The Florida Move - Who, What, When, Where...Maybe Even Why?

We're inching closer to a full decade as Floridians and my husband also has reminded me, I've officially lived in Florida longer than I did in Oregon and I'm 3 years shy of beating out my 13 years in Pennsylvania. The Florida move was a big one for my husband but less so for me, and 10 years later I figure I can better explain the move now, as opposed to before.

When I was all of 7 years old and obsessed with Father of The Bride with Steve Martin, I decided I was going to get married in my dad's church, have the reception at our house, that I loved so much, of course stay close by to family and raise my kids right there, right? Why would you ever leave "home?" That's how it worked right?

By 13 my mom was consistently out of the picture and my dad, having moved to Pennsylvania for my mom and her family more than anything else, was growing tired of being where he no longer seemingly had a reason to solidify his roots. My dad attempted to find us a secondary space in North Carolina, our version of a summer home he bought for him and my mom. When the shit hit the fan, he lost the house, and all his future plans, so he started devise a decision on what he wanted in terms of a new life alone.

He decided on Oregon. My mom ended up in Delray Beach, Florida for her first solid year of stability. I came down for summer camp and visits and much like the opposite of Frozen's Elsa, "The heat never bothered me anyway." I fell in love easily with Florida. My grandparents were just an hour north of her in Port St. Lucie too and I was just in awe of all things Florida.

I loved the palm trees, the big changing signs along I-95, the malls, and it was bright and sunny so that you could go to the beach or the pool year round. I loved the big houses almost as I loved the little key west style one-floor ranchers and loved that it was WARM!

When I was vying for having a mother figure back and my dad was itching for distance, he said he was going to go back to Oregon when I was 16 and I had zero interest in following. I wanted to live with my mom in Delray. So, I finished my sophomore year of high school living with my Aunt in Pennsylvania and then was shipped to Delray Beach.

I landed in Ft. Lauderdale, and did my junior year in Delray Beach and literally lasted a year to the day, before my dad packed up all my stuff and dragged me across the country with him to Oregon to finish high school and then go to college. My mom and I were not fit to share a roof. Unfortunately this still stands and has been recently proven. 

After moving to two high schools in 2 years, moving didn't bother me. I could be a nomad, whatever. In fact for the next 7 years, I moved once a year. My dad rented a place on Hilyard in South Eugene for High School. After that we moved to West Eugene to an apartment for my first year at community College. Then I was on 11th with my first roommate, then I lived by myself on High Street, then to Bailey Hill in a little townhouse with a roommate, moved in the same complex but a one bedroom with my then boyfriend, now husband, and then with my Aunt back in South Eugene, whilst I planned my graduation and Oregon escape.

My sights were originally set on San Francisco, or New York. I always dreamed that being poor in a big city was more romantic than being rich in the suburbs. But, after another bad situation with my mom derailed me, and I had a year of pretty intense depression and anxiety, I gave into the idea that maybe I was the type that could settle down and have a family, and my adolescent Carrie Bradshaw dreams were just the stuff of immaturity.

My husband had never really lived anywhere. Just Oregon; Medford and then Eugene. When he met me, we visited Pennsylvania often, he saw the Jersey Shore and even Delray Beach, Florida. When I mentioned possibly leaving for a new place, he was all in. But then I was like, well if we're moving 3,000 miles together, if we were to get married we'd do that before we left right? Because I'd never be that person to get married on a beach. 

So, in the midst of planning a cross country trek and new life, we snuck in a wedding that turned into an epic send off and I was ready. I had studied for about 4 months in Europe in 2007 and it was just the best time ever. I LOVED to travel. It didn't  matter if it involved road trips or flying anywhere new, I was in. My husband was just kind of starting to embrace new horizons. Moreover for me, I wanted a place that was just ours.

My mom almost successfully ruined our relocation, but I refused to let her take away one more thing from my life. Originally I wanted to go back to Delray, but my husband had an Aunt in Tampa and I had had cousins move from Pennsylvania to St. Petersburg, Florida about 2 or so years prior. We visited once and very much liked it so we just changed the location a bit.

I was so ready for a clean slate, a warm new place that didn't even know anything about us. In Oregon, everyone knew my husband and I as this entity of "us," which was great and fine, but I just wanted our own real place.  I also didn't want to get stuck doing everything that everyone around us in Oregon was doing, but rather to find my own way.

