I am not sure why it struck me after moving, but the notion that I needed to make everyday tasks easier and create solutions for “problems” in our home hit me like a wave. Seriously, I began looking for little time/organization/space/function saving hacks that makes everything from doing laundry to getting out of bed as easy as possible. Sort of obsessively.

After the diagnosis and the last year (almost two), everything was so hard, it makes total sense to begin looking for ways to simplify daily tasks.

• this bone inlay decorative box I snagged at Homegoods. This pretty little thing holds the remote, sticky notes, my current six pens (does anyone only use one??), flossers (I floss all freaking day long all of a sudden, a lighter for the candles, and cute sticky flags for my design books + renovation notes. Hides a TON of small clutter which is good for my eyes, and keeps it all within reach, which is good for my mind…and my teeth.

• my mudroom cabinet. All of the extra stuff goes there. Our pantry is small, and moving things like oils and spices out of there felt like freedom. For potato chips. The new cabinet houses the paper goods, extra pantry supplies, the pup’s belongings and food, party supplies…just a LOT. We, ahem, need to cut the back so we can easily access the electrical panel without Andrew having to shimmy behind it.

  

  this space is headed in a moody direction. Black Magic for the trim and ceilings and a plaid wallpaper for the walls. Adding a little skylight to add some natural light in the space. Also adding this vinyl film that mimics reeded glass to hide some of the “less pretty” stuff.

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• this dryer lint bin. It may sound ridiculous, but this thing comes in HANDY if you have a small or galley-style Landry situation & cannot fit a garbage can in your space. It’s magnetic…sturdily so…and somehow it fits a crazy amount of lint in it before having to be cleaned out. Hooray for the tiny, magnetic, oddly specific trash cans.

• This Dream Bed Blanket from Boll + Branch. It is the PERFECT weight to add on top of your quilt or coverlet in the warmer months. I imperfectly drape it (and drive Andrew insane when we are making the bed) at the foot and pull it up each night to be my cover that comes halfway up my face. P.S. it is ridiculously soft, too. Note to self: it is pricey. I’m the kind of lady who buys cheap drapes, and spends more on my sheets and fabric that touches my body. 🫠

  

• Having an actual key/sunglasses bowl on the entry (ish) table. It’s true what they say…having a place to put the stuff means you put the stuff there and not random places! Now that we have FOUR drivers in the family, AND an actual small entry table, this fills an actual need.

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• these brass + wood shelves from Magnolia. I snagged these on sale, and having some open shelf storage in our kitchen is where form meets function. Until we add cabinetry to our kitchen (soon, we hope) we just don’t have enough storage. Once we do have the right amount of storage, these shelves will balance out the space, mirroring the floor to ceiling cabinets on the opposite wall. They draw the eye up in just the right way, and bonus, for now, I get some things out of my cabinets and onto the shelves.

• the coffee nook in general. I am so glad we chose to create this little corner vs. go with a traditional table and chairs. We just are not table people. We are island people. I love having a comfy upholstered chair in the corner of the kitchen, where I can have some coffee in the morning, or Andrew can hang while I cook (and vice versa). I leave my pretty grocery list pad and a pen on the antique table to quickly jot down what we need as I move about the kitchen. I even have a nice looking bin under the table for storing all the tile, etc. samples we are working through for the kitchen reno. The table doubles as extra counter space and even as a writing desk for me. I get to look at the trees out our back windows, feel the sun on my face, and check in on my little deck herb garden each morning.

• I have found the best, MOST absorbent dish towels of all time and I have ordered eight. And six dish cloths…I don’t even use dish cloths. The patterns are so much fun and y’all…if you try them, you’ll get what I am saying. Game changer.

• these fleece shorts from Aerie. I have them in four colors and basically live in them. So soft, comfy and warm for us cold ones…and somehow, flattering for a pair of sweat shorts (don’t see my photo for proof. I am sure I have a better pic of them somewhere)

• My new “What the Foundation” from Jones Road. I got sucked in on an IG ad. Bobby Brown was using words like “hydrated, fresh, luminous, youthful,” and my eyes glazed over as I selected my color and pressed place order. But honestly, thrilled with it. It really does give us middle-agers a luminous glow, a little goes a LONG way, it feels like I am wearing nothing, and in the summer, I imagine it will double as a moisturizer and foundation. Sort of perfect.

• decorative boxes everywhere. In the bedroom, they are for daily meds and special jewelry I wear everyday. In the kitchen, for daily important mail that needs tending, on the entry table for extra sunglasses…you get the idea. I am picking them up at Home Goods and placing them everywhere.

• This sock/undies/small bits organizer. Trust me.

• My weekly meal planner with grocery list built in. Bonus points for me when I print out our favorite family meals to have handy, because, well, decision fatigue is real.

Well, this is getting lengthy, so apparently, there will be a part two of this random little series. Hopefully, it will give you some ideas or help in some way. Sometimes, I find myself going through the motion of “just how things are,” only to realize I really could make something, anything, work better for me. These are just a few of the ways I have been giving myself a break here and there.

Until next time, as always, thanks for being here.

-S

The day begins with a bang, me realizing my 11 am appointment is inside my house and I, ahem, am still in bed. I fell back asleep around 7:30 a.m. after yet another night of up and down. Thank goodness my 11 am was a friend who could let herself in and you know, not murder me.

I feel crazy insane after sleeping in (after awaking earlier), so I stumble around the kitchen for basically an hour, pecking on food and organizing meds for the day. After walking in circles around our island for an inordinate amount of time, I finally did some things like started a load of laundry and paid some bills, and met with my doctor via telehealth.

Sidenote: we have found the most wonderful concierge doctor, and I cannot say enough about our experience. After a year and a half spent in medical hell, it is beyond a breath of fresh air and so healing.

We really did have a doozy the day before. Ava had a surgery (she’s okay and recovering really well), and also hence, my sleeping half of the next day away.

I spent a small amount of time in the studio watching a class in Insider Studio on Big Sky Energy. This piece was almost entirely painted with a coffee filter (if you can believe it), and then I cut it into fourths.

Those thick, puffy clouds? Looks like frosting or shaving cream. Love.

Since this was a smaller surgery for Ava, and all went according to plan, we were waiting on one thing that Thursday morning (other than our friend who found me in the bed).

We were waiting on a guinea pig habitat.

Once it arrived, Gray built it in Ava’s room while she rested and oversaw the process. I’m sure he loved that, but in truth he took such sweet care of her the week after surgery.

If you remember about her first guinea pig’s passing a few years ago…well, it was horrible and she went through some very trying years afterwards. Finding the “right time” to replace her pet did not seem to come, until now.

Ava finished her virtual school year almost a month early and is doing so well. She’s worked so hard on herself and her mental health, and her physical health this year, too.

I tell her all the time…I admire her. Genuinely. As a human being, not just as my daughter. She is capable, determined, loving, driven, and so emotionally mature and grounded. She sort of blows me away.

It was time for us to let her try raising the pigs all on her own.

We needed to know she could wait patiently for the best time, and that she was ready to care for them solo. (it’s not so much the right time for Andrew and I to take on the care of new pets)

And yes, I said pig(s). With an S. You heard me right.

Guinea pigs are HIGHLY social animals, and are almost never sold singularly. They can literally die from loneliness and isolation.

So, of course, we bought two.

Internet, meet Pickle. And Peaches.

They are adorable and happy and settling in so well.

Andrew asked me last night, “Soooo, how long you think before you two are dressing them in clothes??” 😂

******

i painted the back sides of a wooden puzzle yesterday, calling it done. And happy.

April 27.

Over the low hum of the television, I hear the plink-plunk of raindrops on the standing seam roof covering our porch. I smile softly, remembering the first morning I realized we are lucky enough to have scored a metal roof right off the living room.

Rain sounds in this house are dreamy.

The same feeling I get when moving about the house washes over me. I am walking down the hallway to switch off the lights at bedtime. I step through the kitchen to sit down in the coffee nook. I walk through our bedroom rubbing the last of my night cream onto my neck.

Home.

This place feels like home.

Since moving here to Auburn, I have found that I loved our house, but I never quite felt that familiarity of place that is so important to me. Our last house just never fully felt like home.

And now, six years after we moved to this city, it feels like I have found it again.

My place.

It is mine and my beloved’s. We feel rest here, solace here.

I think we were going through too much tumult for the last house to remain neutral. The house held ghosts in its walls, whether it wanted to or not.

These walls seem to whisper new beginnings.

What a lovely feeling it is.

*******

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one of our favorite spots in town: the greenhouse at Botanic.

May 1.

Feeling confident enough to say this out loud is tricky. Hard.

Experience has taught me, so far, that it is fleeting and certainly not sustainable.

But the hopeful side of me has to say it. To name it in order to celebrate it.

To keep hoping for it.

My pain has finally been managed better, which means, overall, I feel a little better.

I feel a little better.

me and my girl in one of our favorite spots together. Me, wearing actual makeup, out in the middle of the weekday! My hair isn’t dirty. I have on real clothes! It happened twice this week!

This road rocky-ass-treacherous gravel underfoot has been completely wild, leaving us flailing for most of the last 18 months. There has been very little footing, much less clear direction on where we are going next.

We have simply been trying to survive the day to day.

But if this could last….if this could become a new normal…well, that would be literally life changing.

the two big kids with their Nana & her fantastic red glasses.

The year and a half of pain, confusion, and very little help from the people you would expect it from (medically) does not for hopefulness bloom. We are so accustomed to staying disappointed and alone in this it is hard to hang onto many positive long-term feelings.

Essentially, this last couple of weeks feels too good to be true.

me & my other two babes at the Strawberry Festival. The day was absolutely gorgeous. Perfect weather found us, super sunny with a slight breeze of 70 degree air. Perfectly temperate, not super common for Alabama spring. We tend to jump straight to hot and humid. We browsed the local farmers’ booths, picking up strawberries to make our jam and a little more hope to scoop up for the road.

But, being the romantic I am, I will lean into hope even when it feels when it feels reckless.

Especially when it feels reckless.

*****

P.S. I created a little challenge for myself for the rest of the month of May…super bright abstract landscapes & line work. I’ll show you soon, but this palette was swoon-worthy.

As always, love to you.

-S

Life has not quickly become “easy” again, and now with the daily cadence of writing (to post) missing, I have found myself, well, not posting at all. I see already how easily a year slips by without much to show for it in the sharing of my creative practices without serious intention. Especially now.

