The sweet solitude of a fresh snow has fallen on us. I walk through the powder, an excited puppy leaping about my ankles, and I’m held by the quiet, by the calm, by the pause.

I've ordered more teaspoons. In fact, I ordered all I could find in our silverplate pattern. Because, somehow, the disappearing teaspoon situation is still a situation.

In the small, quiet bedroom nestled under a seven foot, beaded plank ceiling at the back of the house, there’s a bed on one wall, with nightstands carved out of flanking floor-to-ceiling cabinetry.

Perhaps you’ll dive right in and begin with the contents of an entire room. Maybe you’ll edit your shoe collection. Or, in the tiniest of baby steps, you’ll begin with your pencil cup.

You want a fence for Mother’s Day? They asked incredulously, only half-believing this odd request

In keeping house. It might not be where you’d think to find it, but there’s simplicity there, too. A stack of white cotton cloths, a sponge, an assortment of natural bristle brushes

You can learn a lot by looking back. Two years ago, I wrote about my morning and evening routines

It’s early morning. I slide my feet into fleecy slippers, lift my softest cardigan from where it hangs on the hook inside the closet door, thread my arms through the sleeves