months. I love that coffee just tastes better with the first hint of snow in the air. I find something familiar and comforting in a miserable fall day. It makes me feel safe. Secure. And I can’t think of a better way to feel tomorrow. Because even if I feel a little down at the moment I can’t deny that I’m looking forward to seeing what the next year holds, that I’m excited to live it and to grow and learn. So tomorrow I will enjoy Tracey’s Birthday Weather and I will feel safe, secure, and hopeful. And that is all worth looking forward to.
My dad has told me that September 21, 1982 was a cold and rainy day. Fall in Michigan, like fall in Colorado, can be spectacular, with vibrant colors, clear blue skies, and temperatures in the 70s. Fall in Michigan, like fall in Colorado, can also be rather miserable, with cold, cloudy days that lead to that freezing rain and snow combination fondly referred to as sleet. The day I was born was a miserable Michigan fall day. It was the kind of weather my family refers to as Tracey’s Birthday Weather, which makes tomorrow’s forecast so appropriate.
It also feels appropriate because it reflects the way I feel at the moment. My birthday this year comes just days after saying good-bye to someone very special to me and I’m a little heartbroken. I’m also flat broke with no employment lined up for the near future. My first thought this morning was that tomorrow is the first birthday in 27 years that I’m not looking forward to.
But then I saw the forecast in the paper. A miserable Colorado fall day. Perfect. See because even though it reflects the way I feel at the moment I love Tracey’s Birthday Weather. I love an excuse to stay home all day wrapped in a blanket and to put on a sweater for the first time in months. I love that coffee just tastes better with the first hint of snow in the air. I find something familiar and comforting in a miserable fall day. It makes me feel safe. Secure. And I can’t think of a better way to feel tomorrow. Because even if I feel a little down at the moment I can’t deny that I’m looking forward to seeing what the next year holds, that I’m excited to live it and to grow and learn. So tomorrow I will enjoy Tracey’s Birthday Weather and I will feel safe, secure, and hopeful. And that is all worth looking forward to.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Journal Entry 02/09/05
This blog is not a personal diary for me. My journal, however, is. I use my journal as a place to rant, to document events, and to help me sort through my thoughts. The entries aren’t always well written and sometimes don’t even make much sense to me when I read them later. Some of the entries are deeply personal and I hope no one will ever read them. And some of them, like the one posted here, I think are worth sharing.
I was reading an old journal the other day, looking for ideas and inspiration and this entry made me smile. It made me think about who I was then and where I was at that point in my life. I wrote it after my first visit to Colorado before I decided to move to Vail.
February 9, 2005
I feel a bit like I’m cheating by writing in this at the moment. See I have another journal going right now that still has blank pages. One entry left of bank pages to be exact. When I fill those pages it will be the last entry in a book that has chronicled the past few years of my life. It’s a book full of rambling notes, stories and thoughts about life. Not much of a page-turner, but it’s my life nonetheless and it deserves a good ending.
It doesn’t feel right to start the next book without finishing the last. It’s tough, though, because my life is in limbo right now. I can see where I’m going and where I’ve been but I’m finding myself somewhere in the middle of it all. I’ve yet to close that last chapter, to experience the ending there, or perhaps I have but I haven’t realized it. In any case I’m not ready to write it.
As for the beginning of this next chapter, I suppose I’m writing it right now. I’m not quite sure why the beginning is easier to write than the ending. Perhaps it’s because the beginning is more exciting than the ending. Perhaps it’s because I’m scared of the ending. Perhaps it’s because I’ve already experienced this chapter’s first adventure. Because I’ve already learned from it, already grown from it and already changed from it. This volume begins after a six-day trip to Colorado with stops in Vail, Glenwood Springs, and Aspen.
I learned on that trip that people who vacation in Vail or Aspen have considerably more money than people who vacation in Florida (most of my vacations until recently were family road trips to Florida). The people I observed vacationing in high-end Colorado resort towns do not seem the type to pack up the minivan, throw on some Bermuda shorts and join the caravan of families trekking down to Orlando or Tampa for spring break. They wear fur coats, shop in stores like Prada, drink expensive wine, and spend vacation days skiing. People who vacation in Florida wear tacky floral shirts, shop in discount souvenir shops, sip brightly colored drinks, and spend vacation days getting sunburned at Sea World. This is not to say that those who spend time in Vail or Aspen do not like to spend a day at Sea World, shop for souvenirs, or wear Bermuda shorts. They just seem to go about it in a more expensive, classier way.
That observation is one of many from my recent trip, more stories to come later. Colorado was definitely different, though. Good different. The trip has left me thinking a lot about that place as a potential new home. We will see what happens in the months to come.
I was reading an old journal the other day, looking for ideas and inspiration and this entry made me smile. It made me think about who I was then and where I was at that point in my life. I wrote it after my first visit to Colorado before I decided to move to Vail.
February 9, 2005
I feel a bit like I’m cheating by writing in this at the moment. See I have another journal going right now that still has blank pages. One entry left of bank pages to be exact. When I fill those pages it will be the last entry in a book that has chronicled the past few years of my life. It’s a book full of rambling notes, stories and thoughts about life. Not much of a page-turner, but it’s my life nonetheless and it deserves a good ending.
It doesn’t feel right to start the next book without finishing the last. It’s tough, though, because my life is in limbo right now. I can see where I’m going and where I’ve been but I’m finding myself somewhere in the middle of it all. I’ve yet to close that last chapter, to experience the ending there, or perhaps I have but I haven’t realized it. In any case I’m not ready to write it.
As for the beginning of this next chapter, I suppose I’m writing it right now. I’m not quite sure why the beginning is easier to write than the ending. Perhaps it’s because the beginning is more exciting than the ending. Perhaps it’s because I’m scared of the ending. Perhaps it’s because I’ve already experienced this chapter’s first adventure. Because I’ve already learned from it, already grown from it and already changed from it. This volume begins after a six-day trip to Colorado with stops in Vail, Glenwood Springs, and Aspen.
I learned on that trip that people who vacation in Vail or Aspen have considerably more money than people who vacation in Florida (most of my vacations until recently were family road trips to Florida). The people I observed vacationing in high-end Colorado resort towns do not seem the type to pack up the minivan, throw on some Bermuda shorts and join the caravan of families trekking down to Orlando or Tampa for spring break. They wear fur coats, shop in stores like Prada, drink expensive wine, and spend vacation days skiing. People who vacation in Florida wear tacky floral shirts, shop in discount souvenir shops, sip brightly colored drinks, and spend vacation days getting sunburned at Sea World. This is not to say that those who spend time in Vail or Aspen do not like to spend a day at Sea World, shop for souvenirs, or wear Bermuda shorts. They just seem to go about it in a more expensive, classier way.
That observation is one of many from my recent trip, more stories to come later. Colorado was definitely different, though. Good different. The trip has left me thinking a lot about that place as a potential new home. We will see what happens in the months to come.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)