I will write a health update sometime soon, but just know we are still in the same daily battles for now. Managing pain and other symptoms, my days are mostly spent on how best to care for my body and save enough energy to care for my people.

After our trip to Mayo in December, there were heavy updates to process, but we are still in a holding pattern for a transplant.

A small view into the living room. We finally got a good-enough-for now coffee table since we haven’t had one in years. I needed a place to corral all of my creative projects I keep within reaching distance from the couch. And a place for someone to, you know, sit a drink. There are small projects to tackle in here (that hearth tile), but I love seeing this place come together and begin to feel like us.

This is probably the reason I have all but dove head-first into the nesting of our new home. I need the creative outlet, and more than that, I need our home to really work for us, providing endless comfort and reprieve for a fairly tough situation. To put it mildly.

I am sitting in the living room currently, looking over at this little coffee nook. We have already added a small antique drop-leaf table, and small marble library lamp. The light is streaming in from the windows so beautifully, my breath catches in my throat just a little when I glance over. It is the perfect little spot to have a cup of coffee, tackle some work on the computer,or hang out while we cook every night.

We are not really table people. We are island people. This little nook will serve us well.

Comfort & reprieve.

I am basically living at the antique stores and Homegoods, and am so stinking grateful for the moments I feel like getting out. I think the sheer excitement of making this house ours is pulling me out of the front door and into a vehicle. I will absolutely take it.

I am working on a surprise room reveal for Phoebe Lou, and this little living mood board gives you an idea. The design is led by her muted pink velvet daybed, and now the Arsenic (by Farrow & Ball) wall color. I am deciding between the pale lavender and the pale mint for her ceiling color. The room will be dipped 3/4 of the way in the Arsenic green, and then the top 1/4 of the room and ceiling will be one of the two pale colors.

Phoebe is at that tricky part of pre-teen hood, opinionated (& also fairly unsure of her own opinions) and not totally sure she wants our opinions, but also secretly still loves it when we pick out her clothes, or do her room, etc. So I had her fill out a little design survey, promised, “I’ve got you, girl,” and we’re off to the races.

So far, I have found little pieces here and they’re adding up to what we are going for.

Her space will be elegant and grown up, but still whimsical and youthful. I can’t wait…I’ll video her reaction so you can see how it all comes together.

In the studio, I am finding I am spending my time on small projects that don’t take too much time or focus. Just little bits of creativity here and there. Things I can pick up and put down in between resting and caring for this old girl. I mixed up the most beautiful coral-pink pigment last week and took a million photos of it.

I’ll say it again…I love paint like some women love shoes. Although, I am quite the fan of a good shoe, too.

The cadence of my days still feels a little strange since stopping the full challenge of painting AND writing every single day. I am sort of sick of thinking about it, so it’s likely time to just begin that practice again without fail.

I am still creating every single day, but I think the practice of documenting the work is powerful.

Recording (in any form) is the way we stop to notice what we accomplished. It is how we pause to celebrate micro-doses of hope before we move on to the next.

I was here. I showed up for myself. Look at what came out of me.

Powerful, indeed.

As always, love to you, friends.

-S

It feels like many moons have passed since my last post (because they have). I have MISSED being in this space with you. Moving into our new home has been busy, sure, but…it has been so much fun. I have been caught up in it all. Nesting, making plans, finding the perfect spot for the junk drawer (the top drawer of an antique chest with an old marble top sitting in a hallway nook), and all the normal things we do when we move.

We are fully settled (for now) and have unpacked all the boxes that fit into the house as it sits (for now). My studio was completely unpacked the first two days, but it has taken me the longest to get it organized and fully ready for daily use.

Figuring out where all the paint, brushes, mediums, canvases, (aka supplies in general) go has taken some time. Also, living in the house will reveal new ways I will need to shape it, but I was able to physically sit and swatch in my studio for the first time this week. Great fun!

There has also been plenty of this. Sitting on the sofa trying to make plans, order new dressers, make lists for house projects & snag cuddle time with Clem.

P.S. a hint…that kitchen is the first thing to get an overhaul and more cabinetry added. I think we have 12-15 boxes of kitchen gear that is yet to be unpacked, nestled in the garage.

while coloring one night, I noticed my book matched the sketchbook swatch pages…and my outfit.

When I think about last year in paint, I remember how good it felt to have a daily purpose, an everyday cadence to my art practice (& my life). So while I will keep sharing my art (of course!), a huge part of my work as an artist this year will be making this house into our home.

The canvas is much more abstract & much larger.

For those of you who have been around since the beginning of allll of this, you know I am a designer at my core, or maybe it is artist, and that encompasses painting, writing, design, and even other interests. But space, home…matters very much to me.

I didn’t build my dream home here, but this house feels very much like home. It has great bones, it’s close to my parents, there is something about the way I move in the space that feels familiar. I cannot quite put my finger on that part, but I feel it.

So I have big plans for this place.

Within twenty four hours last week, two of my closest (Andrew & Lisa) both independently said, “Hey, uhh, not to put pressure on you, but I really think you should document all the work you are doing on the house this year, and you know, well, maybe, only if you want to, share it.”

Why were they so nervous to suggest such a thing, you ask?

we are going with a textured plaid wallpaper with black cabinetry, ceilings, and trim in the mudroom/laundry room. literally cannot wait.

Because, my dears, after my divorce went public right after we filmed an HGTV, I needed space from the online world of creating content around my home. I needed home to simply be home and not my actual work. I needed home to heal me.

Over the years, I think I actually became allergic to the idea of sharing projects or design of the house as a way to earn a living. The thought felt crummy, and too pressurized. I feel like it is very tempting to the let the blog/substack/app content need drive the way you live life and not the other way around. And so far, I have not been able to return to sharing anything about our home.

The two loves of my life know this about me. They knew it was tricky to even suggest. But this time, after all these years, I was surprisingly open to it, and already planning on it.

So sharing any transformations or my process for personalizing this home…it would simply be as I felt like it and for fun. And it would be fun to share this part of my creative side again.

my little studio buddy in her spot in the corner.

The thought of intentionally documenting the process of making this place ours is appealing to me because a. it feels important. it feels special and worth documenting, and b. it feels like a joyful practice of making art.

And speaking of art, there is one piece of artwork leading the design of the design story of our home.

Meet Esme.

Makes sense, right? Art has become so special to me. Moving. Seventeen years ago, when I began my business, I would not have been pulled to let one piece of art lead an entire design, but now?

Letting her lead the way feels right. Letting art lead the way feels right.

More on her later, but I love the idea of sharing this part of our story with you.

Here’s where I need your help…what would you like to see? What would you enjoy seeing unfold in our home? What excites you matters to me, so please leave me a comment in the little ole’ comment section so I can hear from you.

Until next time, my friends.

As always, love to you.

-S

All I know to do is not turn away, but lean in to others, and search for every scrap of joy and humanity I can.

I have found in what I have faced this last year and a half, some days I must grasp at the tiniest speck of hope, of light, of good.

These very small things (and one doozy) are prying open cracks of light for me right now.

It is no secret I have been coloring my way through January. I have always loved pencils in sketching, but the coloring…it caused me to pull out all of my tools. I fell in love with my Tombow markers all over again. I sort of cannot stop picking them up and making marks all day long.

I also have LOVED this coloring book.

After the year in paint, coloring and sketching have been a welcome change of pace and a way to practice my art simply and with little fuss throughout the entire day.

New Rosymeng Acrylic Markers…think Poscas with no bleed through. Opaque, smooth application & I love the color range in this skin colors set. Pairs well with my favorite Ranger travel sketchbooks.

Parchment sheets (pre-cut)! Literally saves the baking day.

Watching Half Baked Harvest stories for daily cooking & baking.

Watching Joanna Gaines cook at home: Magnolia Table {at the farm}. I really like her simple recipes that feel like home. Just bought her cookbook for the first time, volume III.

New shoes from Boden. I do not shop for clothes much anymore (& really haven’t for about six or seven years), but when I want some pieces that last, I really love this brand. And I adore a funky shoe.

Living in leisure wear. These pants I am wearing are by Elle Gray & I (somehow) cannot find them anywhere…but,I also love my wide leg Spanx. They are loose, stretchy, and flowy. I can wear them around the house with a sweatshirt & throw on a prettier top…instant fancy trousers.

These kinds of pants are what I am in all day, everyday. I put this top on for an appointment at the bank where I actually had to leave the house and look put together. First time since early December. 😂

Finding new solutions to make life easier, more comfortable, and more efficient. Looking forward to using these (retractable chargers) in the new house.

Tile. All of it. I don’t know why, but I cannot get enough right now. My mind will not let go of the image of black and white marble checkered tile making its way into our new home.

photo credit: Chris Loves Julia instagram…their bathroom is DREAMY. featuring Setting Plaster.

Setting Plaster by Farrow & Ball. It will be somewhere in our new house. Maybe the powder room. Maybe the mudroom. Maybe the primary. Let you know.

Frosted Gingersnaps & Brown Butter Chocolate Chip Cookies. Yes, still. I cannot stop making (& eating) them.

P.S. Add extra chocolate in the Chocolate Chips & an extra splash of vanilla, even though this calls for a LOT. This is one of the best basic cookie recipes I’ve found.

And the biggie? We moved! The deed is complete. You know, mostly.

I snapped this picture of Andrew sitting in my studio on day 2 (of six) to document the moment. I had just brought in the first pile of studio bits from mom and dad’s, and it hit me.

We made this thing happen. We will get to be close in proximity to my parents, hanging on to the hope our emotional closeness wrapped around us the second half of 2025.

The gift of this move is almost too much to take in, and has me wandering around in disbelief and enchantment.

These tiny delights (& that one big one) do not change the course of the world, but they do remind me of simple joys that keep me afloat during times like these.

It truly is the little things that keep me going now.

Tell me…what is bringing you delight right now? I would love to fill the comment section with the small things saving us right now.

As always, so much love to you, beautiful people.

-S

Day 17/365/382 We spent most of yesterday moving through the day slowly & easily. My dad, recovering from a surgery, rested in his chair and we spent time pulling together grocery/comfort supplies in our apps for delivery. Landing on a conecuh sausage skillet for dinner, I started chopping veggies much earlier in the day.

It helps to do any “doing” before three p.m. each afternoon.

On some days, I feel a listlessness that will not leave me. I long for the days where I was working all day, hands & mind busy except for breaks for lunch or to pick up a kid before getting back to it.

