And, as Virginia Woolf writes in To the Lighthouse:
What is the meaning of life?… A simple question; one that tended to close in on one with years. The great revelation had never come. The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark.
Cheers to finding little illuminations in 2013, everyone.
 | kristinareardon on The Slovenian Thanksgiving |
 | Veronika Edwards on The Slovenian Thanksgiving |
 | Home on Rent-a-Pup |
 | Cora on Rent-a-Pup |
 | LisetteKimbe on ¡Finalmente estoy en Arge… |
Musings from a new mom.
There is no friend as loyal as a book. - Ernest Hemingway
Living and Parenting as a Liberal Feminist Christian
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