Don't call it a comeback!

For the first time in MONTHS, I'm back home for an extended enough period of time that I can catch my breath and return to doing the little things that make me happy and calm. Writing is a part of my job, but getting back into the habit of writing for myself as an exercise is important to me. The practice of writing as an extension of myself brings me in touch with my own voice, without it being filtered through a template or chugging out corporate missives. I have plenty to share, always new gear to gush over, delicious food from around the country, new cleaning products that quell my compulsive neuroses, and people and ideas that have inspired me. I will try to compartmentalize and space things out over the coming weeks, so just hang on with me here.

September brought me to Denver, from there drove to Texas, from there drove to Woodside, California, from there flew me to Columbus, OH for the month of October. November found me in Massachusetts, December put me in Virginia and then NYC. The meatier part of January was spent in Denver, from where I drove back to Pennsylvania, and days later flew to Las Vegas. From there I flew back to Long Island and then drove to Charleston, SC for a week, with a one-day reprieve at Mr. Waistcoat's mother's farm in Aiken, SC on the way back to good old Lancaster PA. Last Tuesday I returned home, not for good, but for better, and I'm still reeling. Time zone swaps, adjusting the severity of my accent to be more approachable to the varying levels of cowboy accent, educated old-money Southern, not educated backwoods Southern, South African, midwestern, you name it and I've struggled to interpret and respond to it. 

Funny enough, my favorite encounter with another person happened while waiting for my red eye flight from Vegas to NYC. A woman sat down next to me at the gate and, unprovoked, started chatting me up and trash talking other people walking through the terminal. She was a woman probably in her early 60s, a Westchester, NY transplant with a home in Vegas who made a point of telling me that she was Italian (in an anecdote about how she didn't enjoy visiting France and that they can shove the Louvre up their a***** because they stole all the art from "our people" [Italians]). A certifiable fact about Italian women from New York is that they will never let it go unspoken that they are indeed Italian and from New York. I don't know how she knew I was too, I guess it's a WOP version of "gaydar," but regardless, she was beyond amusing. In my starved, sleep deprived haze I imagined her to be a sassy version of myself in 40 years, and this thought carried me through my surprisingly short flight back to the East Coast. 

As for new cool things... I have plenty to share, but I think I should start with these bad boys that landed on my doorstop in December - custom silver spurs from the brilliant Eddie Harris of Harris Leather and Silverworks.

Harris Leather & Silverworks is 100% a family business, where each member contributes their own artistry and expertise. I've had the pleasure of getting to know the Harris family through the trade show circuit, and aside from the absolutely beautiful work they do, they're truly top notch people. I don't know whether to use these spurs or to put them up on a pedestal! 

Most of my adventures have been catalogued on the 'gram as well >> @aezeum