Finding my footing was tough at first, but after about 2 job changes I found a place to thrive. After I left Pennsylvania "home" became a fluid concept anyway. It wasn't a place but more, a feeling of comfort in who I was with. My husband was home. The apartment didn't matter, only that we were in it together. 

For career reasons, I knew that Oregon couldn't support what I wanted to do for writing. I was in for a rude awakening that nowhere really could, especially in my married life, and also that our lives couldn't support endless internships or relocation for such things. Therefore, I just found my way with jobs to pay the bills.

In truth, with a broken heart from family life, and a guy next to me saying he wanted to go with and love me, why stay put? I wasn't immediately ready to settle down and have a family, but I liked knowing I didn't have to be alone. I wanted to just live a bit. 

Maybe my husband's reasons are completely different and I won't speculate but for me, the "who" was my husband and I, the "what" was, "moved to Florida," or as my sister said, "You can't move any further away." The "when" ended up being June-July of 2009 because we took our time getting down here. The "where" changed from Delray to Tampa Bay and the never ending "Why," would be best answered as, because we deserved a chance to have something that was our own.

Of course a decade later with a dog and a child, and even a house purchase in, boy did nothing go as I'd imagined. Expectations have been shattered and things have been harder than I could have ever thought, but I don't regret leaving. I asked my husband the same thing last year and he agreed.

Don't get me wrong, I love Oregon. I miss it. But I cannot handle the cold. The cold makes me so very physically uncomfortable and depressive. I'm much better here in the Sunshine State.

The why is complicated, I'll admit. I also think as I get older and one can only hope, wiser, it may become more succinct but I just wanted something that was completely and utterly ours. In Oregon I would have had babies immediately with everyone else, got a job I hated for no pay and struggled through the seasons to find what I was even looking for, and I didn't feel like that was where I should be. Luckily, I had a co-pilot who wanted to come with. 

Ironically now I have zero desire to leave Safety Harbor. My daughter jokes about having a different house and I'm like, "Uh, no, this is the forever house." I've had what I've built threatened to disintegrate often, and this is the first time I'm not like, "Sure we'll just move along elsewhere," but rather I'm like, "I refuse to give up what I've worked hard for."

It took me 8 years to land a job that even kind of used my degree, not to mention a job that actually was friendly to my anxiety and personal struggles. It took me 8 years to find a place I would want to stay and right now I'm having to rebuild some massive personal destruction and I won't let anyone tell me I shouldn't be spending my time to be a better mom and human. When I had my daughter there were a few times when I wished family was closer, but even when we go visit, I'm constantly reminded at how hard it is there for us, or at least for me.

Florida may not be forever but at least I can see the first hints of calm. I love this "colorful, lawless swamp" that I call home and why even? Because it is my home. And home is where the heart is right? I think we can end on that cliche for a Monday!

Life In Proximity To The Hospitality Industry

About a decade ago, I left my life of being a nanny and a full time student in Eugene, Oregon to come to the "beautiful, lawless swamp" that is Florida. My first job was a cashier in a medical apparel store or "Scrub Store" as we called it in the University Community Hospital right by USF main campus.

My husband, however, has always been a restaurant man and a self-taught cook, which is one of the reasons I married him, because I cannot cook, like at all. I can bake a few things but outside of Mac and Cheese, sandwiches and salads, nope.

The hubby got a job at like 19 or 20 maybe at "Pizza Pete's" Italian Kitchen in Eugene and worked his way up from the dish pit and delivery to learning the ropes in the kitchen. From there it was to the new, soon to be hot spot, "El Vaquero," which was Eugene's premier Tapas Bar, and also had one of America's top 5 bartenders, Jeffrey Morgenthaler, as the man behind the cocktails. Morgenthaler and his second in command, Scott Butler, took my hubby under their wing from time to time to show him all about craft cocktails and what real bartenders looked like.

At El Vaquero my husband went from prep to pastry chef and a little bit in between. When the owners saw that he could actually thrive in the kitchen, the sent him across town to his pride and joy, Asado. Asado was a smaller, but also intimate Mexican-type kitchen with tapas and cocktails, and it was there he found his long time friend, Jarred, who was a groomsman at our wedding. He learned how to run a kitchen and even a restaurant during his time there.