On other days, though, when I feel well enough to enjoy small tasks, I feel so lucky. I get to be able to take this time to simply take care of my body. How lucky am I? Truly.

We built a slower life on purpose. Me, before knowing Andrew, and us together, after. We lead a quieter life than a lot of folks we know, and it feels right for us. So before this, I was not running ragged. I had time for rest, we had time that was free from commitment. With a lot of intention, we built a life with a lot of margin.

So when I am in my best headspace (which often coincides with my best body space), I look around and I feel deeply grateful for being able to chop vegetables at 1 p.m. on a Friday afternoon. Even if it is because I am sick.

I look around and count my lucky stars I get to rest through this. I get to be here with people who love me. Whom I love.

I get to lead this quiet, (even) slower life. I get to be right here, right now, loving my people and enjoying things like baking cookies on a good day and painting or sketching, even a tiny bit, on all the days.

It really is a wonderful life.

Days 18 & 19/365/383 & 384 Last night my mama (she does still love it when I call her this) made the most simple and delicious dinner for us. Right before she tested positive for Covid. She got it from Gray. Who got it from me.

The gift that keeps on giving. And giving.

She made smoked ham, potato salad, a pot of field peas (as we call them in the south), and a mountain of fried cornbread. We all ate until we were nearly sick, even me. There is almost nothing better in this world than hot, fried cornbread with butter melting on top, like maple syrup on a pancake.

I am so curious…who hasn’t had fried cornbread before? I will send you her recipe and save you from a life without it.

We all made ridiculous noises the entire time we ate, thankful for her God given abilities and the food before us. We got on a Game of Thrones kick, and watched Kahleesi (weirdly) birth dragons from fire. And not die.

Gray, who is now NINETEEN years old, is obsessed with medieval history, lore, pirates, castles, battles….basically, anything that is tied to a knight or a pirate. Somehow, he has not seen this show even though he read the first two books, and I am finally able to watch it with him.

Although, I still have to make someone fast forward through the most graphic parts. Jeez. No mother could watch that with her son. I don’t think anyway. I mean, I am not a prude, but dang. 😂

So we have watched and fast-forwarded and laughed at ourselves and wanted to kill Joffrey and it’s been a blast.

I finally moved beyond the worst of the Covid symptoms, and have begun my climb back to normal. Only took about 12 days, but we are getting there.

I wake to the feeling of Andrew pulling me closer and while it wakes me, I am so happy to be snuggled up, his arm wrapped around me and our legs enmeshed. We have been cuddlers since the beginning. Only recently have we broken from that pattern every night, as my sides cannot always take being held.

He falls back asleep, breathing softly. I lie still, wishing beyond all that is holy to doze off again, but I know. I am awake for the day.

His alarm rings at 5:30, forty-five minutes after I opened my eyes. He got dressed and by the time he headed up to the kitchen, I threw the covers back, slipped on my flip flops and grabbed the CVS pharmacy located on my nightstand for the trek to the living room.

From the back of the house, I could hear whispers of the two old folks (kidding, but sort of not). I stuck my head into their room and could hear it. Mom was worse. Dad doesn’t sound great. I feel like such a jerk as I lay out medicines for the morning and get Andrew started on breakfast.

I mean, of course, I didn’t do it on purpose, but if ever there was a time NOT to get Covid, it is when you are recovering from an extensive facial surgery. Dad had a tumor removed (all signs point to no cancer) and his scar is quite intense. A cold, much less a Covid cold, would be pretty terrible.

Andrew made eggs for dad and I got some meds for mom, my movements surprisingly swift for zero dark thirty. The thought crossed my mind…Got to be adrenaline. I move like a snail most mornings.

And that is a gracious description. 😂

Day 21/365/386 The fog of Covid has finally lifted (for me & for Gray), and now it has moved on to Nana, and as of this morning, Ava.

My poor dad had to have another surgery (the trauma from his tumor removal caused his retina to detach), and I am currently hearing a gnarly deep cough from him in the primary bedroom.

Yes, this is real life.

The least sick of us are caring for the most sick, and it is just silly over here. We have cleaned out the covid tests in all of north Auburn. I fear we are not done yet. Andrew, Phoebe, and Papa (officially) are still optional targets.

I had to leave the house yesterday to pick up medication, and it was a beautiful morning for a drive. The air seemed to be crystal clear, and as I turned around the corner of my parents’ street, I snapped a picture of the new house. I smiled, knowing we would be making this thing happen in the coming weeks. There it is. Home.

I also smiled when I realized Ava’s Bronco ducks made it into the frame.

You can see what I mean about the outside color, right? But, to play around myself and to be able to show the home owner’s association my grand plans, I have been playing with color schemes.

This is not a design newsletter, but did you know once upon a time, that is what I did for a living? I wrote a blog around design and projects, published a book about it, filmed a pilot with HGTV, and owned a design business and home decor stores. If you’re new here…that probably seems crazy.

Some of you, however, have been here since the beginning. You remember the design, the chalk paint, & when my children were toddlers, us homeschooling. The whole nine.

See?? A little paint can go a LONG way. Painting the siding & brick to a brown or green-black, trim cream, and washing the stones.

It was a natural progression, and since beginning to write publicly in 2009, I have always shared my work and passions. It is interesting to me how my interests and business have evolved over time. And how it has always remained centered on my hands in paint & writing my days away.

I eventually began to shift my design work from strictly residential builds and renovations to commercial spaces. Retail stores, restaurants, hotels, offices.

After all of those years running my own business, I found myself not only designing the spaces, but also working with our team to coach business owners, CEO’s, and restaurateurs on everything from the branding to overhead to team roles & efficiency.

It was rich, gratifying work.

I remember the first time I sat down for dinner in a restaurant (in Midland, Texas) I designed with my partner, and it was incredible. To be able to feel other people enjoying the space…laughing, whispering, sharing a meal together…it knocked my socks off. I was hooked.

Now, I miss my design work, but also, I still get to use that muscle in my own home. Space matters to me very, very much. I still notice every detail in every space I walk into. So with all that said, it has been delightful to dream and plan and play around with ideas for the new house.

Our home.

another option. Painting the brick, siding, AND trim a brown or green-black and washing the stone to lean a little more gray. Both are beautiful. It will honestly depend on how that stone washes. 😉

I could be wrong, but I believe we will be here to stay.

This move feels serendipitous, to say the least.

Here we go.

As always, love to you.

-S

Days 10-11/365/375 & 376 I have been in a haze of coloring and rest, feeling the weight of the world every time I open the news, unable to look away, and unable to escape the feelings of it all. We are not built for this.

We are not built to digest horror after horror, especially from those highest up on the mountain put there to protect us. We are not built to contain chaos, violence, injustice & divisiveness at every corner.

And yet, we must not turn away. We must protect our mental health and also stay awake enough to look out our own damn windows to find the truth instead of assuming what we hear is truth. We have an obligation to dig for real information, not curated media that tells us what we think we want to hear. We have to look out our own windows, at our neighbors, at our world, digging for truth. We must stay in the fight, although it looks different for us all.

I am speaking somewhat vaguely, and that is on purpose. There may come a day where I am called to speak precisely about all I reference, but for now as I fight this disease day to day, I will speak in as many riddles as feels healthiest for me.

But I will say this: please let us all open our eyes. Please look at your neighbor. Please pay attention to what is happening in our world. Ask great questions. Ask so many questions. Of anyone, of everyone, especially those in any power. If it looks like violence, it’s violence. If it looks like love, it is love. If it looks like truth, it doesn’t have to be forced or spun or defended at every corner…it reveals itself gracefully and graciously, as truth always does in the light.

Truth feels like warmth in your body. Not rigidity. Not defensiveness. Not tight. Not cold. Truth feels warm.

I do not have all the answers, but I do know that to be real and true. What is right often feels right in my body.

I am trying to hold space for the impact of the weight of the world, and the weight of this current life of mine in a way that is both awake and filled with reprieve. Counterweights, as my friend1 likes to call them.

I would not have survived my year if it were not for the counterweights.

I woke up Saturday morning with a chest congestion so wicked, I nearly choked to death upon trying to sit up. At 5 a.m. while my husband freaked out.

Turns out, somehow, after being basically a shut in, I have Covid. HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE, you ask? Yea, me too.

Upside? I already have a pretty clear schedule, so there was not much to move around in the way of living out and about. 😂

right inside our front door-guess if you are in the market for a home in Auburn, Alabama, hit reply to this & I will send you the listing. 🤗

In other news, we are moving! We have moved forward with the house close to my parents. It is a 30 second drive from door to door. I imagine there will be a lot of walking to Nana and Papa’s, weeknight dinners shared or quick trips up the hill to help each other with all the things.

To say we are thrilled is the understatement of my life. It’s funny…I haven’t shared much about the actual house yet, but I suppose that is because this move is not at all about being in a new house or a different neighborhood, or even investment (although, it is a good investment).

This move is simply about proximity and the quality of life that gives us in this season. We can be at mom and dad’s in seconds, and now we know after living here for five months, that drastically improves our life. We have support on those days that are the hardest. We feel community and moments of genuine happiness and connection are easier to find when you are actually connected in proximity.

my small studio-it will be bittersweet to say goodbye to this small, but mighty space. I have done so much great work and made so much art in this room…sigh.

And, not for nothing, but when you are consumed with your own suffering, it is GOOD to have conversation that is NOT centered around that. You need to laugh. You need to think about someone else. You need to commune and find love and lightness and eat good food with one another and cackle at a tv show or feel the warmth and hilarity that comes from inside jokes. Or I do, anyway. 😂

But more than that, the emotional reprieve this tiny community brings Andrew and I to know we are not alone…that’s everything right now. He can go to work with almost no worry, knowing I am close to them in case of emergencies or even those days where I really need help doing life. I can go to sleep at night, knowing I am not alone in facing this disease the next day. It eases all the muscles of tension in our whole way of being.

This proximity brings real-time comfort all day, everyday.

We will sell our house when it sells…talk about a bad time to be making a move & listing a house…and we will close on the new house in mid February. Yikes. Making a move, even across town, is a giant feat on its own, but right now…I am basically useless in a move. Lisa told me I must just sit on a cardboard throne & point and instruct. I can’t bend much or place objects in boxes or lift…like I said, sort of useless. 🤦‍♀️

P.S. this is beyond difficult for me to adjust to…I am a strong chick, and I typically approach physical labor or projects such as this like a damn wrecking ball. I’m the girl who will be hauling boxes up three flights of stairs and on her feet for fourteen hours straight. So to sit while other people pack my house up…is going to be an adjustment, to say the least. I will battle guilt and frustration throughout the entire process.

