🕯️ Where the Hell I’ve Been: A Love Letter from the Pause

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Let’s just call it what it is: I ghosted my blog.

I didn’t mean to. I didn’t plan to. I didn’t schedule it in my fancy planner with color-coded tabs and a sticker that says “Get Sh*t Done.” One day I was writing about the magic in road cones and the next thing I knew, entire seasons had passed like background music. I blinked, and suddenly the calendar said June 2025 and my inbox was giving me side-eye like an annoyed cat.

So where have I been?

Oh honey… let me pour you a cup of coffee (or wine, no judgment), and let’s talk.

👶 Babywatch 2025: The Next Generation of Sass

If you’ve ever waited for a baby to arrive, you know it’s like a cross between a full moon ritual and a hostage situation—emotional, unpredictable, and absolutely sacred. My granddaughter is on her way, and let me tell you: this isn’t just a new chapter. This is a whole new book.

There’s something ancestral about it. I feel the red thread of legacy weaving tighter. I’m reflecting not just on the kind of grandmother I want to be, but the kind of world she’s stepping into—and how I want to shape it for her, magically and mundanely. So I’ve been watching. Waiting. Holding space. Crying, if we’re being honest. Because it’s beautiful. And terrifying. And big.

So while the world spun madly on, I’ve been lighting candles and whispering blessings over tiny onesies and dreaming of lullabies and future spells whispered into soft ears.

📝 Research, Rumination, and Real Talk

I’ve also been doing some deep, deep diving for a larger project—one that I promise I’ll be sharing with you when the time is right. Let’s just say it involves old-world magic, bones of forgotten goddesses, community healing, and a few well-placed f-bombs.

This isn’t surface-level blog fluff. This is soul excavation.

I’ve been curled up with books older than some countries, scribbling in notebooks at 3 a.m., piecing together the magic that pulses under our feet when we walk land soaked in stories. This isn’t research for the sake of “content”—this is lifework. Legacy work. The kind of thing that demands silence, stillness, and long walks with the ghosts of who we’ve been.

💕 Dakota, the Cats, and the Sacred Domestic

Sometimes magic is just sitting your ass down with the person who loves you most and watching them cook dinner while a cat tries to steal butter from the counter. And friends, my husband Dakota—bless his steady soul—has been my lighthouse in the storm.

While I travel, he holds down the fort. While I fall apart, he helps sweep the pieces back together. We’ve been investing in each other again—on purpose. With quiet nights, deep talks, shared laughter, and a return to cooking together. We’ve been reconnecting in a way that isn’t performative, isn’t for show, but is deeply holy.

🍲 Witchcraft, Aprons, and Roux: The Return to the Kitchen

And speaking of cooking, let me confess something: I fell out of love with cooking for a while. Somewhere between chemo, travel, grief, and burnout, food lost its magic. It became survival, not celebration. And my body started paying the price for KFC, Taco Bell, and McDonalds on the regular. 

But slowly, carefully, like coaxing a shy animal back to your palm, I’ve started returning to the kitchen. I’ve chopped onions with tears in my eyes—both from grief and joy. I’ve rolled out dough with my ancestors whispering at my shoulders. I’ve remembered that magic lives in simmer pots and Sunday stews and lemon zest that smells like hope.

So yes, I’ve been gone from the blog—but I’ve been present in my body, in my breath, and in my bubbling saucepans.

🕯️ This Was a Season. Not an Ending.

If you’ve missed me, I want to say thank you. Truly. From the burnt edges of my sage bundle to the blunt honesty of my soul—you are why I write. And if you’ve been in your own season of silence, know this: we’re allowed to pause. To rest. To not produce. To not post. To just be.

Seasons turn. Babies are born. Books are written. Love is rekindled. And kitchens become temples once more.

So I’m back. Not because an algorithm told me to be. But because I’m ready. And because you deserve more magic. The real kind. The kind made from presence and pain and patience.

✨ Of Cabbages and No Kings

And in the middle of all this—while I was steeping in personal magic and ancestral transition—No Kings Day happened. I watched elders in wheelchairs raise trembling fists in front of nursing homes. Veterans in worn jackets stood shoulder to shoulder with teenagers holding cardboard signs. Over 70,000 people filled the streets of Seattle, and across the world, over 12 million souls rose up in unified defiance. It wasn’t performative. It was primal. It was the Earth herself howling, “No more.” And it reminded me that while I may have been quiet, I was never disconnected. This moment is history—and we are the ones writing the spellwork into it.

✨ Coming Soon…

I’ve got spells, stories, and sass queued up and ready. Expect a return to the wild rhythm of Burnt Sage and Blunt Truths—but deeper, wiser, and maybe just a little gentler, or maybe not, I'm still a feral Gen X'er...

And if you’re waiting for your own reawakening? It’s coming, darling.

Until then: light a candle. Stir your tea. Call your people. And bless your damn kitchen.

I love you. I missed you. And I’m so glad we’re still here.

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