When Asado was sold, he moved onto The Old Pad, which was strictly "bar food" and then lastly to the Villard Street Pub near campus. He has learned every single cuisine from scratch, from Italian to Mexican, to Sushi to Coastal Cuisine and lastly, French food. In Florida he got a job at a Sushi place, a Mexican Grille, then a local bar, he helped open a new Coastal Kitchen in Westchase and designed the menu, then for the same company put together craft cocktails and American gastro-pub fare at another new restaurant that holds two locations to this day and will remain nameless. From there he did some time at a local artisan sandwich place, finally landing a high-end French fine dining establishment close to home. He's never gone to culinary school and is extremely talented in my humble opinion.

However, living the life of the wife of a chef, is anything but easy. I had my foray in the food biz about 9 and a half years ago too. We once worked at the same restaurant together, he was in the kitchen and I was front of the house. I had the personality and the energy for it, but I got burned and burned out quickly in every sense of the words. The picture above is from my favorite restaurant life movie "Waiting," which I used to watch weekly to handle the stress of that whole atmosphere.

I was good at my job too, but I had no desire to be a manager and the tipping system where I was, left a lot to be desired. I met some amazing people though, and learned a lot. My biggest takeaway is pictured below, please excuse the swear but unfortunately it is completely true:

While I am incredibly proud of my husband and ever-impressed by his culinary evolution, no one tells you that life in restaurant industry is rough as you enter the family phases. And I say this for me personally, not even just for the man working the stove! We had once talked about running a restaurant together someday, and even once had the opportunity to do so outside of Florida, but as my husband simply said, "Then you would really never see me."

When I say I never see my husband let's break it down for all you non-believers. After half a decade of struggling as parents and job-jumping and life hurdles, I have found my "forever job," that is unless they fire me. It is an 8-5, lunch at noon office type thing. It is reliable with all the benefits that work best for family life. The kid is in school and after care full tilt. My daughter and I are off full weekends and I'm home every single evening.

Hubby is not quite on the same schedule although he did score Saturdays as a routine day off, which is a restaurant life miracle, but regardless, we don't have much time together. In a realistic scope, we have Saturday from about 8:30am to 10pm at night, give or take bed times, so what is that 13ish hours? And we have Sunday mornings from say 7:30am to 1:30pm, but throw in church drumming, commuting and errands, maybe separate cars, we can call that a good 4 hours of seeing each other? And he is off all day Monday and I get home at 6pm and am always in bed by 9pm weekdays so, let's call that 3 hours? So doing the math; 13 + 4 + 3 is...20 hours a week.

I have the opportunity to see my husband for a total of 20 hours a week, at best. That is less than a full day out of 7 days each week. You may think I'm exaggerating or being dramatic, and I'd like to say I am but add in errands, or plans with other people on the nights I have back up and it's easily less than 20 hours a week. It's not an simple thing.

For the longest time, this born of was necessity. When you literally cannot afford childcare or daycare or anything like that but still can't just stay home full time, you work opposite shifts, not matter how crappy and painful. You promise yourself it will get easier as the kiddo gets older and it does in SOME ways, but the more things change, the more things stay the same.

My husband's talents are completely underrated by many; I think my dad and sisters may be his biggest fans. He usually gets irritated because of all the favorite things of his I love for him to make, all I ever want is Tacos and Pizza, which he finds unimpressive. They are so damn good though!

He's always made me insanely proud because he has brought himself up from the dish pit to a sous chef, but that's not to say the life in proximity to the hospitality industry doesn't have its sacrifices and challenges, because it very much does.

The wives that send their men to the army, or that have husbands that constantly travel for business, or their hubby runs a hotel or bar? Those are the women in my tribe who can commiserate, if not trump my whining over wine-ing. It sucks sometimes, but unfortunately I've gotten used to it.

In a perfect world we'd have family meals every evening, we'd have routine nights out and all the sporting events and extra curricular activities would rule our nights and weekends, but we are far from being able to do that. We cram a lot into Saturdays. We juggle a lot on Sunday mornings more often than not, and we just keep on keeping on.

It's hard for a lot of people to understand and sometimes I wonder if we would even know how to be around each other more, if it ever happened. Even on vacations it's like divide and conquer and we have to re-learn how to be around each other for that many hours in row. 