Ava says our house looks like AI now that so much of the life is removed…which makes me laugh so hard and also I wonder…will we go back home to stay another night before we sell it? Another week? Time will tell, I suppose. Either way, this home served us beautifully while we lived here.

But…no one needs to wind up having to take me to the hospital in the middle of a move, either. That would be fairly annoying, disruptive, and mostly avoidable.

I digress. So the house…I’ll be honest…I don’t love it from the outside. It’s fine. It’s just a pretty straightforward roofline and traditional neighborhood build. The brick and stone leans really red. And brown. Tan on brown on beige on reddish brown. One day, we will fix that with a little paint. Or a lot of paint.

I know we will do some projects when we move in to make the house feel more like our home, and we will also save a basement renovation for a little further down the road. Brick by brick, we will make it ours and the real beauty of this home is about much more.

I’m up to my brain’s eyeballs in paint and tile swatches, dreaming up what we can change immediately, and coming up with budget friendly solutions for the meantime. I can hardly think of anything else.

It is utterly crazy to tackle anything like this right now, but also…a project to sink my creative brain into sounds perfect.

Nothing like a home renovation to keep you from thinking about your impending health doom. 🤗

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But you also had one resounding question.

So…would I continue painting & sharing it here with you?

Well, it’s January 4th when I sit down to write for the first time because I wanted a couple of days off from documenting in a detailed way. But I have made art the first three days of the year without blinking.

Technically, I colored & painted minimally, but if you’ll remember, I was not precious with the rules of the year in paint, so technically, it counts. Easily, it counts.

Painting or making something with color is just a part of my day, now. That’s the thing about doing something every single day for a year…it’s not so much a habit now as it is a way of being.

After a few months of painting each day, the statement became, “I haven’t painted yet today.” vs. “I have to paint.”

So yes, I will keep painting. 😊

I am sure I will sit down for my morning pages most mornings, and other mornings, I might skip that step.

I would like to build a new practice around writing this year. I would like to create space for a time where I intentionally remove myself from everyone else to write instead of just sitting wherever I happen to be. I love the ritual of heading into an office or quiet space to let whatever words want to come, come to me there. I miss that feeling, and that sacred practice & time.

My candle burning, my music going, in a beautiful space. Room to let thoughts swirl and mingle for a while, before putting pen to page.

But yes, I will still be here. And I am sure I will share something about once a week (ish). I would love your feedback on that! Leave me a comment & tell me how you enjoy hearing from me or your favorite substack authors; I’m all ears to hear from you.

Day 4/365/369/369 Wonderfully enough, this week after I shared the final year in paint post, I got a gorgeous voice message from Lisa. I got another that night from Ashely. Friends reaching out to tell me they were proud of me, or simply to acknowledge my work, what I do in the world.

Lisa’s message was so sweet, and she told me she was having a hard time knowing it was all over now. A reminder that I will not be the only one who misses the cadence of sharing my days and what I am making.

While I know what I share will look a little different this year, I am struck with this feeling that I have taken a road that still has a path to traverse. I am not done painting each day, and I am not done sharing snippets with you.

So what’s next? Well, I imagine part of what I did for a year will become something else entirely. I can imagine binding it all together into a book, filled with the days of the year, the entries, and gorgeous, new photos of paint or me in the studio or the paintings displayed in a fresh way. I love the idea of making one copy that is more manageable in size, broken up in seasons and filled with the highlight posts of that season.

I imagine creating a “director’s cut” version for myself, and anyone else who might want all of the days and photos. I love the idea of having that for my children to keep one day.

I love the idea of teaching some art classes online, maybe?!

I love the idea of eventually releasing some of the works from the year as a small collection.

I love the idea of talking more broadly about how to be a person who is sick, living so marginally compared to their past, and how we try to remain ourselves in spite of it. I am not sure the ways that would come to be, but I like the thought of it.

I love the idea of reading my stories to you again, like I did some years ago on Instagram. I miss talking with you.

I imagine many things, so for now, I will let my imagination run wild and be driven by inspiration and what changes come within my body. I know I will make a book for myself, and I deeply hope to make one you can have in your home, too.

secret garden, oils on fine art paper circa 2021 ish

If this last year taught me anything, it did teach me this: our capacity keeps stretching and stretching, somehow, even when it feels like our perceived bindings will snap in half. We do keep growing, keep expanding, keep going even in the face of the impossible.

I hope whatever it is I get into this year, it is a celebration of that work, of cherishing that truth, and of choosing to remain tethered to who I am at my core.

To write. To paint. To make art and love and family and home. To stay here, in the daily cadence of our life. To be still & know. To be known by a precious few.

To be grateful for every single breath.

As always, love to you.

-S

Day 362/365 Yesterday was the day. Andrew got me a Monet water lilies kit with my new Gaffrey paint. I had watched the tutorial once, and I just decided to give it a whirl from memory. Why not?

I have to say, playing with this paint is ridiculously fun. There is a slight learning curve to piping directly onto the canvas, but I have painted with palette knives a lot before. That gave me a leg up on a little of it, but I am certainly not used to piping flowers or using a bag to apply paint directly onto a canvas.

I finished this little tester piece up in about 25 or 30 minutes, and I was just thrilled. I mean, of course I see places for improvement and areas I would give more attention to on the final, larger piece, but overall? I feel pretty happy with how it turned out and I most certainly LOVED every second of making it.

It hit me like a ton of bricks this morning…day THREE HUNDRED AND SIXTY TWO of three hundred and sixty five.

Wow.

I imagine if you are reading this, you could have one of a couple reactions. If you have not tried to do a new thing, or more accurately, a thing you love, every single day for one year without fail, then I can imagine it would be very easy to think, “yea, not really a big deal. People do things every day for a year all the time.” I don’t mean it like it’s a negative opinion; I have seen so many people commit to something and do the same thing myself.

Reading about someone’s daily practice is not a new concept, especially in the space of online content. I have certainly seen people committing to something for a specific period of time, and it simply not registered how special that fruition really is.

But I’ll tell you…if you ever do it, if you ever try something new, or take something you love doing, and do it every single day for any real length of time, you get it. Putting a deadline on a hobby, putting a “have to” versus a “want to” on it…it changes the thing entirely.

It is actually a really big deal to commit to any new (or loved) practice at all for 365 days. Really.

So to say I am proud of myself for showing up to paint? Yes, I am proud of actually committing to the practice for all these days of this year.

What resonates deeply in my soul, though? The knowing in me before the year began I would need something to tether me, to me…that is what I am the most proud of.

I feel a tie to that knowing inside me, now, and I realize it is a culmination of all these years of difficulty and loss and healing and finding new ways to be a human.

All of that learning and re-learning was not wasted.

It prepared my insides to know what I would need this year, facing this diagnosis, and facing all the emotional changes and roller coaster dips the disease would bring.

And I listened to that knowing. I stayed committed to it, even when I had almost no energy at all. I would fill in one shape with color or swipe one new brushstroke on a painting on those days, and that tie to myself…that tie kept me grounded and it kept me going.

I think now, I know, in a deeper way, the power of knowing ourselves, listening to our inner wisdom, and trusting ourselves as we walk forward.

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Day 363/365 Andrew is a teacher, and he is such a good one. Truly…he’s one of the great ones. I love that he is doing something he loves, and something that he gets to pour his goodness into. The kids he gets to affect for good. It’s a hard job, but it is fulfilling.

I do love, however, his time off. 😂 Especially now. So during Christmas, these two and a half weeks came at the perfect time, and I love waking up to him home with us.

We have lazed around, watched tv together (which does not happen so often), cooked together, put Christmas gifts together. Laughed.

He watched me paint on Monday, practicing on a “throwaway” canvas. I wanted a piece to play with my new paint, with zero pressure for it to become anything in particular. I practiced hand-sculpted roses, leaf and petal shapes. I filled in the background color of the canvas, a soft peachy-pink that leans more nude than pink in person.

We all just keep walking by the new paintings saying, “Wow, this stuff is just so cool.”

It makes total sense that their slogan is “Don’t eat paint.”

In Andrew’s words, it really does look like a forever cake, frosted to the nines.

Day 364/365 I have been thinking about the year. The many, many moments where it would have been very simple to give up completely. The many, many days where my body’s journey was so consuming I could think of nothing else.

But I also think about the moments that brought me delight.

The many, many moments that took my breath away, even just a little bit.

Because I was so acutely aware, and because I was also documenting this year, I really noticed them all.

The way Grayson looked at me at his graduation dinner. He appreciated what I made for him from his bones.

The lunch I had with Andrew in late November that reminded me of how in love with him I am. And how in love with me he is.

The moments Ava thought I was fully asleep when she kissed me on the top of the head while I rested.

When Phoebe would need a hug, and come to me first.

The way my parents just welcomed us here, no questions asked.

My Christmas gift from Andrew. It was this expression of generosity, and care & noticing, of wanting to do something extra special for me this year. It literally caught my breath.

That shopping trip with my dad.

Swimming with sea turtles, me & my boys.

The delicious frozen meal boxes that arrived from Virginia, an online friend and reader. Her simple actions delivered genuine love to our doorstep on more than one occasion.

The letter Gray had framed for me, filled with words from this family I cherish.

The video Andrew made for me for my birthday, filled with messages from my people, telling stories about me or telling me what I mean to them all.

Mrs. Vickie & Mr. Doug. They got me into the Mayo Clinic & have been dear friends to my parents, and now us. They know what they did for us this year, but I’m not sure they can grasp the impact they have had on me.

Watching Ava & Andrew swim with whale sharks with Jen.

Lisa. Showing up time after time from Maryland to our home, just in time to remind me how lucky I am to have a best friend like her. That the world has her.

Cheri. With her coconut cake and warm, deep hugs when we travel to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester.

Our trip to the Cape this year. Sitting on that sand and hunting for shells brought fresh, salty, rejuvenated air into my lungs and a swelling into my heart.

The moment Jen told me we were just in the middle of birthing something beautiful, and it was painful to go through that birthing…I felt my whole body release and relax into that truth.

The Saturday morning breakfast symphonies.

Each time I sat to paint & connect back to me for just a few minutes.

So many, many breathtaking little moments.

