I’m just going to get this out of the way immediately: yes, I fell. I lasted over two hours without failing to rise to the occasion of deep mud, slippery gravel descents, and rock gardens. Then, instead of taking the road, I suggested we head back to the house on a trail that I often run. Note that I said “trail” because when we turned onto the path it was not a trail. It was a river. It wasn’t just extremely muddy or washed out. There was full on flowing water connecting dee

“A sign!” I sang out loud in a melodic mix of relief and excitement. I wasn’t really, truly lost. Every now and then I could see the tree-cleared ski run on the mountain next to me.  I could hear a river. I had drawn a mental map and I was still kind of moving in, what I thought, was the right direction. I could always back-track too. Still, I felt so elated I hugged the wooden post. Thinking you’re on the right track is a whole different experience than knowing you’re on the

My new French home! I always had this vision of moving in with my boyfriend since I was a teenager: a modest but modern apartment and, since we would just be starting out, it would be complete with hand-me down furniture, second-hand appliances (except a new Kitchen Aid mixer) and a small garden for me to kill plants. A realistic achievable dream in my books. While life never matches fantasy, living with Edward couldn’t be farther from what my teenage self originally dreamed