I'm extremely grateful to have a man who works insanely long, 12-14 hour shifts on his feet creating delicious food and still manages to cook for me, while providing for the family. Although, I will say,  life in the hospitality business is not for the faint of heart. There are a million times I wish he could have come home early from a shift to help with the sick kid, the sick dog or a sick me, but alas we continued.

I think life is hard enough as it is, and as we grow older we just look for ways to shape things to ease the rough exteriors and make everything more palatable. I very much have to take one day at a time. I've learned that planning in advance with his career is super difficult. I've learned how to operate around the Kitchen chaos. I've learned that most of kitchen life is fluid and if you can't stand the heat, you gotta get out of the kitchen, all puns intended. 

Maybe some day schedules will align and be different but for now, we stay grateful for the food on the table, the roof over our heads and health we have to work the hours we do, especially for him. As I live this life in proximity to the Hospitality Industry I can say I've learned so much and appreciate all the lessons...and the food, but certainly wouldn't mind seeing the man behind the food more often. A girl can dream! Cheers!

My Little Pony, So I Guess This Is My Life Now

It's on in the living room right now. My daughter is legitimately obsessed with My Little Pony. My Little Pony has come a very long way since the 80's, I will say this, and we also made it this far into parenthood without the obsessions and crazes coming in full blast, so that's a win also.

She went through a bit of a Doc McStuffins phase, but this My Little Pony thing is a full blown love affair. As far as what is available and interesting to children her age, My Little Pony is pretty palatable. It's not too obnoxious or bratty and even the merchandising isn't as intensive as say, Disney-related things.

Now, I've made clear before that I don't judge the kid stuff. I literally bought into the Beanie Baby craze, I loved Polly Pocket, Littlest Pet Shop and of all fads, POGS. So I have no room to judge. I'm unsure if I will ever truly understand what a Shopkin is or what the point of Shopkins is but she's happy, I'm happy.

The Pony stuff, took over the 6th birthday in terms of theme, presents and every other aspect of her little realm. She watches it as often as we allow. We have Pony games on the tablet, she got Pony Chapter books and joke books, she has My Little Pony dolls, clothes, toothbrushes, crafts, stuffed animals, and music. 

The world of My Little Pony is layered and extremely real for any fan. It's got different kinds of Ponies, like Alicorn, Unicorn, Earth-Pony. It has different lands and realms, character conflicts, plot lines, the works. 

My husband actually turned me onto Patton Oswald's stand up about his daughter's obsession with My Little Pony and it is hilariously true how sucked in you can get as parents, whether you intend to or not. I definitely enjoy and appreciate the friendship themes.

The best thing is my daughter gets so excited about all the characters and what's happening, when and why. She loves telling us about every little phase, line and moment. She loves to share the world of Pony with anyone who will listen and she's extremely educated about it.

My life is now all Pony all the time. She's already vying for My Little Pony underwear. I foresee a My Little Pony Easter basket. I literally just heard her say "Rarity is just being a drama queen." It's too funny. 

I consider my daughter's obsession with My Little Pony to be the same as my obsession with say, The Office or Parks and Rec. So I let her watch on. If My Little Pony is her safe little realm of fun, I'm so supportive of her having that. 

So for now, I'll soak up every moment of her loving Ponyville, Equestria, Manehattan and so on and so forth. My favorite is Apple Jack, personally but my daughter is fond of Rainbow Dash. Yep, this is my life now. It's kind of awesome, right?

When Asked About Writing...

I'm often purposefully vague about my job because it's the only writing-related job I've ever had, and after years of burning out and burning bridges at other places I finally feel comfortable, valuable and as though I do my job pretty well, while using all of my talents.

I had someone ask me about my job, "Well don't you write?" For my job I don't actually write the newsletters, I just edit. So after that explanation I said, "But I write my blog." And then the question was asked, "But you like to write, you enjoy it?" I don't think I caught a breath before my retort of "Writing is the only thing I've ever liked to do." And it gave me a little kick in my heart when I effortlessly said that.

I come from a long line of highly creative under-achievers. We have amazing ideas and vision and seldom can we fully formulate results. For me? I'm realizing that the support that I would need to become what I would love, isn't quite there.

I don't need to be left alone in a cabin to formulate my thoughts or inspired by travel with thousands of dollars in inspirational materials and income. But I see these classes and workshops and contests and I just have no confidence or positive push to do them. If I won a weekend workshop in Maine to learn from a great writer of America, there's the ticket we can't afford, the child care we can't afford and then when I return inspired, what would come of it? Would I magically write an Oprah, Ellen and Reese Witherspoon recommended title?