Enough to carry me through to another year.

Day 365/365 Here we are. Day 365. We did it.

In some ways, the new year finds me exactly where it found me in 2025. In others, I have become a whole new being.

I have found a strength I did not know I held, a fortitude I hoped was there, but could not have tapped into until I had to.

I have found loss and grief and I have found deep, abiding love. I have found love wins out, as it surrounds me and drowns out the lack.

To write a long entry today, on day three hundred sixty five, would feel strange to me, as I am hit with so many feelings and so many questions for what the new year will bring.

There is so much I do not know. There is certainly so much I fear. There is so much I hope for.

I don’t know what next year will hold. I do not know how to do this particular version of life indefinitely.

But I do know a few, true things.

I do know tomorrow I will get up. Somehow I will get up.

I will make my coffee and I will snap a picture of what I made the day before.

I will sit down at my computer to write.

And, at some point, I will paint.

*thank you to those of you who walked this year, day by day, with us. Writing & publishing each day of this pain-filled year felt strange, felt cathartic, and now, is ridiculously important to me. Thank you for being here, with me, in these days of learning how to do life in this new way, with this new body. I will always look back on this first year of this diagnosis, and remember how I decided to do this with it. I will always look back and remember you were here with me. 🤍

-S

Day 355-357/365 We spent the last few days doing a little of this and that. This and that mostly being checking our lists twice for the kids’ Christmas morning surprises. I’m an Enneagram 3 tied with a 2, and in true fashion for my 3 side, I keep a list for gifts from us, Santa, and stockings. Each thing gets a check for being ordered, arriving, and most years, for getting wrapped/placed.

This year being the year of who-knows-what-the-hell-we’re-doing-anymore meant I abandoned the final stage of checks, meaning I spent half the day yesterday searching for things and slightly, subtly, but sort of manically panicking as I laid out Santa for each kid. Shockingly, it turned out just fine (of course it did) and everyone has an equitable amount of surprises. Praise the lamb and all that.

We did not, however, have stocking candy accounted for. Andrew and I braved Target and let me tell you…I knew I didn’t wait until the last minute for this stuff for a reason. And I WAS RIGHT. That was absolutely bonkers.

The selections were made and we got out of there unscathed. We had a ham to pick up, so Andrew and I got a little date out of our procrastination. We stopped in the local bakery downtown and snagged a German stollen for my mom. She was thrilled and I remembered it is often the simplest thing that can bring so much delight.

P.S. I worked on some little extra ornaments for some friends and our ornament swap. I will be sending them out after Christmas, ahem, but I am happy to be sending them at all.

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Day 348/365 For today, I glazed frosted gingersnaps1 and topped them with homemade vanilla flake salt and counted that as my art. This is not a great picture, but let me tell you what…they are so good I CANNOT stop eating them. (in the end, I have made a hundred and fifty or so, and I may not be done.)

Day 349/365 On Sunday, I added another layer to a pink tree background, and began the wrapping of the gifts. I have always viewed it as meditative and artful. And so delightful.

This day, as I was able to knock out ten or so gifts, I was struck with a new gratitude that I could do the task at all. Red plaids, juniper greens with florals, and pink papers with Santa mugs + candy canes…these were all my canvases today, and I smiled after the time I spent with each gift.

Day 350/365 worked on red stars for Gray’s tree, adding gold details to Ava’s tree and more red ornaments to our tree. The day held doctor’s appointments and a couple of quick errands. I have to say, I believe the God above or the mysterious forces at play in the universe are giving me a bit of energy in this week leading up to Christmas. It is a miracle to me and beyond precious.

Days 351-353 I quickly painted silver stars on Gray’s canvas ornament & Phoebe’s forest green. I really did have a decent day on Tuesday; I rested and in between, I worked on scheduling posts for this week. It felt so, so good to work like the old days. A computer in my lap and my keys clicking away, while I make edits and call the work “good enough.” To get lost in it, even if for a little while.

On Wednesday, I painted more gingerbread cookies, 36 of them to be specific, in a vanilla maple glaze and dusted them with vanilla bean salt. I ate most of the first batch myself, and believe me, eating is a big deal these days. So I saved up energy and made another double batch. Before the baking began, I actually made it out of the house for a “ho-ho errand,” as my dad likes to call it. It was our first little outing together in quite some time, and we loved every minute. We got to pick out pretty things for his (and our) Nana, and I watched his face light up when I held up the right choices…and I remembered again how very lucky I was to grow up watching a man love a woman like he does. And watch her love him.

Thursday, I finally finished Ava’s purple tree ornament, and added some glitter to Phoebe’s gold tree. That’s a wrap on the kids’ ornaments this year. All they need is a little holiday pixie dust and varnish and it will be time to hang them on a tree. I began wrapping gifts this week, and knocked out several today. It was one of the first times in months I didn’t feel that familiar pain in my sides, causing every little act to be somewhat of a feat. It felt so sweet and so freaking wonderful to add tags and beautiful ribbon and ornamental decorations to bows. Presentation matters to me. Not because it looks good, but because I want my people to feel like I thought of them and their taste when I packaged up their surprises.

Tomorrow will bring with it a new Christmas tree. We sprung for a new one this year, for the quick setup it promises (we LOVE ours but it is a bear and a half). I have been waiting on a day with enough energy when Andrew gets home from work, but that has not come yet. So the Saturday before Christmas it is. Waiting to put it up, though, does feel somewhat sweet. I imagine life all those years ago, putting up a tree on Christmas Eve and decorating it simply to celebrate the next day.

While ours may be flocked and artificial, I love the idea of raising it up tomorrow, decorating only with our special ornaments Gray brought over from our house and a few of our handpainted ornaments by yours truly. It feels effortless and relaxed, a stark contrast to the year behind us.

But intention is everything.

And while I will not be able to control absolutely anything, I can sure control how I choose to look at our last minute tree, or how I create intention for the year ahead.

Effortless and relaxed sounds about as good as it gets. ❤️

Day 354/365 For the canvas that is inspired by our happy Christmas tree, I added in the striped candy canes that are a hallmark for us. This little piece is simple and not exact, but it is shaping up to be such a joyful representation.

Day 354/365 I woke to sounds of my husband and mom in the kitchen, orchestrating their dance of Saturday morning breakfast. Their chatter and the sounds of the kitchen are a symphony of day to day living. It is the sweetest, most wonderful surprise I can imagine.

When my parents met Andrew, they liked him so much. But they were terrified for me. While I was a 37 year old woman, I had been through so much, and they had watched my life unravel before my eyes, much of it not of my own choosing. They had watched me lose the person I leaned on and built a life with, and they watched that person become something entirely different.

So, Andrew? He was the epitome of their fears for me. What if I let someone else into my life that destroyed my (and their) trust again? What if he was not who he said he was? What could happen to me if I walked through that again?

Little by little, with some time and serious effort on their part to talk themselves through their fears, they allowed him enough time to take up space in my life, and in theirs.

And after about six months, they fell in love with him. Now, that love has bloomed into something deep and unshakeable. He is a son to them, and they make decisions every single day to allow him to be himself and also be the person who isn’t perfect, but the person whom I love. The person they love and lean on and trust implicitly. A person they regard with respect and love and honoring.

Believe me, that little story could have gone another way. They could have let their very real fears and very real experiences dictate their choices, kept him at arm’s length, or doubted him, and man, would they have missed out.

The Saturday morning symphonies wouldn’t exist because we sure wouldn’t be comfortable enough together to be living under the same roof.

Like I said, what a gorgeous surprise of mid-life.

We began the day, picking up last minute gift orders and wrapping a couple of presents. Gray and I made a batch of Christmas Crack. The caramel flopped but it’s still delicious, although extremely chewy. 😂

And, in old-fashioned style, we set up our Christmas tree. I usually fill my tree with hundreds of ornaments, sticking them in every single nook and cranny and decorating each branch from inside out. We kept it simple this year, adding in our big red ornaments and candy striped balls for fillers, and focused on adding our sentimental ornaments to the tree. And our candy canes. Always, the candy canes. I suppose we will skip the tinsel this year. 🎄

As always, love to you.

-S

We are closing in on the end of year and my year in paint. I am sort of in a daze about it all, bouncing back and forth between acute awareness and gratitude I was able to do this for myself and a fuzzy disbelief I did it. I do know this: I am so grateful I was able to share it here, with you. Let’s get into it. 🤍

Day 339/365 adding in more color & layers to the new page that will become gift tags.

Day 340/365 I quickly added dots of “ornaments” to a few trees to some canvases for the kids’ collection of hand painted ornaments by me, before adding in some pink streaks & white snow in poscas to the gift tag page.

Day 341/365 I think I pulled off adding in a few more red ornaments to my coloring page before getting distracted by reorganizing my art briefcase due to our travels. 😉

Day 342-344/365 I have slowly been making my way to the kids’ ornaments. I paint them one each year, so one day they can have those for their own trees. This year, it’s dark green for Phoebe, gold for Gray, & deep purple for Ava.

Day 345/365 Rough day. Lots of rest. Lots of pain. A few small green stars & gold paint pen swirls on the gift tag paper.

Day 346/365 Today proved to be a much better day, some energy arriving and some overall relief. I worked on adding reds to our look-a-like Christmas tree, ornaments to the kids’ paintings and a coat of glitter to the gift tag kaleidoscope.

Doesn’t it look like candy??

Day 347/365 As I move closer to the end of the year, I am filled with more feelings than I imagine I could hold. A bucket of water resting under a faucet, unable to stay the same. Unable to avoid spilling over.

I sit by my paints, choosing each color carefully. My energy shift over the last few months is too impactful not to notice. Tectonic. I am only here, at this table, for a very precious few moments, so there is no time to waste.

The window is open, letting the sunlight pour inside in ribbons across the tabletop. My head rests back against the linen fabric of my dad’s chair at the head of the table. My eyes find the twinkle of the lights on the tree, blinking back a tear.

What a year it has been.

I am so tired. I am so grateful I am still alive. I am so sad I am so sick, still not sick enough for a transplant. I am so happy I have my parents. I am so heartbroken over the people we missed this year. I am so full of literal love for my kids, and their hearts for me.

I am still in love with my husband. I am aware of how hard we are working to keep taking care of each other during this time. This time where we feel so worn, so depleted, so hopeless on so many days. This time where we fall into each other like two candles melting throughout a long day of gathering.

He is with me. I am with him. And that counts.

