All Posts By Jennifer

Alright, let’s talk stoves—because if you’ve ever tried to boil pasta on a burner that takes forever to heat up, you know this isn’t just a “kitchen appliance” debate. It’s personal. Back when I was in my twenties, I rented this little place that had an old electric stove with burners so lopsided, my pans used to slide off if I wasn’t watching. I burned more grilled cheese sandwiches than I care to admit. Then years later, I moved into a house with a gas range, and I felt like Julia Child herself. That open flame? It made me feel …

A few Decembers back, when the days felt short and the coffee pot ran overtime, I found myself staring at a blank canvas. Not metaphorically—literally. A plain white 16×20 canvas that had been sitting in the corner of my craft room since spring. The house already sparkled with holiday lights, but something in me wanted a new kind of glow. Something quieter, something… magical. So I picked up my paintbrush and a strand of those tiny battery-powered Christmas lights (the ones I had no business saving “just in case”), and the idea hit me like a sugar rush from peppermint …

So here’s the thing… a few years ago, right around early December, I was knee-deep in Christmas bins and digging through the garage for that one box of lights I swore I’d labeled “FRONT PORCH – DO NOT BURY.” Of course, it was buried. But what I did find was a stack of old tomato cages from the summer garden—dusty, bent, and totally forgotten. And I don’t know what came over me, but I looked at them and thought: “Well, you could be a tree.” Next thing I knew, I had one flipped upside down, wrapped in lights, and glowing …

It all started with a pile of old sweaters I couldn’t quite let go of. You know the ones — stretched-out sleeves, tiny moth holes, a few coffee stains that tell stories of cold mornings and warm hands. I couldn’t donate them, but I couldn’t throw them out either. So I stared at them until the idea bloomed: what if they could hug my garden the way they used to hug me? And just like that, I was sliding a ribbed wool sleeve over a coffee can, grinning like I’d just invented something brilliant. Maybe I didn’t invent it, but …

You know that drawer. The one that doesn’t really close anymore because it’s stuffed to the brim with who-knows-what. For Jane, it was full of fabric scraps—some tiny as a teabag, others big enough to almost be useful. She didn’t have the heart to toss them, and they just sat there… for years, if we’re being honest. But one quiet afternoon, when the house was unusually still and the tea was still warm, she opened that drawer—not to shove more in, but to finally do something with it. And what she did? Well, it was nothing short of wonderful. Why …

You ever hang onto something just because it feels like home? I had this stack of lace doilies tucked away in the linen closet for years—handmade by my great-aunt Dot, who never met a table that didn’t need dressing. Every time I saw them, I’d think, “Well, aren’t you pretty,” but I never knew what to do with them. They didn’t quite fit under the TV remote, you know? Then one summer night—glass of wine in hand, Pinterest in the other—I saw someone turn doilies into glowing lanterns, and my heart just about melted. It wasn’t just cute—it was magic. …

I’ll be honest — the first orchid I ever had? I thought I killed it. It sat there on the kitchen windowsill, looking all elegant and delicate, and then one morning — poof — every last bloom dropped off like it was offended by something I said. I kept staring at the bare stem like, “What now?” For a while I watered it, talked to it, even tried moving it to the bathroom for “humidity.” Nothing. Turns out I wasn’t killing it. I just didn’t know what it needed next. Most folks think orchids are high-maintenance — and sure, they’ve …

Okay, can we talk about laundry for a second? Not the ugh, my jeans are still in the washer from yesterday part. I mean that moment—yes, that one—when you pull a warm towel out of the dryer and it smells so good you press it to your face like it’s a bouquet of clean. I live for that moment. But let me tell you, it hasn’t always been like that. There were years when no matter what detergent I bought (and oh, did I try them all), my laundry came out smelling like… nothing. Or worse, like old dishwater. Eventually, …

So picture this: I’m out walking my dog, Ruby—she’s part couch potato, part squirrel chaser—and we’re doing our usual slow lap around the park. Coffee in hand, sun’s doing that golden glow thing. Beautiful morning. Then I see this gorgeous shepherd mix across the path, ears perked, alert… wearing a bright red collar. Now, I’ve been around enough dogs to know: that red? That’s not just for show. It’s a little “heads up” in collar form. A quiet, polite way of saying, “Please don’t rush over.” And I get it—because Ruby used to be that dog. Why Red Collars Aren’t …