I used to dream of interning and writing for Paste Magazine, but life happens and I was too afraid to be rejected with an application. Also when I mentioned living in Atlanta for any period of time the "No" blinker-board started flashing in red. Then I wanted to contribute for HelloGiggles. I often saw many little errors in their articles but they were fun, topical, trendy and conversational, so an easy read.

I'd love nothing more than to write some kind of book, possibly a memoir or autobiographical in nature, but I've always loved poetry and short stories as well. I used to live to attend poetry slams and be around creativity to thrive. Now I kind of do what I can and just try and make it through each day, with this blog as my 2019 challenge for myself.

There's a lot of uncomfortable, dark and rough things I'd love to put on paper but definitely feel like I don't have a safe, creative outlet to share it or to unload it all within. That makes me feel sad sometimes but, we continue.

I'm not sure when it all began, but for me, writing has just always been the place where I can put it all down without judgement or discussion. It was a safety. I always got A's in any writing or literature class and it was all I was ever good at, which I maintain today.

Lately I've begun to wonder what would happen if I just started taking the risk, entering contests, applying for weekend workshops, even taking local classes. I wonder what potential is stifled within my circumstance. But then I bring myself back down to earth and remember I'm just that working mom with a blog. I could be some kind of internet presence some day. I could be some Instagram personality I guess, but I'm not sure how that would all look.

I also don't want anything I write to negatively affect a reader. I did that once, I wrote, what was meant to be this funny, quippy blog, about leaving a truly horrible job and a boss that was just...we couldn't coexist, and my ex-employer came upon my blog recounting it, even though I had already left the position and they lost their minds and basically called me back in to go off on me.

I remember talking to them about so much of my writing and storytelling stemming from dark, cynical and sarcastic places but they were just offended. It took me years to realize that they weren't mad at the full situation or that they hurt me or mistreated me as a good and capable employee, they were mad I called them out on it.

For anyone who knew me well at the time, what I wrote was a hilarious diatribe and coming of age job story that was "Oh, so Alison." But for the people who read it, who I assumed would never know about it, never waste time reading it, and wouldn't even care, they seemed to instead just use it more and more in their argument of me being a despicable human and not, a girl trying to find her way after working endless shifts for them for a year and a half only to be called a "bitch" by her male boss when she did her job flawlessly, but didn't make friends with her younger co-workers whom she cleaned up after relentlessly and off the clock I might add. Run on sentence much? 

Eight years later and it still gets to me sometimes. I digress. What I learned the hard way was, no matter how clever the rhetoric, it had consequences to unleash that into the universe beyond "gossip." Writing can cause collateral damage and I've yet to find a safe way to balance my true feelings and my written words. I would never intend to write in my anger and have someone read it and think I actually wish them any ill will. So where is my outlet then? What is the right way to write?

This is my struggle. Daily, I post about parenting, and silly things like Cookie Chairs and Hand Me Downs, but sometimes I want to talk about living with addiction and alcoholic family members and what that has done to me. Sometimes I want to talk about feeling lost or even feeling found. Sometimes I want to talk about the wounds of my childhood and other days I want to complain about first world problems and mom-drama. 

The balance is rough for me, I won't lie, but perhaps it is for all highly-creative underachievers. For now, I keep myself within certain boundaries but hope to one day write it all and offend with the best of them. (This is an example of that cynical sarcasm that gets me in trouble).

Regardless, when asked about writing what you need to know about me is this: Writing is my coffee. It makes me feel awake, alive, capable, and able to take on more than I think I can without it. And there you have it!

Fire Pit Future: Simple Things Are Often Big Achievements

I was totally into apartment life when we first moved to Florida. Rent wasn't too terrible, and unlike in Oregon, there was a pool. Plus the neighbors were okay; we were comfy. I arranged and rearranged set ups and we even had a spare room for visitors. 

When we got the dog apartment life didn't bother me but I wanted a nicer apartment and neighborhood and dog parks. You gotta level up sometimes. So we made an upgrade and off we went to a place with huge bathtubs and walk-in closets right by my husband's job.