I am filled to the brim with all the hope, fear, joy, grief, love, loss, and wonderment that I have ever carried at one time in my life.

Feeling so full feels good, even when parts of the whole feel hard. Feeling it all is how we stay human, stay us.

And that counts for all the things.

As always, love to you, my friends.

-S

Day 329-330/365 Tuesday was a sweet, special day. One for the books. We started the morning by having coffee and getting three year old snuggles. Before we got gussied up in the evening, Andrew and I drove to Waverly for a Christmas errand.

Just us.

After we picked up our gifts, we meandered around the corner to Wild Flour Bakery and each snacked on a Conecuh sausage, ham & gruyere croissant with thyme and onion jam. Even I ate the whole thing.

He looked up from his croissant to watch me actually eating, and enjoying it, catching my eyes and smiling sweetly.

“What?” I asked, through a soft smile while messily wiping pastry flakes off my face.

As I asked, my eyes filled with tears and the lump in my throat was so big I could not swallow.

I knew why he was looking at me like that. His eyes were flooded pools.

“I just don’t get to see you like this, anymore. I love you so much, sweetheart.”

He grabbed my hand across the table with a fierce love I wish I could bottle and give away.

So there, in the tiny bakery in the Mayberry of Alabama, Andrew and I sat staring at one another, quietly holding back tears and each other’s hands, knowing we had so much to be grateful for it could not be contained.

Knowing we are scared.

Knowing we don’t get to do dates right now, and it almost felt too good to be real.

Knowing it was worth noting it aloud.

Knowing speaking its importance into the universe is a way we make it through this.

We walked through the pecan grove, hand in hand, back around the corner to our car and towards the rest of our day.

We had another couple’s story to celebrate.

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That night, we all changed into marginally nicer clothes and made our way to Botanic to celebrate Nana and Papa.

They will be married for 50 years on December 5th.

I wore makeup and while the bun in my head stayed (fixing hair is so hard right now and honestly rarely worth it). I felt nice to have on clothes that looked a little snazzy, even though they were still comfortable.

I fidgeted in my seat at the huge round table in the beautiful private room we booked, my mind on my pain, and on my parents. I watched them from across the room, recording as much as my heart could absorb.

What a life they have lived together.

I bet they must feel such a weight, at how some things have turned out for us. I know the pull to take it all away must be so strong, still.

I bet they imagined celebrating a 50th anniversary with a big shindig with all the people they have touched and known all these years. But here we are, the eleven of us sitting around this quiet round table.

We eat piles of food, remarking over every other bite, the room bouncing between relaxed silence and laughter.

The sounds and lack thereof that say, “we are comfortable here. we get to come as we are and be loved.”

We ask them silly questions about their life together and giggle at their responses.

It is an extraordinarily ordinary dinner and it is beautiful.

Fifty years is HUGE. It is a big, big deal. But what they gave us, and what they still give us is bigger.

What a legacy.

They’re messy and imperfect and have nothing (but also everything) figured out and, yet…they are so beautiful to watch.

I sit quietly through most of the dinner, listening and laughing, feeling very full. I got to have this moment with them.

This life with them.

Day 331/365 I made quick work of Poscas on the navy background after a gorgeous Thanksgiving meal. It was again, ordinary and extraordinary, and I was able to eat enough for lunch and dinner, both. A rare feat for me these days.

I’ll be honest. It was harder to hang onto gratitude this year. The feeling kept slipping through my more feeble fingers. It was mixed in with fear and pain and grief, but it was still there.

I say it to say this: if your holiday season is not as simple as “giving thanks,” or “feeling the Christmas spirit,” that’s okay. You are not alone and you get to hold space enough for it all.

I hope you found (and keep finding) little moments where gratitude does strike you, or joy catches your breath. Love wraps its arms around you.

Day 332-333/365 I pulled out actual paint during nap-time and after one huge Black Friday disappointment (I did nearly cry lol), I made it through painting one purple background for my daughter and one gold canvas before it was time to roll the cart back to the closet for the afternoon. It felt great to have the brush in my hand again. Really, really great. I might stop painting little holiday canvases soon, but no promises. They may stick around through the entire month of December.

The next day, in the evening, I sat with my beautiful nephew and we made great fun of the holiday scratch art book. We took turns but he mostly enjoyed playing the role of supervisor.

He also told me I was one of his best friends, so there’s that. Hmm. 🥰

Days 334-335/365 We said goodbye to our little family, and began the prepping and packing for our bi-annual trip to the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota. I worked quickly on a new gold canvas ornament for my son & began making some new gift tags. Quick abstract red strokes are always my base; I’ll add other complimentary colors on top, and as weird as it looks in one sheet, when you punch out the final shapes they’re as happy as they can be. Cute, too.

Day 336-338/365 The week at Mayo was hard this time. Heavy. Our first trip to Rochester did not bring hope in the form of new solutions for the disease, but in the knowledge we were in the right place as this progresses.

This trip came at a time where we needed new solutions and relief for the day to day. I really, really needed help in the immediacy.

And while my doctor is doing his best, and he is one of the very best, the ugly truth of this disease is this: you have to get sicker and sicker until it is time for a transplant. And on paper, I’m not quite sick enough yet. I am not close enough to death.

It sounds brutal because it is.

His empathy doesn’t change the pain, the growing and worsening symptoms, the new waves of fatigue that make the flu feel like a cake walk.

It doesn’t change how it wears on your soul from the long term wear on your body.

His eyes sparkled with feeling, though. That tiny detail was one of the only positive details of the trip.

another positive: getting to spend the week in a wonderland—as long as we went outside as little as was required. It was -11 on Wednesday. 👀

Our days were filled with 6 a.m. appointments and tests that bled into late afternoons. I fasted on and off for two whole days, a break in the two days eating a lovingly prepared meal by the chef at the hotel: plain boiled chicken and white rice cooked with no oil or fat.

It was actually so good and I was moved that he took the time to prepare it for my tired heart and body. He even wrote my name and drew a smiley face on the plastic wrap it came under.

No cancer yet, but my cancer markers are way up since May. And some other detailed, hard parts I’ll leave off. There was a lot of hard news to swallow this trip.

us on the flight home, smiling because the trip was over and because before we pulled into the gate in Minneapolis, I had upgraded our seats for the flight home. I need room to travel now, apparently. My pain on that airplane was at an all-time high and the difference on the flight home was marked and worth every single saved penny.

We wrapped the week up with a visit from our precious Cheri, who brought us the famous coconut cake & her love, and a CT scan right before hopping on a plane that took us home.

Home.

The place we hoped to bring more hope to after this trip. Home, with hard and good news to share.

Home, where we wanted to be the moment we were away.

That tiny detail is one of the other positives I took away from the trip. We have a soft place to land. Literally.

And it was not lost on me at all.

As always, my love to you.

-S

Day 321-322/365 Monday & Tuesday this week passed fairly quickly, with a lot of things on the list to accomplish. I spent most of my daily energy on Monday packing up orders to ship out later this week. Whew, folks. That kind of work is usually easy-peasy. Tedious, but easy. I have always loved the little moments of delight that come in the mail from other creatives and artists, so it matters to me to include some extra magic inside my packages.

But buddy, it was work for me these last two days. But little by little, they are coming together.

And yesterday afternoon, on the rarest of occasions, I got in the car with my mom and two kids and we went downtown. We ate a little lunch. We went into two shops for some early Christmas gifts. It was hard. It took a lot out of me.

And it was wonderful.

P.S. the last two days, I didn’t paint much as I packed hand-painted confetti, but I did work on little ornaments for some special kiddos receiving some of my packages.

Day 323-325/365 In between packing up your holiday orders (with my two older children helping me and heckling my system), getting Ava situated with virtual school, and prepping for my brother and his family to join this house of menagerie, I painted in bits. I worked on a little surprise snowman ornament for my aunt, who has whispered painting snowmen into my ear the last two years. I went all out on texture and splatter and I hope she adores him. I named him Earnest. 🤍

Day 326/365 Today was a flurry of house preparations. My brother and his family are coming home today and we are elated.

P.S. worked on the christmas tree that will mimic ours. It makes me silly-happy.

Day 327/365 It is hard to encapsulate full stories of these days this Thanksgiving week of 2025. But, as my fellow Substack writer, Emily Freeman, does, I can pull together a pretty full picture in snapshots this way:

These are the days of early rising and early Christmas shenanigans.

Of presents for the kids, Kringle danishes (10/10 recommended), & more bacon served each day than could possibly be considered “okay” by a physician.

These are the days of sharing bedrooms and five to a bathroom, of cold foam cream to top extra cups of coffee.

Of countless snuggles & painting with “Aunt Shaaahhhhnna.”

Of magna tile towers by the fire, packing holiday orders, and scratch art to substitute for painting. Scratch art is less likely to get smeared all over a table by little hands than paint.

These are the days of pain that won’t let go, but a spirit of resilience that won’t let go, either.

Of tears over sandwiches, and everything in between, and of laughs over anything that could be considered joyful at all.

These are the days of matching pj’s and cooking shows in bed, new recipes and celebrated favorites.

Of watching my people with fresh eyes, appreciating and noticing the parts of them in ways I have never before.

These are the days I am fearful of not enough days, and not at all, because I have today, today.

These are the days of feelings so full I could burst at any given moment.

Day 328/365 I cannot possibly remember all the happenings of the days of this week as I did not sit down to write every single morning.

One thing worth mentioning:

My nephew has been my BUDDY this week. I mean, his little hands and voice and hugs and our chats snagged my tired heart and breathed new love/life into my bones. He even let me read the Williams Sonoma Home catalog to him, entranced by the pages filled with gingerbread house cookie cutters and Santa shaped cookies.

One morning, he met me in the hallway as I slowly walked towards the kitchen.

“Aunt Shaunna, Are you still sick?”

He asks me a few times every day.

“Well, buddy, remember, I’m sick everyday right now, at least a little. But I am okay right now. Thank you for asking; how are you this morning?”

He sighs. “But why do you have to be sick?”

“I don’t know, darling, but for right now, I am good, and we can play. Do you want to build with magna tiles?”

He shakes his head again, left to right. As if to silently say it’s not fair or he does not like it one bit.

He looks at me with the most earnest little eyes, gestures wildly around the room, and quietly but firmly exclaims, “We need medicine!”

I laugh out loud and agree wholeheartedly.

“Yes, love, we do. We really do.”

What a doll. ❤️

As always, love to you, beautiful humans.

-S

Day 268/365 I had a “good” day! In weeks. I left the house for the third time in three weeks! I straightened the living room…like really tidied it up. I cleaned the kitchen, too! This, considering there are seven of us bunking together, is a feat and I did it. I browned butter for the pumpkin bread I will make tomorrow. I checked a kid out. And I painted a little study of two of our little gourds…25 minutes again.

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Day 263/365 When we stepped inside the front door into the foyer draped in thick wall paneling and bright daylight streaming in onto the dark wood floors, the truth that had been nagging at me settled into my bones. Immediately.

I want to see if this home could be ours.

I have to.

It’s a long shot. We’d have to sell our house in a pretty iffy market, and it seems like these sellers don’t really want to sell their house, even if it has been listed for 155 days.

But.

It is literally around the corner from my parents’.

That is right, dear reader. This home is a one minute walk to my parents’ driveway. It is one minute away from the home we can’t seem to leave right now because our world is topsy turvy with my diagnosis, days like the last ten (or who am I kidding, sixty) and we are struggling to continue doing it all alone.

There is a need getting filled by this little stay-cation of ours, and it feels pretty impossible to go back to a space where we go it alone again. It feels pretty scary.

Paralyzing.

So we walked inside, and I knew. We have to try to see if we can pull this off.

I don’t know much, but I know I will regret not trying given the state of things.

Listing our house is the last thing I need to be doing right now.

But moving that close to them could mean everything.

Here we go.

Day 264/365 Because the first tiny painting of candy apples turned out “okay,” in my opinion, I sat down to mix up thirty or so shades of reds and purple-reds. It made me happy to see them all on the palette, and to hear the kids say they could see the differences.

I talk about color way too much, and my people tolerating my passion for painting (and talking about painting) is a beautiful, free gift they give me each day as I out-loud think my way through apples or chairs or plants or vases.

They really love me.

Day 265/365 Added a little more to the apples today. I couldn’t spend as much time as I wanted to, but I began the 8x8 linen panel. Painting these apples is so hard. I am determined to keep trying.

Day 266/365 The day began with a load of vomiting (this seems to be a frequent flyer these days) and a little scare we had to watch closely for the remainder of Tuesday. Aren’t you glad you read along? I’m chuckling as I type, but the truth is I am so glad I made the choice to document this year, this life, this diagnosis and its changes.

I have to tell you: the last few weeks have been my second stretch of time where I can feel my body changing, shutting down in ways. I am not doing very okay, and while it makes me feel hopeless in moments, it matters to me to acknowledge it so I can live with it.

Once I finally got a little more settled later in the day, I sat down to finish the candy apple painting.

While I wish I had painted it even faster, and even looser, I have to say…I am okay with the results. I realized quickly getting so many different shades of reds to play with each other on a flat panel is a whole lot harder than one might think. I know I will get better at this kind of work, but at least for now, I could walk away knowing I had fun trying to capture the candy reflection and sea of reds.

It even sort of resembles the photo.

That, my friends, is what we will call a win. 😂

Day 267/365 With my energy at an all time low from the last few weeks state of the union according to my liver, I set a timer for 25 minutes and I actually stuck to it. I made quick work of a simple tomato study, mixing tomato reds and yellows and finishing the background with a happy faded salmon pink.

As always, love to you, my friends.

-S

Day 257/365 Seven minutes smooshing paint around and I had the start of a pumpkin top. I’ll say it again. If you find yourself wanting to try painting, but are scared to death at the prospect of being a beginner (or, if you’re a serious painter and just want some good old fashioned fun, taking you back to your roots of elementary art class), do yourself a favor.

Join Amanda at her Insider Studio. Best bang for my buck I’ve seen in art classes/libraries. There are over 300 classes inside, and new ones are added each week. Everything from holiday to florals, landscapes, still life…and all the classes are approached with these things in mind: have FUN, make something interesting vs. making something perfect, use what you have, & just begin. Amanda is warm and lovely, and she’s my favorite person to listen to on a bad day. She brings the happy, that’s for sure. 😉

Days 258-259/365 Well, folks, what a week it’s been. I do not know all the ways this diagnosis will affect my body moving forward. But I do know how it is playing out for now. And I will say aloud: it. Is. so. Very. hard.

It does seem like when my body begins having trouble with its autonomic functions, a lot of things go a little wonky and before I know it, the week becomes entirely about managing what I am able to do and what my body is doing/needing/struggling with/etc.

We have stayed with my family off and on the last month, and the gift that has been cannot be put into any words. Andrew and I had a quiet moment to ourselves over the weekend, and the words all tumbled out of my mouth before I ever had the conscious thoughts.

“Babe, I just have to stay right here. Right here, in this moment, this hour, this day…I cannot fast forward even a little. Because when I think about living this way for three or five more years if I am ‘lucky,’ I don’t know how I can do it. I don’t know how to live like this.”

My voice was a whisper at this point, me, almost afraid to hear what I had to say.

“I feel like I am living in Groundhog day every single day. I do not think I spend time actually thinking this, but I feel deep in my bones, I do not know how to keep doing this. I dream. I plan. I look toward the future and what I will make of my world and I just do not get to do that anymore.

I think it is hitting me how sad that really is for me.”

So while we talked and he listened and I breathed out some relief, knowing it was good for me to have acknowledged those feelings, it does still feel so very heavy.

But we are grateful to have spent these days with my parents. Their emotional support has been literally invaluable, and it brings with it comfort and bits of respite. More than anything, we know we are not alone in this.

To say we have needed it, is an understatement of the century.

The kids, everyone, has needed this for different reasons. All I know to do is keep trying. Keep staying here. Here is all any of us ever have anyway.

P.S. all things considered, I am happy to report I gradually worked on pumpkin top in tiny minutes for two plus days.

Day 260/365 My dad looked at me last night, and said matter of factly, “You are sleeping in the morning.” I tried to protest a little, but he quickly stopped me.

“No, that was not a question.”

God bless him. And I mean it.

My feet still hit the floor around 8 a.m., eyes blurry and bones creaking. Bone pain is a part of all this, and I have to say, it really is a thing. It sounds like no big deal, but I will tell you, for me, it is one of the harder parts. Hot pain coursing through the center of your limbs for no reason at all is less than ideal.

That kind of pain comes in the morning and late evenings (for me, anyway), so Papa taking that girl to school these last few weeks is sort of everything.

I poured a cup of coffee, the hot liquid steaming out of the mug and into the living room around me.

The comfort of watching my first cup of coffee dance with the light…a little slice of magic.

I had a procedure done on Monday. It did not go well. The goal of that eight inch needle going into my back and into the celiac plexus nerve bundle behind the aorta was to see if it could help with my pain. Any pain relief would be a win in my mind. Two percent. Ten percent. Thirty or forty would be life altering.

That did not happen. Instead, my pain level increased for a few days and my body also reacted to the procedure in the way we worried it might. It was a foreign “trauma” and my body just didn’t like it. I spent all week hurting every time I moved, feeling like I had a miserable case of Covid or the flu, vomiting, and extreme, extreme fatigue.

All that to say…I will not be doing that again. 😂

So I have my coffee and sit carefully in the recliner. I write a little and read my favorite writers on Substack. I watch painting demos and make notes for a possible art sale during the upcoming holiday months. I take five minutes at some point and sketch out the underpainting for some candy apples I snapped a photo of last year in Helen, Georgia. I realize I can’t do much more so I head back to the recliner and try to watch a movie with Papa.

I breathe and count to keep pain and anxiety at bay and try to listen to podcasts that remind me of the beautiful, the true.

Gray leaves for work by 7:20, me on the couch sleeping again already. I do those in-between tasks during the hours between 8 and 4 and when he walks in the door, he finds me on the couch just as he left me. Sleeping on the couch again already.

But I had people beside me. I could feel how much they wished they could take this away from me. We laughed as much as we could.

We counted down the hours of another day together.

And I started to paint candy apples. ☺️

Day 261/365 Yesterday was almost an exact repeat of the previous day, so while I couldn’t get much more done on the candy apples, I began adding shadow shapes and blocking in midtone reds.

Day 262/365 The day began with a prescription problem at the pharmacy and let me tell you…it derailed the entire bulk of the day. This is what chronic disease looks like. Problems with your medication are consuming, crippling, emergent.

Sometimes I get fairly brokenhearted about the whole thing. How can people in that field not know how their unwillingness to make a simple phone call could affect a patient with a life-threatening diagnosis? Just how? I know they’re busy. I know they’re tired and overworked and I have as much empathy for it as I can muster. But I’ll say, when you are the one picking yourself up off the bathroom floor, it feels pretty devastating to be met with policy or forgetfulness or just a flat-out bad attitude.

Regardless, by 1:30 p.m., I had resigned myself to another horrific weekend without my medication and tried to let it go. I quickly painted a tiny canvas of a few candy apples to play with the reds before tackling the bigger size and I thanked the God above for the tiny amount of relief I felt in my body after the week.

For today, that would have to be enough. And it was. ❤️

As always, love to you.

-S

We are back to our regular timeline (although, this is a couple of months behind my real-time day to day painting). I was excited to share some of the holiday paintings with you in real time; thanks for putting up with my crazy, out-of-order posting. For reference, these days begin on September 7. Let’s get into it!

Day 246/365 Yesterday was one of “the days” that are simply a part of this diagnosis, so I kept activity light. I began a quick sketch from a photo I snapped of the bathroom cabinets. The light was hitting them in the most spectacular way, and I would love to paint this view…but for today, a light sketch had to do. I’ll keep it in my open tab to paint. 😊

Day 247/365 Yesterday began at 6:30 like any other day, and by the time I made it back from taking one of the girls to school, I could tell. It was going to be a rough one. I tried to make myself busy by beginning my painting early in the morning. My dad sat in his big chair, and I sat in one beside him, setting up a very makeshift studio table on a fancy tv tray of sorts and an ottoman. I did a quick underpainting of a corner of their living room where the turquoise sofa juts out in front of his framed national championship game memorabilia from my brother. I faked its position on the wall to include it in the crop.

Aside from only making it fifteen minutes in before having to stop, I enjoyed the time, quietly sitting beside him. Him, making fun of my brush holding to capture angles or scale, and me, showing up for myself in a few minutes.

On the days it feels like there is so much going so badly, this counterweight of my practice reminds me:

In the small acts of saying yes to the things that matter, I stay connected to myself. To this life. To it all.