As soon as I had a baby though, I wanted a house, and not just because we lived on the second floor. I wanted to paint walls and hang pictures and decorate for real. I wanted to argue about curtains and flooring and have grown up furniture. Even just a little house. With a yard and a fire pit for roasting marshmallows. These were my simple dreams and goals.

The family that I nanny-ed for bought a new house after their daughter was born. It was like 4 blocks from their old one but set up much better for a little one to grow. And I loved their yard. They had a pavement two story patio (a lot of houses in Oregon are like that) that overlooked part of a valley and the middle school their kiddos attended. Their yard wasn't huge but they had bushes around the fence and 3 planter boxes with veggies growing. It was a homey place. Even after we moved and we would crash there, I'd sit on the patio and drink wine out there with my old bosses on an Oregon summer evening and think, "This is my goal."

Of course in Florida it requires a screened in porch and there are no valleys, but still. I wanted an outdoor area to decompress. Our first attempt at buying a house was harrowing. There was buried debt and we basically were told we were undesirable #1, Harry Potter style, when my daughter was 1. I was completely devastated but not unwilling to put in the work to get what I wanted. 

I had two dream towns in Florida and both, of course, were expensive. We finally found a kitschy house in Safety Harbor to rent, which was dream town number one, and I started paying attention. Places sold there fast and in my mind it seemed there were two kinds of houses: Old Florida where you needed to be handy enough to keep them going on your own, and newer construction that I like to refer to as "Pre-Fab Shit Boxes," or cookie cutter architecture. Of course there were also the monstrosities that mirrored those that lined A-1-A in West Palm, but I could never afford a Floridian 6 bath 6 bedroom on the water, nor could I maintain keeping that thing clean. The few in betweens that stood on their own were worth the hunt though. 

I just wanted an old Florida single level house I could clean on my own. It wasn't until after the car accident that when some money came our way we were less unfortunate-looking candidates for a home and were allowed to actually look. Most of the places I liked that my husband went to see were picture perfect but seriously flawed. One was slanted, and the other had the perfect screened in patio and pool, but was in a really rough neighborhood and also had some seriously evident water damage on the floors. The floor tiles were even loose. Another just had so many renovations to make it what we wanted. It was overwhelming. 

When we finally found our house, they had completely redone the inside, it was in a really good, quiet neighborhood and at the top of our price range but perfectly sized. There was a walk in closet from the master bathroom and...a small screened in porch in the back of the house that overlooked the next street over and below us, and all the trees that gave us privacy. This was pretty close to what I'd always wanted.

One of our first house warming gifts was a fire pit. I was so excited. The first chance we had to use it was at the edge of the porch on a cooler Florida fall evening. My husband gave me this huge, huge speech about how you can't put a fire pit on a wooden porch and it was a huge hazard so it would live in the yard. The first night we were out there was so nice, and then the mosquitoes ate us alive. Not my dream.

Then I used it in our stone driveway on new year's eve one night but kept the front window open so I could hear the kid in the house if she woke up. Then I got another speech about smoke in the house and it was the worst idea. It was kind of defeating. Don't get me wrong, I'm not always the sharpest tool in the shed, but I grew up camping and know how to start a fire and all the precautions that come along with it. It wasn't the BEST situation in either case, but we also weren't having huge bonfires. We were just having a little warmth and marshmallows.

After awhile I gave up on my fire pit quest for comfort and the porch became less and less a place of re-charging, and more of just another area on the property. Recently something happened that has been a big win and achievement: the fire pit has been moved into the screened in porch!

After a very calm and sensible discussion with the man of the house, he decided if we're keeping it really low and it's breezy enough and we keep our eye on it, yeah it can be in the screened in porch. This was the stuff of dreams coming true. Less than 24 hours of the fire pit arriving in it's new home and I was lighting it up! I was so excited to just hang out by the fire. And it's been Florida winter lately so it's super perfect for it too.

This might all sound ridiculous but these little wins are what life is all about sometimes. In the span of an evening we gave the porch a little up-cycle action and it took on a whole new vibe. I like being out there again, fire or no fire, and my daughter insisted on a fire-side picnic. We even got the dog to snuggle by the fire with us.

Why is this a big achievement for me? Because it means compromise and something homey. We've had the house for 2 years and it is just now starting to feel like home. We still have projects looming and goals to reach but this is home. And for this winter day in Florida, I'll be home and fireside, staying warm and basking in the small successes that make this house ours. Happy Saturday readers!