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If you want to continue reading the year in paint series in order, just skip over these holiday centered posts and I’ll repost them in a couple of weeks when we resume posting the days of the year in order. This will be our last “out of order” holiday post.

But if you’re into the behind-the-scenes of the holiday paintings, then here we go. And if you want to shop the remaining holiday art, head here.

Day 313/365 Despite the lack of energy coursing through me, the pull to get outside was so strong, I knew I had to.

So we went and had a beautiful tiny outing returning discards to Old Navy & eating a quick bite at a deli AND going inside World Market to peruse the pasta (& chocolate) sections.

It was heaven to me. Two and a half hours of literal heaven. Outside air. My husband. My children. We. were. Out. together.

I have left the house a couple of times per month on average the last several months. I don’t grocery shop or run errands. I can’t go to many school functions or coffee dates or to lunch with someone. I reserve every ounce of energy I have so that I can try to do a few simple things each day: be out of bed, write a little, paint a little, hopefully cook a little (as a way to love my people), and stay me (as a way to love my people and love myself).

Where I am physically at this current point of the diagnosis means I am fairly close to what we would call “shut-in.”

And while I am a driven, passionate, life-loving human, constantly noticing and searching for the beauty in this world…right now, I am a human who feels a very heavy sense of hopelessness sitting squarely on my shoulders.

Many days, I don’t feel like lifting my head off the pillow, much less my body out of the bed. But I do.

Chronic pain and worsening symptoms and the knowledge my pain and symptoms are increasing because I have a failing organ have taken a toll on my body, my mind, and recently, my spirit.

Life is really, really, really hard right now.

As I will lower myself into the bathtub to regulate my temperature the third or so time in a week (or a day), I will think, “I cannot do this for years. I can’t. I don’t want to. I don’t want to be here, doing this.”

“This is not living. This is existing.”

Then I tell myself other true things. All I know to do is stay honest with my myself, my husband, my best friend, my kids, my therapist, my support group, my parents. To keep looking for breathtaking moments of joy (and silliness like my dad watching Squid Game Challenge).

To keep staying, right here, right now, so I focus on this present moment, this present good or bad, to face it incrementally and intentionally.

So that one day, I will get back to a place where life feels like living again.

This is the part people don’t talk much about when you’re sick. These kinds of things. The dark, painful corners of your mind you visit or live in because the thing wrong with your body has consumed your world. How days can last for weeks, and a week feels like a month. Where the minutes feel torturous. How isolating that is.

To be honest, talking about it is a little scary because I wouldn’t want to frighten someone else. I wouldn’t want it to be too hard to read or too hard to understand. I think, always, the hope of vulnerability is more closeness. More understanding.

To create more empathy for the collective, not just ourselves.

The hope in being vulnerable, especially as a writer sharing things more “publicly,” is that a person who reads our words might be moved in some way in their day to day. That they might see clearer or understand someone they love (or themselves), or could meet them differently in a moment in their own lives.

To put language to what we all feel.

Because we’re all doing this life. We all feel these ways, or love someone who does.

Language is how we make sense of the world. It is the tool we use to do everything else.

So while, as a writer, it is scary to be vulnerable and to reveal darker parts of yourself to strangers…it is scarier to imagine a world where no one puts language to the painful parts of being human.

Where more of us feel alone more than we have to.

I could regret moments of sharing deep, hard truths. But I think I would regret not sharing those truths more. That not sharing the hardest parts of this might come across as shinier than this really is.

That one of you, out there reading, could be walking through something eerily similar, or someone you love could be…and you might feel more alone in it.

This is why we tell our stories.

We tell them so others find belonging. So we do. So we all do.

Day 314-316/365 Well, folks, we spent Tuesday, Veteran’s Day, doing normal ish things. Andrew was home and he actually slept until 6:30. Nana and phoebe made gluten free banana bread for 4H. Ava made diamond art and Gray helped set up the Christmas Tree. I sat in my chair, and instead of knitting needles in my hands, you’ll find Poscas in my hands and little canvases piled up beside me.

Wednesday was spent with the fastest arriving stomach flu of all time (for me, anyway). I think Gray had a little something or another and my body just doesn’t process things the same…it nearly sent me to the hospital. I am writing this little notation the next afternoon and still, I am eating onnnnllly what is necessary to live. 😂

So it is with sadness, I type these words: I didn’t paint a thing yesterday. On really bad days, I have squeaked in a fancy piece of digital art, or colored, or added small swipes onto a canvas. But getting out of the bed zero yesterday except to head to the bathroom meant falling asleep off and on by 5:30 p.m. and while I made mention of being brought a canvas and a paint pen, the guys didn’t have it in themselves to wake me up to make art.

So it is on day 315 out of 365, I did no making of any kind. No painting or prepping, no glazing or varnishing. No coloring. While I am little disappointed it happened the way it did, not being physically able to pull it off was bound to happen one day (or thirty) this year.

Instead of feeling super annoyed or critical, I honestly am so proud of painting this year, through ALL of THIS, that I will simply be grateful I have filled my days with beauty by making art and by writing all about this life.

This year was never about perfection, anyway.

This year is about perseverance, acceptance, falling apart and putting ourselves back together, faith. It’s about showing up for this one precious life and fighting like hell to enjoy as much of it as we can.

So today, after another round of vomiting (too much, i know), I eventually settled enough and made some art. Right back to it.

To life. 🧡

Day 317/365 finally felt more “normal” today after morning sickness (not the kind that brings a baby at the end of the trouble), added glitter & gold borders to the remaining canvases in need of a little holiday pixie dust, and called that a day.

Day 318/365 added eye hooks & ribbon, photographed the newest round of canvases, hoping to add them to the release on Sunday (which was insane to attempt & I did it anyway), and varnished them all.

Day 319/365 I worked on listing products all day long, with help from Andrew. Games were waging and there I was, little notepad out with my very fancy catalogued list (wreath #11 dusty blue with navy stripes & coral dots) and my laptop. It took all day to add the additional nineteen pieces, and I still had four stragglers I needed to photograph or calculate weight and dimensions.

As evening indigo painted the sky, I painted little wooden ornaments to add in as freebies for collectors. It feels a little hoity-toity to say “collectors” instead of customers, and yet, people who buy my art do hold a special place in my heart. “Collectors” feels more elevated and personal. And technically, they do collect my artwork.

I listened to Ava and her friend tell stories and tease each other about the “worst yearbook photos ever,” while I added christmas reds and gold splatters. Shhhhh…don’t tell Nana but I splattered paint inside. 😉

Day 320/365 The urge to wake came at 6:22, and while I most certainly prefer to sleep a little later, my feet hit the floor hesitantly as they do each morning. Bone pain. Just part of the day to day now.

I tiptoed up the hallway (mainly from the hot pokers shooting from the balls of my feet up through my calves–not delicately like a ballerina 😂) and heard a shuffle. I saw my sweet Mama’s head poke around the doorway.

She whisper-smiled, “Good morning, baby.”

Her quiet presence comforts me.

I took a sip of coffee before shooting the four remaining products, having them edited in Lightroom before the cup was warming my belly.

My fingers got busy listing the final products for the sale at 1 p.m. I paused to check messages from Instagram in case anyone had new questions about the holiday paintings.

I saw a message from my friend in England, Julia….

Check your paypal. Buy more paint supplies. 😘 We have exciting news. We are going to be offering a 4 day antiques guided trip/Cotswolds Retreat in September. This is happening because of you and Marian!!!! Emily & I met on The Creative Exponent Community–thank you, dear friend. Xx ❤️

Tears stung my eyes when I read it and when I told Andrew about her words (& gift) as I got back to it, listing paintings as he repaired backend website issues.

After lo so many snags, I published site to public at 12:46 with an alarm to ding at 1 so I could make the official announcement.

The alarm dinged. I posted a quick reminder for everyone.

My thoughts immediately traveled to gratefulness…I did it. No matter what happened with them, they were out of my hands now. I incrementally painted them all for months, something last year would have taken me a week or two. And I also built a new website (somehow) in the middle of all that.

Four minutes later I glanced over at my computer…7 canvases were gone.

Well, look at that. Look at that.

I noticed an order from another former client (& friend), Mary, and almost immediately received a message from her on Instagram:

My dear Shaunna, I just ordered one of your Christmas paintings to give to the doctor who saved my life 2 years ago. I am hoping it is signed, because he is also an artist. It seems like such an appropriate gift. I would like to share your story with him. You are always in my thoughts and prayers. Finally after 6 years I am doing my first live sale on Instagram with two women who were in the mentoring group. Thanks for showing me the way.

And all of a sudden, out of nowhere, on a dark sky day and an even darker sky year, I felt it.

The light.

Two women from a life that feels like a lifetime ago and a few canvases finding new homes…my heart felt so full it could burst. No, I haven’t had lots of friends show up the way I thought they would. No, some family hasn’t been in the thick of this with us. Losing so much during a time like this, I have questioned everything.

Do I matter to almost anyone?

Who will even be there for my people if I die? If this does, in fact, stay terminal?

Did I do anything that mattered all these years of believing I was open to love & connection & trying to become the healthiest version of myself?

Did no one notice?

Am I alone?

Do they care I’m drowning?

Do I, after all this life, matter, at all?

Would anyone mourn for me or for my children in any deep, real way?

And the answer is what it has always been: yes.

Yes. I do matter. I did do things that helped people. It took three (because in the time I wrote this post I received a third message just like the others) women who are practically strangers to me in this now-life, to remind me that I did do right by them.

That I do get to be noticed.

That I do matter.

That something I did in their lives moved them.

I have played my part in the ripples of the sea and I connected again to all of it. I will keep playing it.

Thank you, Julia.

Thank you, Mary.

Thank you, Emily.

And thank you for reading these words, and mulling over what we talk about each week. Thank you for being a part of the sea that is all of us.

See you out there.

As always, love to you, my friends.

-S

Just popping in really quickly to tell you the holiday paintings were released yesterday and I am beginning to gather, pack, and add extra magic to packages coming to you.

I told an aunt yesterday, it really is ridiculous, but there are little freebies in the packages and most I hand paint. This all really does bring me great, deep joy, so it is most certainly worth it.

And on top of releasing the paintings out into the world, I got a new website up and running. I did a thing!

If you want to take a look at the remaining paintings, head here to find them.

And again, thank you for being here and for sharing in this part of my life (and work). 🤍

As always, love to you!!

-S